EXCURSUS ON MYTH: A SERIES OF NOTES

Bart A. Mazzetti

Note 1. The meaning of the word ‘myth’ according to certain contemporary folk-
lorists and classicists:

n. 1. Stith Thompson, The Folktale (Berkeley, 1977, 1st ed. 1946), p. 9:

Of all words used to distinguish the class of prose narrative, myth is the most confusing. The
difficulty is that it has been discussed too long and that it has been used in too many dif-
ferent senses. The history of such discussion is interesting but inconclusive. As used in this
book myth will be taken to mean a tale laid in a world supposed to have preceded the present
order. It tells of sacred beings and of semi-divine heroes and of the origins of all things, usu-
ally through the agency of these sacred beings. Myths are intimately connected with reli-
gious beliefs and practices of the people. They may be essentially hero legends or etiological
stories, but they are systematized and given religious significance. The hero is somehow
related to the rest of the pantheon and the origin story becomes an origin myth by attachment
to the adventures of some god or demi-god. Whether hero legend and origin story generally
preceded myth or whether they became detached from it, the fundamental difference be-
tween these forms is reasonably clear.

n. 2. Stith Thompson, “Myth and Folktales” (1955). In Myth: A Symposium, ed. Thomas A
Sebeok (Bloomington and London, 1974), p. 170:

Most of the writers whom we read in this seminar do at least refer, generally speaking, to
stories that have become traditional. But of those traditional stories, which ones shall be
called myth, which ones legends and traditions (the German Sagen), which shall be called
folktales and which animal tales—all of that never seems very clear to the reader of many
books of mythology. Among the writers of the present symposium, there seems, however, to
be some agreement. All agree that stories about the gods and their activities in general are
myths. But shall we also include hero tales?

n. 3. Stith Thompson, ibid, p. 173:

The practical definition which I have suggested and which seems to be rather well agreed
upon is that myth has to do with the gods and their actions, with creation, and with the gen-
eral nature of the universe and of the earth.

n. 4. Philip Mayerson, Classical Mythology in Literature, Art and Music (Waltham, Mass.,
1971), p. 17:

Up to this point, the words “myth” and “legend” have been used rather loosely to describe
those traditional narratives that have come down to us through Greek and Roman sources.
This comes about because scholars, even within the same discipline, find it difficult to come
to a common understanding on the definition of terms and the means of classifying the over-
whelming variety of tales that are subsumed under the name of “mythology.” There is how-
ever, increasing acceptance of a broad and convenient division of these stories into myth
(sometimes called myth proper), legend or saga, and folktale. But it must be recognized from
the start that, more often than not, no clear line of demarcation exists between these divi-
sions; it is quite possible for one story to contain elements common to two or all three of
these narrative forms.

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 Myths are stories of events, usually believed to have taken place in the distant past, that
embody the traditions of a people concerning the universe and their religious beliefs. Myths
deal with the actions of the gods, their rituals, their relationships to one another, to heroes,
and to the existence of natural phenomena. Gods or demigods are the main characters of
these narratives. Myths should be understood not as amusing tales of an ill-informed people,
but as a mode of perception by which man, at a certain stage in his development, made order
out of chaos, made sense out of the manifold diversity existing in the world. “It is the object
of myth, as of science,” states Professor Pierre Grimal, “to explain the world, to make its
phenomena intelligible.” Sir G. L. Gomme makes a similar observation when he says that
myth explains matters in “the science of a pre-scientific age.” Myth’s most characteristic
function, then, is explanatory or “aetiological” (cf. Callimachus’ Aetia): how the universe
was created, how man was brought into being, why a certain animal is the way it is (for in-
stance, they myth of Arachne and the characteristics of the spider), how certain natural phe-
nomena came into existence (such as the Pillars of Hercules), or how rituals began (for
example, Prometheus’ deception of Zeus to explain why certain parts of animals, and not
others, are sacrificed to the gods of heaven).

n. 5. Robert A. Ogden, Jr. “Myth and Mythology,” in the Anchor Bible Dictionary (New
York, 1992), volume 4, 946-965:

B. The Problem of Defining Myth

In spite of the great attention devoted to mythology in the past two hundred years, nearly
every student of this phenomenon laments the difficulty of formulating a truly adequate
definition of myth. For example, Mircea Eliade, perhaps the 20th century’s leading historian
of religion, begins a volume devoted to myth with the admission that “it would be hard to
find a definition of myth that would be acceptable to all scholars and at the same time intel-
ligible to nonspecialists” (1963: 5). Closer still to desperation S. J. Rogerson’s statement that
“finding an adequate and all-purpose definition of myth” remains an “impossible task”
(1974: 173). This admitted difficulty has not prevented the appearance of many studies, es-
pecially recently, attempting to formulate an adequate definition (Barr 1959; Bascom 1965;
Rogerson 1978; Honko 1984; Kirk 1984).

1. Myths as Stories about the Gods. The Greek word from which comes our word “myth”
originally meant simply “something said” or “something told,” i.e., a story. Later in Greek
tradition, the word came to mean a false story or a fabrication, a meaning our word “myth”
still has in some contexts. When modern folklorists began to study myth, they utilized that
definition made generally known by the Grimm brothers: a myth is a story about the gods.
This definition proved inadequate because it implied at once too much and too little. It im-
plied too much in its suggestion that myths are limited to a polytheistic setting, thus remo-
ving from consideration any traditional stories told outside of such a setting. As the classicist
G. S. Kirk observes, while some myths do treat the gods, others “are not primarily about
gods at all, and have no ancillary implications of sanctity or tabu” (1984: 57). On the other
hand, the definition implied too little. It was not sufficiently specific; some criteria were
wanted beyond simply “a story” and “about the gods.”

2. Toward a More Adequate Definition. Following upon the birth of both anthropology and
the study of comparative religion at the end of the 19th century, a long series of definitions
for myth were proposed as alternatives to the admittedly inadequate “myths are stories about
the gods.” A complete list of these definitions would be neither useful nor possible in the
present context. But a selection of those proposed by some of the more influential students
of myth might prove helpful in demonstrating both variety and continuity in the achievement
of this important task of definition.

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 The British anthropologist Sir James George Frazer (1854-1941), perhaps best known as
the author of The Golden Bough, toward the end of his scholarly career defined myths as
“mistaken explanations of phenomena, whether of human life or of external nature” (192 1:
xxvii). To Bronislaw Malinowski (1884-1942), who was among the first anthropologists to
demand extensive field work as a prerequisite to reaching any conclusions about a given
culture, a myth is “a pragmatic charter of primitive faith and moral wisdom” (1954b: 101).
The definition in a standard dictionary of mythology published after World War II is as
follows: a myth is “a story, presented as having actually occurred in a previous age,
explaining the cosmological and supernatural traditions of a people, their gods, heroes,
cultural traits, religious beliefs, etc.” (FWSDFML, 778). Eliade, who admitted the problems
inherent in any definition of myth, proposes that “myth narrates a sacred history; it relates an
event that took place in primordial Time, the fabled time of ‘beginnings’. The actors in
myths are Supernatural Beings” (1963: 5-6). The American biblical scholar T. H. Gaster
suggests that a myth “may be defined as any presentation of the actual in terms of the ideal”
(1954: 185). For the theologian P. Ricoeur, myths are “traditional narratives which tell of
events which happened at the origin of time and which furnish the support of language to
ritual actions” (1969: 101). And W. Burkett, a prolific German scholar whose analyses of
myths have found a wide audience of late, concludes that “myth is a traditional tale with
secondary, partial reference to something of collective importance” (1979: 23).
Even though an initial reading of these selected definitions might suggest something like
complete disagreement and hence chaos, there are in fact a number of elements which most
of the definitions share. These elements are three, or perhaps four, in number. To qualify as a
myth, scholars are beginning to agree, the material has to be (1) a story, and (2) traditional,
that is, transmitted, usually orally, within a communal setting; further, these traditional
stories must (3) deal with a character or characters who are more than merely human. In light
of the apologetic use to which the older, 19th-century definition of myth was put (to deny the
presence of myths in biblical text), note that this third criterion can be met by the presence of
a single superhuman being in a tale. In addition, several of the above definitions suggest the
addition of a final criterion, that myths (4) treat events in remote antiquity. That these three
or four elements are the key criteria is indicated by the current definitions upon which many
folklorists rely. A sample of two of these will demonstrate this: (1) “myths are prose narra-
tives which, in the society in which they are told, are considered to be truthful accounts of
what happened in the remote past.... their main characters are not usually human beings”
(Bascom 1965: 4); and (2) myths are “the traditional tales of the deeds of daimones: gods,
spirits, and all sorts of supernatural or superhuman beings” (Fontenrose 1966: 54-55). Be-
cause of its brevity and yet its conclusion of three of the criteria listed above, Fontenrose’s
definition is perhaps the most adequate and stands the greatest chance of commanding wide
assent.

Under the heading of the definitional problems here, one additional issue requires treat-
ment. This is the issue of the possible distinction between myths on the one hand and
legends and folktales on the other. This has long been a matter of great interest to biblical
scholarship; many scholars have argued, for example, that it is vital to see a particular story
in the Bible as a legend or a saga rather than a myth. Regrettably, there is nothing like a con-
sensus among current students of myth on this issue. Some folklorists find a clear distinction
between myths, folktales (identified by folklorists with Märchen in German, contes popu-
laires in French), and legends (German Sagen, French traditions populaires). The dis-
tinctions most often proposed are that folktales are regarded less seriously than are myths,
and that legends are both set in a less remote era than are myths and deal solely with human
characters (Bascom: 1965: 4, 16). Other scholars doubt that any such distinctions are at all
useful or legitimate (Kirk 1970: 3141; 1984: 55). Burkert, for example, argues that the dis-
tinction between myths and legends or sagas so favored by biblical scholars is purely a part
of an apologetic tradition and will not stand up to the available evidence (1979: 24).

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n. 6. Fritz Graf, Greek Mythology: An Introduction, Thomas Marier trans. (Baltimore. Re-
print edition, 1996, 1st ed. 1987), pp. 1-3:

It is still difficult to define myth satisfactorily, for all the intense scholarly attention that the
problem of definition has received in the course of two and a half centuries. Many solutions
have been proposed, only to be rejected. The most banal and least controversial of these may
serve as a starting point: myths are traditional tales. That a myth is a tale is indicated by the
etymology of the word: for the early Greeks, a mythos was a “word” or “story”, synonymous
with logos and epos; a [1-2] mythologos was a “storyteller.” Only when the traditional tales
were called into question did the meaning of the word begin to be restricted. Herodotus,
writing during the Sophistic enlightenment, was the first to use the word in the sense of
“implausible story” (2.23.1, 2.24.1). Thucydides distinguished his history, with its new claim
to veracity, from the “fabulous” (to mythodes), that is, mere storytelling (1.22.4). Plato set
his new art of dialectic apart by using more sharply defined concepts, opposing logoi,
propositions demonstrable with the aid of dialectic, to mythoi, which, for him, were often
lies. To Plato we may trace the meaning that myth often has today: a thing widely believed
but false (as the statement “love at first sight” is a myth). 1
A myth is a particular kind of story. It does not coincide with a particular text or literary
genre. For example, in all three major genres of Greek poetry the story of Agamemnon’s
murder and of Orestes’ subsequent revenge is told: in epic (at the beginning of the Odyssey),
in choral lyric (e.g. in Stesichorus’ Oresteia), and in the work of all three tragedians. A myth
is not a specific poetic text. It transcends the text: it is the subject matter, a plot fixed in
broad outline and with characters no less fixed, which the individual poet is free to alter only
within limits. Whereas a single variant, a single poetic work has an author, a myth does not.
Myths are transmitted from one generation to another without anyone knowing who created
them: this is what is meant by traditional. (The same can be said of oral poetry in preliterate
societies. The mythical variant in the oral poem, like the mythical variant in the written
poem, has an identifiable author, and certain bards are more proficient and more popular
than others. But this variant generally goes unrecorded; it vanishes along with the oral per-
formance. An oral composition, it should be added, is no less “poetic” than a written one, for
the language of oral poetry is no less artificial than that of written poems that have come
down to us from ancient Greece.) Those who record myths are fully aware of their trad-
itional nature. Plato, for example, claims to have heard the tale of Atlantis, which he [2-3]
himself invented, from Critias, his uncle, who heard it from his grandfather, who heard it
from his father, who heard it from Solon, who heard it in Egypt and intended to use it as
subject matter for his poem. Thus the origins of the tale are so far removed in time and space
as to be irretrievable (Timaeus 20e-21e).

n. 7. Jean-Pierre Vernant, Myth and Society in Ancient Greece, tr. Janet Lloyd (New York,
1990), pp. 203-204: I. Muthos and Logos:

The Greek word muthos means formulated speech, whether it be a [<203 | 204>] story, a dia-
logue, or the enunciation of a plan. So muthos belongs to the domain of legein, as such com-
pound expressions as mutholegein and muthologia show, and does not originally stand in
contrast to logoi, a term that has a closely related semantic significance and that is con-
cerned with the different forms of what is said. Even when, in the form of stories about the
gods or heroes, the words transmit a strong religious charge, communicating to a group of
initiates secret knowledge forbidden to the common crowd, muthoi can equally well be
called hieroi logoi sacred speeches.

1
‘Love at first sight’ is hardly a ‘myth’. A better example would be ‘all professors are absent-minded’.

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 Between the eighth and fourth centuries B.C. a whole series of interrelated conditions caused
a multiplicity of differentiations, breaks, and internal tensions within the mental universe of
the Greeks that were responsible for distinguishing the domain of myth from other domains:
The concept of myth peculiar to classical antiquity thus became clearly defined through the
setting up of an opposition between muthos and logos, henceforth seen as separate and con-
trasting terms.

n. 8. Gregory Nagy, Pindar’s Homer: The Lyric Possession of an Epic Past (Baltimore,
1990), ch. 1., §30:

From an anthropological standpoint, myth is indeed special speech in that it is a given soci-
ety’s way of affirming its own reality through narrative. 1 In Homeric diction, we see that the
ancestor of our word myth, Greek mûthos, actually designates speech-acts, such as formal
boasts, threats, laments, invectives, prophecies, prayers, and so on. 2 Let us for the moment
take as a given, then, that the function of marked speech is to convey meaning in the context
of ritual and myth.

§30n1. On the truth-value of myth: Leach 1982.2-7.

§30n2. Detailed demonstration in [Richard] Martin 1989.12-42. On the concept of speech-
act, see Intro. §17.

n. 9. Richard Martin, The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad.
(Myth and Poetry) (Ithaca and London, 1989):

There are only three genres of speech called muthos in the Iliad: command, boast or insult,
and recitation of remembered events, and the third underlies the first two. The god or hero
who commands or boasts or insults will rely on a narrative of what has been, or could be, or
should be or not be, done. Sometimes he will use genealogy to make his case. Every muthos
is a living, powerful speech-performance.

n. 10. G. S. Kirk, The Nature of Greek Myths (Middlesex, 1974 [Penguin Books]), pp. 22-
24:

The etymology of ‘myth’ reveals, from one point of view, very little. From another, it dis-
closes what may turn out to be a crucial, if apparently banal, fact. In Greek, muthos basic-
ally means ‘utterance’, something one says. It came to mean something one says in the form
of a tale, a story. That led to still narrower applications; for example it is Aristotle’s word in
the Poetics for the plot of a play. 2 In a different development of its meaning muthos was
sometimes contrasted with logos. This latter term, which forms one element of the com-
pound mutho-logia, ‘mythology’, implies something like ‘analytical statement’ or even
‘theory’. From this contrast arose the exaggerated sense of ‘myth’ as ‘untruth’, a sense that
can be forgotten from now on—which is not to deny that myths are predominantly fictional,
imaginative creations rather than factual records. Muthoi, at all events, came to connote
‘stories’ rather than ‘statements’, and when the Greeks themselves talked about muthoi they
most often meant, just as we might, the traditional tales of gods and heroes. They did not
intend to imply anything in particular about the accuracy or falsehood of those tales, some of
which were regarded as contain- [22-23] ing important elements of truth at least until the
time of Plato.

2
On this meaning, cf. Ralph McInerny, A History of Western Philosophy (Notre Dame, 1963), Vol. 1, Part II:
The Classical Period, Chapter III, Aristotle, n. 15 infra.

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 Etymology and ancient usage suggest that myths are stories, and that does not contradict
modern practice. Not all stories are myths, of course; novels are not myths, short-stories are
not myths, tales improvised for children are not myths. By ‘myths’ we commonly mean, as
the ancient Greeks did, traditional stories. Once again, however, not all traditional stories are
myths. Many of them concern historical events and persons of the past, and, although these
can take on qualities that would often be counted as mythical, they are not themselves usu-
ally classed as myths. The traditional stories about King Alfred burning the cakes or George
Washington cutting down the cherry-tree are not myths in most people’s vocabulary. They
are not entirely historical, but they are too much caught up in history and pragmatic reality to
count as myths. It is safer to give such semi-historical traditions a separate name and de-
scribe them as ‘legends’, since they are not useful for defining myths, except at the margins.
Many Greek tales, especially those known from Homer’s Iliad and concerned with the
Trojan War, are historical or historicizing in this way. According to the present argument
they are better counted as legends; yet they tend to occur in the mythological handbooks,
where the proceedings at Troy usually fill a substantial chapter. Most people would probably
say that Achilles, Hector and Diomedes are figures of myth, part of ‘Greek mythology’, but I
shall argue later that they should at least be distinguished from definitely non-historical
personages like Apollo, Perseus or Medea. In the initial process of definition and limitation
it is better to concentrated on primary and simple instances and leave the quasi-historical
tales on one side.

Can it then be said that all non-historical traditional tales are myths? Not really, because
animal fables, for instance, are both tales and traditional, and yet they would not usually be
described as myths. Neither would other kinds of moral or [23-24] cautionary tales, which
are often passed down by mouth from generation to generation and are therefore traditional.
A larger category that many would hesitate to class as truly mythical comprises what are
called ‘folktales’—simple tales of adventure, intrigue and ingenuity, sometimes with giants
or other supernatural components. Grimm’s tales are of this kind; they were collected from
European peasant communities, but virtually every society has its folktales. Ingenious de-
vices or evasions, the solution of simple dilemmas, wish-fulfillment adventures involving the
slaying of monsters and the winning of princesses: these are more prominent characteristics
of folktales than fantasy, profundity or other-worldliness, the qualities we most expect to
find in myths. Yet there is no rigid distinction. ‘Folktale’ qualities are found in some myths,
‘mythic’ qualities in some folktales. Greek myths like those about Perseus are replete with
folktale elements: the dangerous quest for the Gorgon’s head, the villainous king who
promotes it, the magical instruments that help the hero, the tricks by which he deceives the
old women and avoids Medusa’s fatal glance. Even the Oedipus story is developed around
incidents that are redolent of folktale: the child’s discovery by the herdsman, his growing up
in ignorance of his true parents, the tensions over kinship and marriage. Clearly the distinc-
tion is a complex one, and it will be elaborated in the next chapter. Meanwhile folktales
contribute another large class of traditional tales that do not accord with what mot people
mean by myths, or at least are not central and typical representatives of the genre.

n. 11. G. S. Kirk, ibid., pp. 27-28; 33.

All that is prudent to accept as a basic and general definition is ‘traditional tale’. Further
examination of that apparently banal phrase is rewarding. First, it emphasizes that a myth is
a story, a narrative with a dramatic structure and a climax – as Aristotle said, a beginning, a
middle and an end. Myth-making is a form of story-telling. Second, ‘traditional’ is sig-
nificant because it implies, not only that myths are stories that are told especially in trad-
itional types of society (which means above all in non-literate societies), but also that they
have succeeded in becoming traditional.

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 Not every tale, even in a story-telling and non-literate society, becomes traditional – is found
attractive or important enough to be passed from generation to generation. A tale must have
some special characteristic for this [27-28] to happen, some enduring quality that separates it
from the general run of transient stories. <…>
Perhaps the conclusion to be drawn from the Boas position, which recent anthropologists
are inclining (almost unconsciously) to revive, is that there is no viable distinction between
myths and folktales.3 Yet it is still useful, I believe, even in the absence of any hard-and-fast
dividing line, to identify certain kinds of motif, plot and treatment as belonging to a folktale
tradition rather than to what most people mean by myths.

n. 12. Jack Goody and Ian Watt, “The Consequences of Literacy”. In Jack Goody, ed., Literacy in
Traditional Societies (Cambridge, 1968), Myth and history, p. 46:

Non-literate peoples, of course, often make a distinction between the lighter folk-tale, the
graver myth, and the quasi-historical legend (e.g. the Trobriands; Malinowski [= B. Malin-
owski, Myth in Primitive Psychology, London] 1926: 33). But not so insistently, and for an
obvious reason. As long as the legendary and doctrinal aspects of the cultural tradition are
mediated orally, they are kept in relative harmony with each other and with the present needs
of society in two ways: through the unconscious operations of memory, and through the
adjustment of the reciter’s terms and attitudes to those of the audience before him. There is
evidence, for example, that such adaptations and omissions occurred in the oral trans-
mission of the Greek cultural tradition. But once the poems of Homer and Hesiod, which
contained much of the earlier history, religion and cosmology of the Greeks, had been writ-
ten down, succeeding generations were faced with old distinctions in sharply aggravated
form: how far was the information about their gods and heroes literally true? How could its
patent inconsistencies be explained? And how could the beliefs and attitudes implied be
brought into line with those of the present?
The disappearance of so many early Greek writings, and the difficulties of dating and
composition in many that survive, make anything like a clear reconstruction impossible.
Greek had of course been written, in a very limited way, during Mycenaean times. At about
1200 B.C. writing disappeared, and the alphabet was not developed until some four hundred
years later. Most scholars agree that in the middle or late eighth century the Greeks adapted
the purely consonantal system of Phoenicia, possibly at the trading port of al Mina (Pos-
eidon?). Much of the early writing consisted of ‘explanatory inscriptions on existing objects
– dedications on offerings, personal names on property, epitaphs on tombs, names of figures
in drawings’ (Jeffery [= L.H. Jeffery, The Local Scripts of Archaic Greece, Oxford] 1961:
46). The Homeric poems were written down between 750 and 650 B.C., and the seventh
century saw first the recording of lyric verse and then (at the end) the emergence of the great
Ionian school of scientist philosophers. [4] Thus within a century or two of the writing down
of the Homeric poems, many groups of writers and teachers appeared, first in Ionia and later
in Greece, who took as their point of departure the belief that much of what Homer had
apparently said was inconsistent and unsatisfactory in many respects. The logographers, who
set themselves to record the genealogies, chronologies and cosmologies which had been
handed down orally from the past, soon found that the task led them to use their critical and
rational powers to create a new individual synthesis. In non-literate society, of course, there
are usually some individuals whose interests lead them to collect, analyse and interpret the
cultural tradition in a personal way; and the written records suggest that this process went
considerably further among the literate élites of Egypt, Babylon and China, for example.
But, perhaps because in Greece reading and writing were less restricted to any particular
priestly or administrative groups, there seems to have been a more thoroughgoing individual
challenge to the orthodox cultural tradition in sixth-century Greece than occurred elsewhere.
Hecataeus, for example, proclaimed at about the turn of the century, ‘What I write is the
3
Cf. my preceding paper “’Something Said’: TheTraditional Story, or ‘Tale’”.

7
 account I believe to be true. For the stories the Greeks tell are many and in my opinion
ridiculous’ (Jacoby [= F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der Griechischen Historiker, I, Genealogie
und Mythographie, Berlin, 1923]), and offered his own rationalizations of the data on family
traditions and lineages which he had collected. Already the mythological mode of using the
past, the mode which, in Sorel’s words, makes it ‘a means of acting on the present’ (Hulme
[= T.E. Hulme, Reflections on Violence, New York] 1941: 136; Redfield [= R. Redfield, The
Primitive World and Its Transformations, Ithaca, New York] 1953: 125), has begun to
disappear.

That this trend of thought had much larger implications can be seen from the fact that the
beginnings of religious and natural philosophy are connected with similar critical departures
from the inherited traditions of the past; as W.B. Yeats wrote, with another tradition in mind:
‘Science is the critique of myths, there would be no Darwin had there been no Book of
Genesis’ (Hone [= J. Hone, W.B. Yeats, London] 1942: 405, our italics). Among the early
pre-Socratics there is much evidence of the close connection between new ideas and the
criticism of the old. Thus Xenophanes of Colophon (fl. c. 540 B.C.) rejected the ‘fables of
men of old’, and replaced the anthropomorphic gods of Homer and Hesiod who did ‘every-
thing that is disgraceful and blameworthy among men’ with a supreme god, ‘not at all like
mortals in body and mind’, [5] while Heraclitus of Ephesus (fl. c. 500 B.C.), the first great
philosopher of the problems of knowledge, whose system is based on the unity of opposites
expressed in the Logos or structural plan of things, also ridiculed the anthropomorphism and
idolatry of the Olympian religion. [6]

The critical and sceptical process continued, and, according to Cornford, ‘a great part of
the supreme god’s biography had to be frankly rejected as false, or reinterpreted as allegory,
or contemplated with reserve as mysterious myth too dark for human understanding’ (Corn-
ford [= F.M. Cornford, Greek Religious Thought from Homer to the Age of Alexander,
London] 1923: xv-xvi; Burnet 1908: 1). On the one hand the poets continued to use the trad-
itional legends for their poems and plays; on the other the prose writers attempted to wrestle
with the problems with which the changes in the cultural tradition had faced them. Even the
poets, however, had a different attitude to their material. Pindar, for example, used mythoi in
the sense of traditional stories, with the implication that they were not literally true; but
claimed that his own poems had nothing in common with the fables of the past (1st Olym-
pian Ode). As for the prose writers, and indeed some of the poets, they had set out to replace
myth with something else more consistent, with their sense of the logos, of the common and
all-encompassing truth which reconciles apparent contradictions.

[4] ‘It was in Ionia that the first completely rationalistic attempts to describe the nature of the
world took place’ (G.S. Kirk and J.E. Raven, The Presocratic Philosophers, Cambridge,
1957, p. 73). The work of the Milesian philosophers, Thales, Anaximander and Anaximenes,
is described by the authors as ‘clearly a development of the generic or genealogical approach
to nature exemplified by the Hesiodic Theogony’ (p. 73).
[5] Hermann Diels, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker (Berlin, 1951), fr. II, 23; see also John
Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy (2nd ed. London, 1908), pp. 131, 140-1, and Werner Jaeger,
The Theology of the Early Greek Philosophers (Oxford, 1947), pp. 42-7; Kirk and Raven,
The Presocratic Philosophers, pp. 163 ff.
[6] Diels, Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, fr. 40, 42, 56, 57, 106; see also Francis M.
Cornford, Principium Sapientiae: The Origins of Greek Philosophical Thought (Cambridge,
1952), pp. 112 ff.; Kirk and Raven, The Presocratic Philosophers, pp. 182 ff.

n. 13. Fritz Graf, Greek Mythology, op. cit., pp. 3-7:

8
 The crisis of Greek myth came at the moment when the cultural relevance of its narration
was called into question by the critical advocates of the new rationalism—the moment when
the fluid tradition, in which the myths were told over and over again and, with each retelling,
were adapted to the conditions of the present, were being replaced increasingly by the poetic
[3-4] version composed once and for all time. The notion that myth was veridical, however,
survived the crisis. Rhetoricians still defined a myth as “a fictitious story illustrating a truth”
(Theon, Progymnasmata 3), and allegorists attempted, down to the end of antiquity and be-
yond, to find philosophical truths and truths about the physical universe beneath the surface
of myth and in this way to uphold its cultural relevance. Even Plato, who resolutely excluded
myths from the realm of truth, believed that, in the realm that could not be reached through
dialectical reasoning, myths had at least some expressive power (see Chapter 8).<…>

Plato drew a distinction between “greater” and “lesser” myths. The lesser were told by
mothers, grandmothers, and nurses, the greater by poets (Republic 377c). The difference
between the two kinds lay above all in the occasion of the telling. Nurses and grandmothers
told stories privately, whenever the opportunity presented itself, and were free to adapt them
as they wished, whereas the truly relevant narration of myth, until the time of Euripides, was
public and took place at times prescribed by the religious calendar: thus, only the “greater
myths” were subject to group control. Originally, tragedies were performed only at the Dion-
ysia, a city festival held in honor of Dionysus. Choral songs, too, were sung at festivals of
the gods and victory celebrations. The Greek victory celebration was held not privately but
by the clan (genos), tribe (phyle), or polis. Similarly epic [4-5] recitation usually took place,
at least in post-Homeric times, on set occasions. The Homeric poems were recited in Athens
at the Panathenaea.

It is just possible that myths were passed along in nonpoetic forms—in prosaic, quotidian
narratives not bound to set institutions, as were the tales told by Plato’s nurses and grand-
mothers. But these tales were told for private entertainment and occasional instruction and
never had the social impact or cultural reverberation of [5-6] the poetic narration of myth.
Admittedly, we can scarcely imagine in what form the mythical narratives of the archaic
period were transmitted, except that they were, for the most part, oral. Still, a stray piece of
information about Arcadia, the most archaic region in ancient Greece, offers a clue to the
mystery. Polybius reports that even in his day Arcadian children “were accustomed, from an
early age, to sing hymns and paeans in which they celebrated their local gods and heroes in
accordance with ancestral custom” (4.20.8). Here the form in which the mythical subject
matter was passed on from one generation to the next was a poetic one, and one that had
institutional ties. For the youths did not just learn the hymns; presumably they also sang
them within the context of the communal festivals of their gods and heroes. <…>

Scholars have often found it difficult to distinguish between myth and other kinds of tradi-
tional tale: saga, legend, folktale, and fable. It is not always necessary or even possible to
draw such distinctions. For speakers of German the term saga (Sage) is more or less synon-
ymous with myth (Mythos)…. In Grimm’s usage the two terms are sometimes synonymous,
though occasionally he seems to want to restrict myth (Mythus, as he writes it) to antiquity.
If distinctions are drawn, they usually have to do with the cultural context in which the tale
was generated. <…>

It is somewhat easier to distinguish myth from fairy tale or folktale (Märchen). At first
glance the categories seems to be so elastic as to be interchangeable. Most of the volumes of
the [6-7] collection Märchen der Weltliteratur contain stories that elsewhere are called
myths; classical myths turn up later in postclassical folktales and are even told as folktales in
their own right.4

4
See Kirk, nn. 10-11, supra, as well as my separate discussion.

9
n. 14. On muthos in Aristotle, cf. Stephen Halliwell, Aristotle’s Poetics (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1986; Second Impression 1998), Ch. II, n. 16, pp. 57-58:
16
It is true that Socrates thinks of setting already existing in fables as a pis aller, since he
cannot invent his own. This still does not bridge the gap between Plato’s and Ar.’s positions.
The original sense of muthos was anything said or told: an utterance, speech, story, report,
etc. It later acquires the idea of something intrinsically false: a myth, fable, fiction, etc. Cf.
LSJ s.v. II 1-4. References to muthoi in poetry before Plato (e.g. Hom. Od. 11.368, Pindar
Ol. 1.29, Nem. 7.23) simply reflect the ordinary meanings of the term. Plato, exploiting the
connotations of falsehood (as well as associations with idle tales and the like), treats
muthologia (story-telling) as the essence of poetry: e.g. Phaedo 61b 4f., e2, 70b 6, Rep. 377d
ff., 380c 2, 394b 9f., Laws 941b-c.
Outside the Poetics, Ar.’s use of muthos and cognates almost invariably carries implica-
tions of falsehood, though not always as disparaging as at Met. 995a 4f., ‘fictional (muthôdê)
and childish’. He applies the words chiefly to: myth and legend (Phys. 218b8 24, Cael. 284a
18ff, HA 580a 17, MA 699a 27ff., Met. 982b 18f., EN 1100a 8, Pol. 1257b 16, 1269b 28,
1284a 22, 1341b 3), poetic theology (Met. 1000a 18, 1074a 38ff., 1091b 9), fable (Meteor.
356b 11-17, HA 578b 25, 579b 4, 609b 10, 617a 5, PA 641a 21). Although there are some
general references to poetic muthologia (e.g. EE 1230a 3), I cannot find the Poetics’ special
sense of muthos anywhere else in the corpus. What this means is that Ar. has taken a term
with the senses of story-fable-legend-myth, and without erasing these altogether (they can be
seen within the Poetics itself at 51b 24, 53a 18, 37, 53b 22) he has given the word a new
critical edge and significance. We must observe in particular the subtle movement away
from the association with traditional myths: a poetic muthos need not be traditional (51b
23ff.), and it may even borrow from history (ibid. 30-2). But whatever the source of
material, it must be made afresh – i.e. shaped into a coherent design – by the [57-58] maker-
poet, and the true muthos is the result, not the original material, of this art (esp. 51b 27-9).
See also ch. I pp. 22f.

n. 15. Also cf. Ralph McInerny, A History of Western Philosophy (Notre Dame, 1963),
Vol. 1, Part II: The Classical Period, Chapter III, Aristotle:

Let us first consider the term “myth” (mythos). It is possible to trace the history of this word
in such a way that a special use of it made by Aristotle in the Poetics can cast light on the
difficulty just posed. From signifying speech as opposed to action, the word came to signify
advice, a command, and then purpose or plan. Finally it meant a story which was disting-
uished from a merely historical narrative. We have here a use of the term that answers to
many instances of its use by Plato; moreover, it is the meaning of the term present in the
Poetics of Aristotle on which he founds his peculiar use of it to mean what we translate as
plot. (Cf. Else, Aristotle’s Poetics, pp. 242ff.) The tragedian takes the old stories (mythoi)
and imposes a plot (mythos) on them.5 (1451b24 ff.) The myth or plot of the play is the
principle of intelligibility of the actions depicted; what is more, the plot not only explains the
sequence but causes admiration and awe in the spectator. We have here the root of Aris-
totle’s famous comparison of history and poetry according to which poetry is more philoso-
phical and [more] serious than history. (cf. 1451b1 ff.) Poetry is not simply a narrative of
what has happened; rather it involves a kind of generalization of a type of occurrence. This
entails that poetry is more explanatory than history. Now what we have done is to move
from a comparison of myth and philosophy to the use of the term “myth” in the Poetics of
Aristotle, a movement which suggests not only a link between myth and poetry, but a
similarity between poetry and philosophy in terms of universality and consequent explana-
tory power. That is, while we began by seeking the meaning of philosophy by asking what
5
It would be more accurate to say that out of a (traditional) ‘story’ so understood the poet composes a plot.

10
 philosophy is not, we have actually arrived at a rough indication of what Aristotle thought
philosophy is.

n. 16. For others meanings, cf. Malcolm Wilson, Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2000.07.08,
review of Richard Buxton (ed.), From Myth to Reason? Studies in the Development of
Greek Thought (Oxford, 1999), on Thomas Johansen, “Myth and Logos in Aristotle”:6

Thomas Johansen identifies three uses of mythos in Aristotle. First, it is a term of abuse
against Herodotos for fanciful stories.7 Second, it is a term for a false explanatory account.
Because such myths are explanatory, they appear in his scientific work and are part of the
endoxa.8 Third, in accordance with Aristotle’s cyclic theory of history, they sometimes
preserve (as, e.g., the idea that the first substances are gods) the remnant of the advanced
state of science which existed before the last cataclysm. 9 [But fourth, it means “plot”
(B.A.M.)]

Supplement. The Gods according to the chief poets and philosophers of Greece:

n. 1. Gerard Nadeff, “Allegory and the Origins and Development of Philosophy From the
Presocratics to the Enlightenment,” Canadian Philosophical Association Presidential Ad-
dress delivered at York University, May 29, 2006:10

The word ‘myth’ is notoriously difficult to define. No one definition has been universally
accepted. In a general sense, myth is a message that a social group considers to have re-
ceived from its ancestors and that it transmits orally from generation to generation. In the
Greek oral tradition, myths took the form of poetry and it was the great poets, Homer and
Hesiod, who are seen as the primary ‘creators’ of ‘oral tradition’ and, by extension, of
‘myth.’ This is also the position of Herodotus (484-420BC) when he states that ‘Homer and
Hesiod are the poets who composed our theogonies and described the gods for us, giving
them all their appropriate titles, offices, and powers.’ (2.53) The gods (theoi) were so named,
Herodotus notes, because they disposed all things in order, that is, established the physical
and moral/social order of the universe (Histories 2.52.1).

n. 2. Herodotus, The Histories, 2.53.1-3. In Herodotus, with an English translation by A.

D. Godley (Cambridge, 1920):

6
(http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/bmcr/2000/2000-07-08.html [5/11/04])
7
This is the work of the ‘storyteller’ or muthologos; cf. Brander Matthews, The Short-Story: Specimens
Illustrating Its Development (New York, 1907), “Introduction”, p. 4:

Brief tales of another kind were known to the ancients, Oriental in their origin, for the most part, and
abounding in that liking for the supernatural which characterizes the majority of the stories that have
come to us from the East. …There are the cleverly narrated anecdotes which we find here and there in
the pages of Herodotus,1 who was a historian with a full share of the gift of story-telling, and who was
also a traveler with a natural desire ever to hear and to tell something new and something striking.

Note 1. See, for example, the tale of Polycrates and his ring, III, 39–43, and the longer narrative
dealing with “Rhampsinitus and the Robber,” II, 121.
8
I.e. the attempt to explain one mythical thing by another mythical thing, such as the gods needing to con-
sume ambrosia and nectar in order to maintain their immortality.
9
I.e. ‘enigmatic’ myth, for which see infra.
10
(http://www.acpcpa.ca/publications/presidential-addresses/2006-in-english/ [2/13/07])

11
 But whence each of the gods came to be, or whether all had always been, and how they
appeared in form, they did not know until yesterday or the day before, so to speak; for I
suppose Hesiod and Homer flourished not more than four hundred years earlier than I; and
these are the ones who taught the Greeks the descent of the gods [theogonia], and gave the
gods their names, and determined their spheres and functions, and described their outward
forms. But the poets who are said to have been earlier than these men were, in my opinion,
later. The earlier part of all this is what the priestesses of Dodona tell; the later, that which
concerns Hesiod and Homer, is what I myself say.

n. 3. Harry Thurston Peck. Harpers Dictionary of Classical Antiquities (New York, 1898),
Epos:

…The current ideas of the nature and action of the gods tended more and more to take the
form of poetical myths respecting their birth, actions, and sufferings. Hence, these compos-
itions, of which an idea may be derived from some of the so-called Homeric Hymns, grad-
ually assumed an epic character. In course of time the epic writers threw off their connec-
tion with religion, and struck out on independent lines. Confining themselves no longer to
the myths about the gods, they celebrated the heroic deeds both of mythical antiquity and of
the immediate past.... Thus, about B.C. 900, epic poetry was brought to its highest perfection
by the genius of Homer, the reputed author of the Iliad and Odyssey. After Homer it sank,
never to rise again, from the height to which he had raised it....

n. 4. ibid, Mythologia:

(muqologi/a, Plato, De Rep. 394 B). Mythology; a term sometimes used of the collected
myths of a race or nation, and sometimes of the scientific study of such myths. A myth
(mu=qoj) is a story, more or less poetic, related of gods or heroes. It is not a pure product of
the imagination, but is best regarded as in a way related to fact, whether the fact be a pre-
ceding reality or some often-recurring phase of nature. The Greeks, a people most prolific
in the development and elaboration of myths, them-selves took the view that there is
necessarily some meaning in a myth, either an history-ical occurrence disguised and
exaggerated or an operation of nature veiled in an allegory. Thus Anaxagoras regarded
the true meaning of most of the myths to be psycholog-ical; Empedocles, philosophical.
Euhemerus (q.v.) gave a rationalistic turn to mythology, stripping away the element of the
supernatural altogether; though Gruppe takes the ground that the work of Euhemerus is best
regarded as a work of pure fiction, with no ulterior mo-tive behind it. The Stoics at Rome
tried to explain all myths as allegorical descriptions of physical facts, but this failed to
account for just those myths which most required explan-ation—the hideously immoral and
bestial myths that troubled the minds of men like Plato.

It is safe to say that most myths are the result of man’s observations of nature, whose various
forms are personified as powerful beings by the imaginations of primitive men. These forms
were regarded as in part hostile and in part friendly to man. A more advanced stage of men-
tal development elaborated these crude conceptions, and began to regard these beings as
acting in accordance with fixed moral laws and endowed with human forms. Thus we have
Anthropomorphism. Poets and story-tellers brought the gods into connection with one
another by inventing genealogies for them and building up a whole political system, presided
over by Zeus, the father alike of gods and men. Around the earlier and ruder fancies a
wonderful maze was now woven, adorned by all the arts of poetry and prose and embedded
in the nation’s literature.

Among the Romans the cruder and simpler notion prevailed much longer—in fact, through-
out the whole period of purely national development. To them the gods were still only the

12
 natural forces—beings strangely impersonal and making little demand upon the imagination
or the affection. They were to be propitiated, but not loved. Their worship was a State affair,
and the early Roman performed his religious duties in much the same spirit as he paid his
taxes. This is shown in the very nature of the deities at Rome—gods not only of the sky and
the earth, the sea and the world below, but gods of thievery and lust, of typhoid fever and
sewers. Later, when the Romans came into contact with the Greeks and began the systematic
study of their literature, they adopted the Greek conception of the gods and the genealogies
worked out by Hesiod and others. They transplanted the Greek myths and told them of such
of their own gods and goddesses as bore the closest likeness to those of the Greeks,
identifying Zeus with Iupiter, Heré with Iuno, Ares with Mars, Athené with Minerva, and so
on. For some of their deities, as, for instance, Ianus, they could find no Hellenic prototype.
(emphasis added)

n. 5. For an excellent resume of classical views, cf. “Introduction” to [Marcus Tullius

Cicero,] De Natura Deorum Libri Tres, ed. Austin Stickney (Boston, 1881):

The earliest speculation of the Greeks, if it deserves the name, on the origin of the
world and the forces that formed it coincides at least partially with the ideas which we
find more or less plainly indicated in the oldest poetry of Homer and Hesiod. The prim-
aeval water of Thales may be recognized in the Homeric Oceanus, the origin of all things;
and the primaeval air of Anaximenes may correspond to the Hesiodic Chaos 3. But the
popular religion of the Greeks left the origin of things quite out of consideration; and,
taking for granted the existence of the universe and of the gods, insisted only upon reverence
to the gods as exercising the government of the world and presiding over human life, each in
his own sphere and office. No one of the older philosophers thought it necessary to contra-
dict this faith in general, although they might not have been led to it by their own specula-
tions. They either left it to stand upon its own merits, or felt its influence so strongly as to
recognize it, and so to keep religion and speculation separate. Although they critised certain
popular and mythological conceptions, and sometimes incurred opposition and persecution
for so doing4, yet on the whole we hear very little of any aggressive contradiction on their
part, or even of remarks implying indifference or disparagement. The reason is that as there
were no religious dogmas or doctrine authorized and protected by the state or the priesthood,
the ritual worship was the only thing established and inviolable; this simply prescribed cer-
tain symbolic acts which were quite consistent with different conceptions of the gods, and
might be understood and explained by different persons in different ways - so that any one,
though not sharing in the prevailing belief, or even though quite breaking loose from it in his
philosophical speculations, might still have adhered to the common ritual so as to avoid
collision with the people or priesthood. When therefore Xenophanes declared that man had
only opinions, but no positive knowledge in regard to the gods, no fault was found with him,
because he did not thereby deny their existence; still less when he rejected the fables of the
gods given by Homer, Hesiod, and other poets, pronouncing them ridiculous, undignified,
and in part blasphemous. We are not to suppose that the priests or the people ever regarded
these fables as anything more than entertaining stories or perhaps picture-esque allegories,
not to be taken literally; they did not consider them as real histories which the poets had
received by revelation and which it was sinful not to believe 5. Undoubtedly the fables had a
real influence upon the belief of the multitude, and gave rise to very unworthy and perverted
conceptions of the gods, which were only too easily taken up and held fast when the deities
were imagined to be like men.[11]

11[?]
N.B. Stickney appears to contradict himself here. How could “perverted conceptions” have arisen unless
the myths had been taken literally?

13
3
On the Chaos and the various explanations of it see Schöm. Opusc. Acad. II, p. 29, and 68
ff.
4
Anaxagoras was prosecuted for infidelity, because he explained the sun to be a glowing
mass of stone, and thus appeared to deny the god of the sun. Diog. L. II. 12. But this was
surely not the only ground of the action. Compare Schöm. Gr. Alterth. II³, p. 585.
5
Particular fables might certainly for some reason or other be held in especial veneration
among the people, so that anyone who denied them passed among believers for a godless
free-thinker. See Lucian. Philops. Ch. 3. But except for this the phrase, polla pseudontai
aoidoi [‘Bards tell many a lie’] had even become proverbial. Arist. Metaph. A. 2, p. 983.

The more clear-thinking minds however, though not themselves sharing these anthropo-
morphic conceptions, doubtless saw very well the uselessness of attempting to convince the
people of their error, and were satisfied if they could succeed in clearing them of all the
attendant lowness and immorality. We have, it is true, no definite information of the attitude
of the older philosophers in this matter; but all that we know is quite in harmony with the
view here advanced.

Although Xenophanes for example and Parmenides recognized only one true god, and did
not consider the popular deities as gods at all in the real sense, but only as something
between god and man, they yet accommodated their language to the common usage, and
designated them also as gods 6. We have express evidence too that Pythagoras paid a pious
reverence to the popular gods7 and none of the older philosophers seems to have been
accused of the contrary. It is true that Socrates was reproached by his accusers with denying
the gods of the people and introducing new ones; but this reproach was in fact rather a
deduction drawn by themselves from certain utterances of Socrates than one which he had
deserved by his actual opinions. We know on the contrary by the most credible evidence 8
that he by no means withdrew from the traditional worship of the gods, and hence did not
deny their existence; although he imagined them as different from the common conception,
and thought it most advisable not to touch upon the mythological fables unless occasion
required.9 Nor did the pupils of Socrates find it necessary to deny the existence of the
popular deities, although Plato held that there was a higher god above them whose creatures
and servants they were; and we do not find that he was attacked for despising the popular
religion. His opinion of the mythological fables may be sufficiently gathered from the fact
that he banishes from his ideal state the poets who originated and circulated them; although
he is not at all opposed in itself to a mythological form of discourse upon divine things;
indeed he often makes use of it to express figuratively what he cannot express literally.
Antisthenes too assumed, like Plato, only one supreme deity, but did not hesitate to make
the multitude of popular deities subordinate to him. He regarded the mythological fables, at
least in part, as allegories; and expressed in the severest manner his disapproval of the
concept-tions of the gods which corresponded to the literal sense of the fables. 10 Aristotle
took the same course11: and what we read of his disciples, as for example Heraclides of
Pontus or Theophrastus (Cic. Nat. Deor. I, 13, 34-35), shows only views which, though
foreign to the popular religion, are still not irreconcilable with it. No more did Strato come
into collision with the popular faith in accepting, according to Cicero and others, a blind,
unconscious natural force as the beginning of things; for he might have derived the gods also
from this force, just as for example the Hesiodic theogony derives them from Chaos.
6
See Xenophanis carm. reliquiae, ed. Karsten, p. 103, and 113 ff.
7
See Iamblich. vit. Pyth. 5, 100, 122, 144, 155. Comp. Cic. De Leg. II, 11.
8
See Xenophon, Mem. I, 1, 2; II, 6, 8; IV, 3, 12; 7, 10. Anab. III, 1, 5. Plat. Phaed. p. 118 A.
9
Compare Plat. Phaedr. p. 229 C; Republ. III, 378 D.
10
Julian. Orat. VII, p. 209 A; 215 C; 217 A. Clem. Alex. Strom. II, 20, 107. Compare also
Lobeck, Aglaoph, p. 159.

14
11
Compare C. Zell, De Aristotele patriarum religionum aestimatore. Heidelb. 1847. [N.B.
Stickney fails to recognize here that Aristotle taught a twofold form of myth, as we shall
explain further below.]

The relation then between the philosophers thus far spoken of and the popular religion was,
at the least, a peaceful one; although they did not expressly defend, they still did not attack
it; they easily kept on good terms with it, and allowed it all the influence it could command.
But the Sophists took up a hostile position; and the most noted among them, however differ-
ing in other matters, had this in common, that, as Protagoras expressed it, they made man
the measure of all things; that is, they denied to the human mind the faculty of forming
anything more than a subjective judgment of things, and held that objective truth was
unattainable. For them therefore, least of all things, could the substance of the popular
religion lay claim to pass for anything more than a subjective conception. Protagoras expres-
sed himself thus: that whether there were gods or not, that is, whether there was any actual
reality corresponding to the common religious conceptions, he did not attempt to say.
Prodicus seems to have regarded the belief in the gods in the same way; he thought that
mankind had revered, deified and worshipped the objects they found most beneficial and
indispensable to their life, such as the sun, moon, stars, fire, rivers and the like. Others
declared religion to be simply the invention of shrewd lawgivers who tried to control the
passions and bridle the fierceness of men by the fear of supernatural powers. 12

Finally, others explained the supposed gods to be only men of old times, rulers and heroes,
who had been deified; and they regarded the myths as distorted accounts of their doings and
sufferings. This last view is called the historic or pragmatic, because it claimed to find in the
myths actual events, though not free from falsification; it is also called the Euhemeristic
view, after Euhemerus of Messana spoken of in the note to I, 42, 119, who elaborated it
and applied it to almost all the popular deities, although many similar explanations of the
myths had been tried before him. But Euhemerus does not seem to have set out from a
distinct philosophical system or any positive views on the deity based upon it. The
circumstance that he is spoken of as an atheist must not be taken for a proof that he entirely
denied the existence a deity; for that term was not unfrequently applied to such as only
declared their disbelief in the gods of the people. Euhemerus had many followers. Among
them were the theologi, mentioned by Cicero, III, 21, 53; from the same passage we learn
that, in consequence of the many and contradictory fables that were current about each of the
gods, it had been found necessary to distinguish several persons of the same name, in order
to remove the contradictions. For this reason Johannes the Lydian (De Mensibus IV, 48)
calls this view the heroic and separatist view, ton hêroikon kai meristikon logon; the first,
because it explained the gods to be heroes of the olden time, the second, because it
distinguished the fables in the manner just alluded to.

Other philosophers, antagonists of the popular belief, directed their arguments not against
the existence of gods of all sorts, but only of such gods as the people imagined. To this class
belong especially Democritus and Epicurus, who conceded the truth of the popular faith
only to a limited extent; they held that a belief so universally diffused and so fast-rooted in
the minds of men must be more than a mere illusion, that some reality must lie at the
foundation of it. But further than this they did not go; they allowed no voice to the common
belief in regard to the nature of the gods, to their power and influence over the world and
mankind; on these points they claimed that speculation alone had a right to be heard.
Accordingly Democritus explained the gods to be atomic shapes, emanations from a
universal divine substance, evidently very different beings from the popular deities; yet not
without influence, sometimes benevolent, sometimes hostile, upon the lives of men. 13 But
Epicurus went further. His gods, atomic shapes like those of Democritus, lived in happy
idleness, without the slightest influence upon the world, with no evident relations to human

15
 life; and when he spoke of a religious reverence due to the gods in view of their happiness
and their majesty, he evidently did so with no real conviction; although it would be too much
to say that he did not believe the existence of any gods, and only pretended to do so for fear
of persecution. The reasons against this opinion may be found at the end of the Summary of
the first book.
12
See Cic. N. D. I, 42, 118; Plat. Leg. X, p. 889 E; Critiae fr. ap. Sext. Emp. adv. math. IX,
54. Also Polyb. VI, 56.
13
See the note on I, 43, 120.

The Stoics maintained a very different attitude towards the popular belief; to a certain
degree at least they undertook to support and defend it. They distinguished at the outset a
threefold theology: the political, the mythical or poetical, and the philosophical or
physical.14

By the first they understood the religious ordinances recognized in the various states, and
placed under the control of the public authority; that is, the traditional or legally established
regulations about the deities to be worshipped in the state, and the manner of paying this
worship.

The second head comprised the fables recounted by the poets of the gods and their doings.
So far as these pretended to be narratives of actual events, they were entirely rejected by the
Stoics as being equally destitute of external or internal truth; that is, they neither contained
any basis of fact, nor were they in harmony with the nature of the gods. Of course they
thought they discovered a kernel of truth in many fables, a physical or ethical proposition
under a mythical form, but certainly not in all; and they disapproved in general of the
mythical form of treatment of these subjects, because few persons understood it, and the
majority were misled by it into false and perverted conceptions of the gods.

They thought, however, to find the key to the understanding of the most important fables in
the third part, the physical or philosophic theology; this not only undertook to prove in
general the existence of divine beings and a divine order and government of the world, but
also recognized the deities proposed by the political theology as objects of worship; and
although not representing this recognition as necessary, it at least sought to justify it as
reasonable and probable. As the chief heads of this physical theology of the Stoics are
contained in Cicero’s second book, and are grouped together in the Summary of that book,
we may refer to that for the details, adding however here a few observations.
14
Compare Ps. Plutarch De plac. phil. I, 6, 8. Varro and Scaevola made the same distinc-
tions. See Augustine C. D. IV, 27; VI, 5. Compare also Eusebius pr. evang. IV, 1, p. 138,
Heinich. (emphasis added)

N.B. Let us next consider more closely the understanding of myth descending to us from
classical sources, beginning with the three forms of ancient theology:

16
Note 2. The threefold theology of the Gentiles according to Marcus Varro:

n. 1. Encyclopedia Americana, vol. 26, page 516-518, 1967 edition, s.v. “Theology”:

Marcus Terentius Varro [116 BC – 27 BC], probably following the Stoic philosopher
Panaetius, divided theology into three: mythical, natural (or physical), and civil (or political).
Mythical theology was concerned with the myths about the gods and the doctrines implied in
them; political theology with the descriptions of the rites and of the religious practices of
various cities or states; and natural theology was the science of divinity, the proper
occupation of philosophers.

n. 2. Latin Literature: A History, Gian Biagio Conte (trans. by J. B. Solodow), John Hop-
kins: 1994 ed.:

In it [sc. the Antiquitates] Varro distinguished three ways of conceiving of divinity: a fab-
ulous theology, including the stories of mythology and their elaboration at the hands of the
poets; a natural theology, that is, the philosophers’ theories on divinity, which must remain
exclusively in the possession of the intellectuals of the ruling class and not be spread among
the people, for fear that it would threaten the idea of the sacredness of the state institutions ;
and finally, the civil theology, which conceives of divinity in relation to a political need and
thus is useful to the state.
Varro took this arrangement of religion from Stoic theology but adapted it to contemporary
concerns: the political necessity of preserving the cultural inheritance of Roman religion,
even without accepting its credo. The very structure of the Antiquitates, which puts Res
Humanae before Res Divinae shows how for Varro religion, with its cults and rituals, was a
creation of men.

n. 3. The three forms of theology according to Varro:

1. The natural theology of the philosophers

2. The civil theology (which has to do with the worship of idols in the temples)

3. The fabulous theology (which has to do with the fables of the poets)

n. 4. In regard to these forms, cf. Romans 1:23-25 (Douay-Rheims).

1:23. And they changed the glory of the incorruptible God into the likeness of the image of a
corruptible man, and of birds, and of fourfooted beasts, and of creeping things.

1:24. Wherefore God gave them up to the desires of their heart, unto uncleanness, to
dishonour their own bodies among themselves.

1:25. Who changed the truth of God into a lie; and worshipped and served the creature rather
than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen.

n. 5. For their correlation with the foregoing division of St. Paul, cf. St. Thomas Aquinas,
Commentary on St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans (Super ad Romanos, cap. 1, lect. 7) (tr.
B.A.M.):

17
 But the Apostle appears to touch upon a threefold theology of the Gentiles. First, civil,
which used to be observed by the priests in the adoration of idols in the Temple; and with
respect to this he says: And changed the incorruptible glory of God.

Second, fabulous [or mythical] theology, which the poets used to hand on in the theatres;
and with respect to this he says: Who changed the truth of God into a lie.

Third, natural theology, which the philosophers have observed in the world, worshipping
the parts of the world; and with respect to this he says: And they worshipped and served the
creature rather than the Creator.

n. 6. For the foundational account, cf. St. Augustine of Hippo, City of God VI. 5-8:

Chapter 5. -Concerning the Three Kinds of Theology According to Varro, Namely,

One Fabulous, the Other Natural, the Third Civil.

Now what are we to say of this proposition of his, namely, that there are three kinds of theo-
logy, that is, of the account which is given of the gods; and of these, the one is called mythi-
cal, the other physical, and the third civil? Did the Latin usage permit, we should call the
kind which he has placed first in order fabular, but let us call it fabulous, for mythical is
derived from the Greek mu=qoj, a fable; but that the second should be called natural, the
usage of speech now admits; the third he himself has designated in Latin, calling it civil.
Then he says, “they call that kind mythical which the poets chiefly use; physical, that which
the philosophers use; civil, that which the people use. As to the first I have mentioned,” says
he, “in it are many fictions, which are contrary to the dignity and nature of the immortals.
For we find in it that one god has been born from the head, another from the thigh, another
from drops of blood; also, in this we find that gods have stolen, committed adultery, served
men; in a word, in this all manner of things are attributed to the gods, such as may befall, not
merely any man, but even the most contemptible man.”

He certainly, where he could, where he dared, where he thought he could do it with im-
punity, has manifested, without any of the haziness of ambiguity, how great injury was done
to the nature of the gods by lying fables; for he was speaking, not concerning natural theo-
logy, not concerning civil, but concerning fabulous theology, which he thought he could
freely find fault with.

Let us see, now, what he says concerning the second kind. “The second kind which I have
explained,” he says, “is that concerning which philosophers have left many books, in which
they treat such questions as these: what gods there are, where they are, of what kind and
character they are, since what time they have existed, or if they have existed from eternity;
whether they are of fire, as Heraclitus believes; or of number, as Pythagoras; or of atoms, as
Epicurus says; and other such things, which men’s ears can more easily hear inside the walls
of a school than outside in the Forum.” He finds fault with nothing in this kind of theology
which they call physical, and which belongs to philosophers, except that he has related their
controversies among themselves, through which there has arisen a multitude of dissentient
sects. Nevertheless he has removed this kind from the Forum, that is, from the populace, but
he has shut it up in schools. But that first kind, most false and most base, he has not removed
from the citizens. Oh, the religious ears of the people, and among them even those of the
Romans, that are not able to bear what the philosophers dispute concerning the gods! But
when the poets sing and stage-players act such things as are derogatory to the dignity and the
nature of the immortals, such as may befall not a man merely, but the most contemptible
man, they not only bear, but willingly listen to. Nor is this all, but they even consider that
these things please the gods, and that they are propitiated by them.

18
But someone may say, Let us distinguish these two kinds of theology, the mythical and the
physical,—that is, the fabulous and the natural,—from this civil kind about which we are
now speaking. Anticipating this, he himself has distinguished them. Let us see now how he
explains the civil theology itself. I see, indeed, why it should be distinguished as [from the?]
fabulous, even because it is false, because it is base, because it is unworthy. But to wish to
distinguish the natural from the civil, what else is that but to confess that the civil itself is
false? For if that be natural, what fault has it that it should be excluded? And if this which is
called civil be not natural, what merit has it that it should be admitted? This, in truth, is the
cause why he wrote first concerning human things, and afterwards concerning divine things;
since in divine things he did not follow nature, but the institution of men.

Let us look at this civil theology of his. “The third kind,” says he, “is that which citizens in
cities, and especially the priests, ought to know and to administer. From it is to be known
what god each one may suitably worship, what sacred rites and sacrifices each one may
suitably perform.” Let us still attend to what follows. “The first theology,” he says, “is
especially adapted to the theatre, the second to the world, the third to the city.” Who does not
see to which he gives the palm? Certainly to the second, which he said above is that of the
philosophers. For he testifies that this pertains to the world, than which they think there is
nothing better. But those two theologies, the first and the third,—to wit, those of the theatre
and of the city,—has he distinguished them or united them? For although we see that the city
is in the world, we do not see that it follows that any things belonging to the city pertain to
the world. For it is possible that such things may be worshipped and believed in the city,
according to false opinions, as have no existence either in the world or out of it. But where is
the theatre but in the city? Who instituted the theatre but the state? For what purpose did it
constitute it but for scenic plays? And to what class of things do scenic plays belong but to
those divine things concerning which these books of Varro’s are written with so much
ability?

Chapter 6.-Concerning the Mythic, that Is, the Fabulous, Theology,

and the Civil, Against Varro.

O Marcus Varro! thou art the most acute, and without doubt the most learned, but still a
man, not God,—now lifted up by the Spirit of God to see and to announce divine things,
thou seest, indeed, that divine things are to be separated from human trifles and lies, but thou
fearest to offend those most corrupt opinions of the populace, and their customs in public
superstitions, which thou thyself, when thou considerest them on all sides, perceivest, and all
your literature loudly pronounces to be abhorrent from the nature of the gods, even of such
gods as the frailty of the human mind supposes to exist in the elements of this world. What
can the most excellent human talent do here? What can human learning, though manifold,
avail thee in this perplexity? Thou desirest to worship the natural gods; thou art compelled to
worship the civil. Thou hast found some of the gods to be fabulous, on whom thou vomitest
forth very freely what thou thinkest, and, whether thou willest or not, thou wettest therewith
even the civil gods. Thou sayest, forsooth, that the fabulous are adapted to the theatre, the
natural to the world, and the civil to the city; though the world is a divine work, but cities
and theatres are the works of men, and though the gods who are laughed at in the theatre are
not other than those who are adored in the temples; and ye do not exhibit games in honor of
other gods than those to whom ye immolate victims. How much more freely and more subtly
wouldst thou have decided these hadst thou said that some gods are natural, others estab-
lished by men; and concerning those who have been so established, the literature of the poets
gives one account, and that of the priests another,-both of which are, nevertheless, so
friendly the one to the other, through fellowship in falsehood, that they are both pleasing to
the demons, to whom the doctrine of the truth is hostile.

19
That theology, therefore, which they call natural, being put aside for a moment, as it is after-
wards to be discussed, we ask if any one is really content to seek a hope for eternal life from
poetical, theatrical, scenic gods? Perish the thought! The true God avert so wild and sacri-
legious a madness! What, is eternal life to be asked from those gods whom these things
pleased, and whom these things propitiate, in which their own crimes are represented? No
one, as I think, has arrived at such a pitch of headlong and furious impiety. So then, neither
by the fabulous nor by the civil theology does any one obtain eternal life. For the one sows
base things concerning the gods by feigning them, the other reaps by cherishing them; the
one scatters lies, the other gathers them together; the one pursues divine things with false
crimes, the other incorporates among divine things the plays which are made up of these
crimes; the one sounds abroad in human songs impious fictions concerning the gods, the
other consecrates these for the festivities of the gods themselves; the one sings the misdeeds
and crimes of the gods, the other loves them; the one gives forth or feigns, the other either
attests the true or delights in the false. Both are base; both are damnable. But the one which
is theatrical teaches public abomination, and that one which is of the city adorns itself with
that abomination. Shall eternal life be hoped for from these, by which this short and temporal
life is polluted? Does the society of wicked men pollute our life if they insinuate themselves
into our affections, and win our assent? and does not the society of demons pollute the life,
who are worshipped with their own crimes?-if with true crimes, how wicked the demons! if
with false, how wicked the worship!

When we say these things, it may perchance seem to some one who is very ignorant of these
matters that only those things concerning the gods which are sung in the songs of the poets
and acted on the stage are unworthy of the divine majesty, and ridiculous, and too detestable
to be celebrated, whilst those sacred things which not stage-players but priests perform are
pure and free from all unseemliness. Had this been so, never would any one have thought
that these theatrical abominations should be celebrated in their honor, never would the gods
themselves have ordered them to be performed to them. But men are in nowise ashamed to
perform these things in the theatres, because similar things are carried on in the temples. In
short, when the fore-mentioned author attempted to distinguish the civil theology from the
fabulous and natural, as a sort of third and distinct kind, he wished it to be understood to be
rather tempered by both than separated from either. For he says that those things which the
poets write are less than the people ought to follow, whilst what the philosophers say is more
than it is expedient for the people to pry into. “Which,” says he, “differ in such a way, that
nevertheless not a few things from both of them have been taken to the account of the civil
theology; wherefore we will indicate what the civil theology has in common with that of the
poet, though it ought to be more closely connected with the theology of philosophers.” Civil
theology is therefore not quite disconnected from that of the poets. Nevertheless, in another
place, concerning the generations of the gods, he says that the people are more inclined
toward the poets than toward the physical theologists. For in this place he said what ought to
be done; in that other place, what was really done. He said that the latter had written for the
sake of utility, but the poets for the sake of amusement. And hence the things from the poets’
writings, which the people ought not to follow, are the crimes of the gods; which,
nevertheless, amuse both the people and the gods. For, for amusement’s sake, he says, the
poets write, and not for that of utility; nevertheless they write such things as the gods will
desire, and the people perform.

Chapter 7.-Concerning the Likeness and Agreement of the Fabulous and Civil Theologies.

That theology, therefore, which is fabulous, theatrical, scenic, and full of all baseness and
unseemliness, is taken up into the civil theology; and part of that theology, which in its
totality is deservedly judged to be worthy of reprobation and rejection, is pronounced worthy
to be cultivated and observed;-not at all an incongruous part, as I have undertaken to show,

20
and one which, being alien to the whole body, was unsuitably attached to and suspended
from it, but a part entirely congruous with, and most harmoniously fitted to the rest, as a
member of the same body. For what else do those images, forms, ages, sexes, characteristics
of the gods show? If the poets have Jupiter with a beard and Mercury beardless, have not the
priests the same? Is the Priapus of the priests less obscene than the Priapus of the players?
Does he receive the adoration of worshippers in a different form from that in which he
moves about the stage for the amusement of spectators? Is not Saturn old and Apollo young
in the shrines where their images stand as well as when represented by actors’ masks? Why
are Forculus, who presides over doors, and Limentinus, who presides over thresholds and
lintels, male gods, and Cardea between them feminine, who presides over hinges. Are not
those things found in books on divine things, which grave poets have deemed unworthy of
their verses? Does the Diana of · the theatre carry arms, whilst the Diana of the city is simply
a virgin? Is the stage Apollo a lyrist, but the Delphic Apollo ignorant of this art? But these
things are decent compared with the more shameful things. What was thought of Jupiter
himself by those who placed his wet nurse in the Capitol? Did they not bear witness to
Euhemerus, who, not with the garrulity of a fable-teller, but with the gravity of an historian
who had diligently investigated the matter, wrote that all such gods had been men and
mortals? And they who appointed the Epulones as parasites at the table of Jupiter, what else
did they wish for but mimic sacred rites. For if any mimic had said that parasites of Jupiter
were made use of at his table, he would assuredly have appeared to be seeking to call forth
laughter. Varro said it,-not when he was mocking, but when he was commending the gods
did he say it. His books on divine, not on human, things testify that he wrote this,-not where
he set forth the scenic games, but where he explained the Capitoline laws. In a word, he is
conquered, and confesses that, as they made the gods with a human form, so they believed
that they are delighted with human pleasures. For also malign spirits were not so wanting to
their own business as not to confirm noxious opinions in the minds of men by converting
them into sport. Whence also is that story about the sacristan of Hercules, which says that,
having nothing to do, he took to playing at dice as a pastime, throwing them alternately with
the one hand for Hercules, with the other for himself, with this understanding, that if he
should win, he should from the funds of the temple prepare himself a supper, and hire a
mistress; but if Hercules should win the game, he himself should, at his own expense,
provide the same for the pleasure of Hercules. Then, when he had been beaten by himself, as
though by Hercules, he gave to the god Hercules the supper he owed him, and also the most
noble harlot Larentina. But she, having fallen asleep in the temple, dreamed that Hercules
had had intercourse with her, and had said to her that she would find her payment with the
youth whom she should first meet on leaving the temple, and that she was to believe this to
be paid to her by Hercules. And so the first youth that met her on going out was the wealthy
Tarutius, who kept her a long time, and when he died left her his heir. She, having obtained a
most ample fortune, that she should not seem ungrateful for the divine hire, in her turn made
the Roman people her heir, which she thought to be most acceptable to the deities; and,
having disappeared, the will was found. By which meritorious conduct they say that she
gained divine honors.

Now had these things been reigned by the poets and acted by the mimics, they would with-
out any doubt have been said to pertain to the fabulous theology, and would have been
judged worthy to be separated from the dignity of the civil theology. But when these shame-
ful things,-not of the poets, but of the people; not of the mimics, but of the sacred things; not
of the theatres, but of the temples, that is, not of the fabulous, but of the civil theology,-are
reported by so great an author, not in vain do the actors represent with theatrical art the
baseness of the gods, which is so great; but surely in vain do the priests attempt, by rites
called sacred, to represent their nobleness of character, which has no existence. There are
sacred rites of Juno; and these are celebrated in her beloved island, Samos, where she was
given in marriage to Jupiter. There are sacred rites of Ceres, in which Proserpine is sought

21
for, having been carried off by Pluto. There are sacred rites of Venus, in which, her beloved
Adonis being slain by a boar’s tooth, the lovely youth is lamented. There are sacred rites of
the mother of the gods, in which the beautiful youth Atys, loved by her, and castrated by her
through a woman’s jealousy, is deplored by men who have suffered the like calamity, whom
they call Galli.

Since, then, these things are more unseemly than all scenic abomination, why is it that they
strive to separate, as it were, the fabulous fictions of the poet concerning the gods, as, for-
sooth, pertaining to the theatre, from the civil theology which they wish to belong to the city,
as though they were separating from noble and worthy things, things unworthy and base?
Wherefore there is more reason to thank the stage-actors, who have spared the eyes of men
and have not laid bare by theatrical exhibition all the things which are hid by the walls of the
temples. What good is to be thought of their sacred rites which are concealed in darkness,
when those which are brought forth into the light are so detestable? And certainly they them-
selves have seen what they transact in secret through the agency of mutilated and effeminate
men. Yet they have not been able to conceal those same men miserably and vile enervated
and corrupted. Let them persuade whom they can that they transact anything holy through
such men, who, they cannot deny, are numbered, and live among their sacred things. We
know not what they transact, but we know through whom they transact; for we know what
things are transacted on the stage, where never, even in a chorus of harlots, hath one who is
mutilated or an effeminate appeared. And, nevertheless, even these things are acted by vile
and infamous characters; for, indeed, they ought not to be acted by men of good character.
What, then, are those sacred rites, for the performance of which holiness has chosen such
men as not even the obscenity of the stage has admitted?

Chapter 8.-Concerning the Interpretations, Consisting of Natural Explanations,

Which the Pagan Teachers Attempt to Show for Their Gods.

But all these things, they say, have certain physical, that is, natural interpretations, showing
their natural meaning; as though in this disputation we were seeking physics and not theo-
logy, which is the account, not of nature, but of God. For although He who is the true God is
God, not by opinion, but by nature, nevertheless all nature is not God; for there is certainly a
nature of man, of a beast, of a tree, of a stone,-none of which is God. For if, when the ques-
tion is concerning the mother of the gods, that from which the whole system of interpretation
starts certainly is, that the mother of the gods is the earth, why do we make further inquiry?
why do we carry our investigation through all the rest of it? What can more manifestly favor
them who say that all those gods were men? For they are earth-born in the sense that the
earth is their mother.

But in the true theology the earth is the work, not the mother, of God. But in whatever way
their sacred rites may be interpreted, and whatever reference they may have to the nature of
things, it is not according to nature, but contrary to nature, that men should be effeminates.
This disease, this crime, this abomination, has a recognized place among those sacred things,
though even depraved men will scarcely be compelled by torments to confess they are guilty
of it. Again, if these sacred rites, which are proved to be fouler than scenic abominations, are
excused and justified on the ground that they have their own interpretations, by which they
are shown to symbolize the nature of things, why are not the poetical things in like manner
excused and justified? For many have interpreted even these in like fashion, to such a degree
that even that which they say is the most monstrous and most horrible, namely, that Saturn
devoured his own children, has been interpreted by some of them to mean that length of
time, which is signified by the name of Saturn, consumes whatever it begets; or that, as the
same Varro thinks, Saturn belongs to seeds which fall back again into the earth from whence
they spring. And so one interprets it in one way, and one in another. And the same is to be

22
 said of all the rest of this theology. And, nevertheless, it is called the fabulous theology, and
is censured, cast off, rejected, together with all such interpretations belonging to it. And not
only by the natural theology, which is that of the philosophers, but also by this civil
theology, concerning which we are speaking, which is asserted to pertain to cities and
peoples, it is judged worthy of repudiation, because it has invented unworthy things concern-
ing the gods. Of which, I wot, this is the secret: that those most acute and learned men, by
whom those things were written, understood that both theologies ought to be rejected, -to
wit, both that fabulous and this civil one, -but the former they dared to reject, the latter they
dared not; the former they set forth to be censured, the latter they showed to be very like it;
not that it might be chosen to be held in preference to the other, but that it might be
understood to be worthy of being rejected together with it. And thus, without danger to those
who feared to censure the civil theology, both of them being brought into contempt, that the-
ology which they call natural might find a place in better disposed minds; for the civil and
the fabulous are both fabulous and both civil. He who shall wisely inspect the vanities and
obscenities of both will find that they are both fabulous; and he who shall direct his attention
to the scenic plays pertaining to the fabulous theology in the festivals of the civil gods, and
in the divine rites of the cities, will find they are both civil. How, then, can the power of
giving eternal life be attributed to any of those gods whose own images and sacred rites
convict them of being most like to the fabulous gods, which are most openly reprobated, in
forms, ages, sex, characteristics marriages, generations, rites; in all which things they are
understood either to have been men, and to have had their sacred rites and solemnities
instituted in their honor according to the life or death of each of them, the demons suggesting
and confirming this error, or certainly most foul spirits, who, taking advantage of some
occasion or other, have stolen into the minds of men to deceive them?

N.B. As should be clear from the foregoing, the theological matter in Homer and Hesiod
constitutes the ‘fabulous’ or ‘mythical’ theology described by Varro.

n. 7. Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Natura Deorum (On the Nature of the Gods) (tr. Francis
Brooks) (London, 1896), Book II, XVIII:

Do you see, then, how from the right and useful discovery of natural phenomena a passage
was made in thought to imaginary and fictitious deities?—a passage which gave rise to false
beliefs, and frantic errors, and superstitions worthy almost of a beldame. For we are made
acquainted with the forms, age, dress, and equipment of the gods, as also with their descents,
marriages, relationships, and everything in them that has been reduced to the likeness of hu-
man frailty. Thus, they are brought before us with their minds a prey to disturbance, for we
hear of their desires and sorrows and angers, and they have even, as the stories relate, had
experience of wars and battles, not only, as in Homer, when they protected on one side or the
other two opposing armies, but they have also waged their own personal wars, as with the
Titans and Giants. These are things to which it is in the highest degree foolish to give either
utterance or credit, and they abound in futility and the most utter triviality. Nevertheless,
while we scorn and reject these stories, we shall be able to understand the being and
character of the gods who extend through the nature of each thing, Ceres through the earth,
Neptune through the sea, one god through one thing, and another through another, together
with the name by which custom has designated them, and it is these gods whom we ought to
reverence and worship.

n. 8. Note how Cicero, while condemning them if taken literally, understands the works of
theological poets to contain the enigmatic or allegorical sort of myth, an example of which
is the Battle of the Gods in Homer (Il. xx). On this matter, cf. also St. Augustine of Hippo,
City of God VI. 6:

23
 Again, if these sacred rites [belonging to the civil theology of Varro], which are proved to be
fouler than scenic abominations, are excused and justified on the ground that they have their
own interpretations, by which they are shown to symbolize the nature of things, why are not
the poetical things in like manner excused and justified? For many have interpreted even
these in a like fashion, to such a degree that even that which they say is the most monstrous
and most horrible—namely, that Saturn devoured his own children—has been interpreted by
some of them to mean the length of time, which is signified by the name of Saturn, con-
sumes whatever it begets….

n. 9. For a criticism of the allegorical interpretation of Greek myths, cf. Tatian, Address to
the Greeks (tr. J. E. Ryland), Ch. XXI:

CHAP. XXI.—DOCTRINES OF THE CHRISTIANS AND GREEKS RESPECTING GOD

COMPARED.

We do not act as fools, O Greeks, nor utter idle tales, when we announce that God was born
in the form of a man. I call on you who reproach us to compare your mythical accounts with
our narrations. Athene, as they say, took the form of Deiphobus for the sake of Hector, and
the unshorn Phoebus for the sake of Admetus fed the trailing-footed oxen, and the spouse us
came as an old woman to Semele. But, while you treat seriously such things, how can you
deride us? Your Asclepios died, and he who ravished fifty virgins in one night at Thespiae
lost his life by delivering himself to the devouring flame. Prometheus, fastened to Caucasus,
suffered punishment for his good deeds to men. According to you, Zeus is envious, and
hides the dream from men, wishing their destruction. Wherefore, looking at your own
memorials, vouchsafe us your approval, though it were only as dealing in legends similar to
your own. We, however, do not deal in folly, but your legends are only idle tales. If you
speak of the origin of the gods, you also declare them to be mortal. For what reason is Hera
now never pregnant? Has she grown old? or is there no one to give you information?

Believe me now, O Greeks, and do not resolve your myths and gods into allegory. If you
attempt to do this, the divine nature as held by you is overthrown by your own selves; for, if
the demons with you are such as they are said to be, they are worthless as to character; or, if
regarded as symbols of the powers of nature, they are not what they are called. But I cannot
be persuaded to pay religious homage to the natural elements, nor can I undertake to
persuade my neighbour.

And Metrodorus of Lampsacus, in his treatise concerning Homer, has argued very foolishly,
turning everything into allegory. For he says that neither Hera, nor Athene, nor Zeus are
what those persons suppose who consecrate to them sacred enclosures and groves, but parts
of nature and certain arrangements of the elements. Hector also, and Achilles, and Agamem-
non, and all the Greeks in general, and the Barbarians with Helen and Paris, being of the
same nature, you will of course say are introduced merely for the sake of the machinery of
the poem, not one of these personages having really existed. But these things we have put
forth only for argument’s sake; for it is not allowable even to compare our notion of God
with those who are wallowing in matter and mud. (emphasis added)

n. 10. For the literal reading of such tales characteristic of the ordinary man, cf. Kelley L.
Ross, Comments on the Euthyphro:12

5e-6a. Euthyphro now launches off into a speech citing Greek mythology as a justification
for his prosecution of his father. The incidents are from Hesiod’s Theogony (the “Birth of the
12
(http://www.friesian.com/euthyph.htm [5/11/04])

24
 gods”). Ouranos, “Father Heaven,” who was the son as well as the husband of Gaia,
“Mother Earth,” didn’t like the children she was giving birth to (the Titans), so he refused to
let them be born, forcing them back into her womb. She didn’t like this too much, and so she
equipped the eldest son, Kronos, with a scythe (a long pole with a wicked blade for
harvesting grain – it must have been very crowded in her womb!). When Ouranos next
approached Gaia for sex, Kronos cut off his genitals. Thus Kronos became king of the gods.
But there was then an ominous prophecy: Kronos would be overthrown by his son just like
his father. Kronos dealt with this by eating his children as his wife Rhea gave birth to them.
Rhea tired of this and saved her youngest son, Zeus, by wrapping a stone in swaddling
clothes and giving that to Kronos. One wonders about the diet of the Titans when Kronos
eats a stone, clothes and all, and doesn’t notice it isn’t a baby! Rhea then raised Zeus in a
cave on Crete. He grew up and married his cousin Metis, who then suggested giving Kronos
something that would make him throw up the other children. They did, and he did; and, after
growing up, evidently unharmed, in their father’s stomach, Zeus’s siblings joined with him
in overthrowing Kronos and those Titans that sided with him. They were then imprisoned in
Tartarus, the deepest part of the Underworld. Zeus’s brother Hades (or Pluto) took the
Underworld to rule, and Poseidon the Sea, while Zeus himself ruled all from Mt. Olympus
-- the highest point in Greece at 9,550 ft. Only one problem remained: a prophecy that Zeus
would be overthrown by a son of Metis as his father and grandfather had been! Taking
measures one step further, Zeus actually devoured the pregnant Metis! Although the
goddess Athena, the patroness of the city of Athens, then sprang from his forehead, this took
care of the prophecy -- Athena was rather like a son, born in armor, but she wasn’t. No
prophecy then applied to the sons of Zeus’s new wife, his sister Hera.

6a-6b. We now learn that Socrates does not believe stories about violence, mutilation, war,
and battles among the gods. This is Socrates breaking with the fifth characteristic of mytho-
poeic thought. He is willing to suspend his disbelief, having become a student of Euthyphro,
but he still expresses his astonishment.

Supplement: Presuppositions giving rise to the threefold distinction.

n. 11. Plutarch, Philosophical Essays. In Plutarch’s Complete Works, edited by W. Lloyd

Bevan. Vol. Essays and Miscellanies, Vol. I. New York: Thomas Crowell & Co., 1909:

SENTIMENTS CONCERNING NATURE WITH WHICH PHILOSOPHERS

WERE DELIGHTED

BOOK I.
CHAPTER VI.

WHENCE DID MEN OBTAIN THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE

AND ESSENCE OF A DEITY?

The Stoics thus define the essence of a god. It is a spirit intellectual and fiery, which
acknowledges no shape, but is continually changed into what it pleases, and assimilates itself
to all things. The knowledge of this deity they first received from the pulchritude of those
things which so visibly appeared to us; for they concluded that nothing beauteous could
casually or fortuitously be formed, but that it was framed from the art of a great under-
standing that produced the world.

That the world is very resplendent is made perspicuous from the figure, the color, the mag-
nitude of it, and likewise from the wonderful variety of those stars which adorn this world.
The world is spherical; the orbicular hath the pre-eminence above all other figures, for being

25
round itself it hath its parts like itself. (On this account, according to Plato, the under-
standing, which is the most sacred part of man, is in the head.) The color of it is most beaute-
ous; for it is painted with blue; which, though little blacker than purple, yet hath such a
shining quality, that by reason of the vehement efficacy of its color it cuts through such a
space of air; whence it is that at so great a distance the heavens are to be contemplated. And
in this very greatness of the world the beauty of it appears. View all things: that which con-
tains the rest carries a beauty with it, as an animal or a tree. Also things which are visible to
us accomplish the beauty of the world. The oblique circle called the Zodiac in heaven is with
different images painted and distinguished:—

There’s Cancer, Leo, Virgo, and the Claws;

Scorpio, Arcitenens, and Capricorn;
Amphora, Pisces, then the Ram, and Bull;
The lovely pair of Brothers next succeed. (From Aratus.)

There are a thousand others that give us the suitable reflections of the beauty of the world.
Thus Euripides:—

The starry splendor of the skies,

The beautiful and varied work of that wise
Creator, Time.

From this the knowledge of a god is conveyed to man; that the sun, the moon, and the rest of
the stars, being carried under the earth, rise again in their proper color, magnitude, place, and
times. Therefore they who by tradition delivered to us the knowledge and veneration of
the gods did it by these three manner of ways:— first, from Nature; secondly, from
fables; thirdly, from the testimony supplied by the laws of commonwealths. Philosophers
taught the natural way; poets, the fabulous; and the political way is to be had from the
constitutions of each commonwealth. All sorts of this learning are distinguished into these
seven parts.

The first is from things that are conspicuous, and the observation of those bodies which are
in places superior to us. To men the heavenly bodies that are so visible did give the know-
ledge of the deity; when they contemplated that they are the causes of so great an harmony,
that they regulate day and night, winter and summer, by their rising and setting, and likewise
considered those things which by their influences in the earth do receive a being and do
likewise fructify. It was manifest to men that the Heaven was the father of those things, and
the Earth the mother; that the Heaven was the father is clear, since from the heavens there is
the pouring down of waters, which have their spermatic faculty; the Earth the mother,
because she receives them and brings forth. Likewise men considering that the stars are
running (Greek omitted) in a perpetual motion, that the sun and moon give us the stimulus to
view and contemplate (Greek omitted), they call them all gods (Greek omitted).

In the second and third place, they thus distinguished the deities into those which are
beneficial and those that are injurious to mankind. Those which are beneficial they call
Jupiter, Juno, Mercury, Ceres; those who are mischievous the Dirae, Furies, and Mars.
These, which threaten dangers and violence, men endeavor to appease and conciliate by
sacred rites. The fourth and the fifth order of gods they assign to things and passions; to
passions, Love, Venus, and Desire; the deities that preside over things, Hope, Justice, and
Eunomia.
The sixth order of deities are the ones made by the poets; Hesiod, willing to find out a father
for those gods that acknowledge an original, invented their progenitors,—

26
 Hyperion, Coeus, and Iapetus,
With Creius:
(Hesiod, “Theogony,” 134.)

upon which account this is called the fabulous. The seventh rank of the deities added to the
rest are those which, by their beneficence to mankind, were honored with a divine worship,
though they were born of mortal race; of this sort were Hercules, Castor and Pollux, and
Bacchus. These are reputed to be of a human species; for of all beings that which is divine is
most excellent, and man amongst all animals is adorned with the greatest beauty, is also the
best, being adorned by virtue above the rest because of the gift of intellect: therefore it was
thought that those who were admirable for excellence should resemble that which is the best
and most beautiful. (emphasis added)

N.B. With these matters in hand, let us next consider Aristotle’s principal statements
concerning myth:

27
Note 3. The twofold tradition handed down in the form of myth according to Aris-
totle:

n. 1. Aristotle, Metaph., XII. 8 (1074b 1-14) (tr. W. D. Ross):

[1074b] Our forefathers in the most remote ages have handed down to their posterity a
tradition, in the form of a myth [en muthou schemati], that these [celestial] bodies are gods,
and that the divine encloses the whole of nature. The rest of the tradition has been added
later in mythical form [ta de loipa muthikos ede prosektai] with a view to the [5] persuasion
of the multitude and to its legal and utilitarian expediency; they say these gods are in the
form of men or like some of the other animals, and they say other things consequent on and
similar to these which we have mentioned. But if one were to separate the first point from
these additions and take it alone—that they thought the [10] first substances to be gods, one
must regard this as an inspired utterance, and reflect that, while probably each art and each
science has often been developed as far as possible and has again perished, these opinions,
with others, have been preserved until the present like relics of the ancient treasure. Only
thus far, then, is the opinion of our ancestors and of our earliest predecessors clear to us.

n. 2. St. Thomas Aquinas, In XII Meta., lect. 10, n. 31 (tr. B.A.M.):

Next, when he says, They are handed on, he compares the things that have been discovered
about immaterial substances to ancient and popular beliefs. And he says that certain things
were handed on by the ancient philosophers about the separated substances and were dis-
missed by those coming after them as being in the manner of fables, namely, that they are
gods, and that what is divine contains [or encloses] nature as a whole. And this, in fact, may
be gathered from the things above, if all immaterial substances be called gods. But if only
the first principle be called God there is only one God, as is clear from the things already
said. But the rest [sc. of their traditions] have been introduced in the manner of fable for the
persuasion of the multitude who cannot grasp intelligible things, and insofar as it was the
best [expedient] for delivering the laws, and for their usefulness to human social life [con-
versationis humanae], so that from inventions of this sort the multitude would be persuaded
to tend to virtuous acts and turn away from vices. And what was introduced in the manner of
fable he explains, adding that they said the gods were similar in form to men and to certain
other animals. For they put down in the manner of fable certain men made into gods, and
certain animals, and certain things consequent to those things, and they said other similar
things. (emphasis added)

n. 3. Alexander Wilder, New Platonism and Alchemy (New York, 1869): The Eclectic
Philosophy:

Aristotle declares: “The divine essence pervades the whole world of nature; what are styled
the gods are only the first principles. The myths and stories were devised to make the
religious systems intelligible and attractive to the people, who otherwise would not give
them any regard or veneration.” <…> He [Proclus] also repeats the words of Aristotle:
“There are many inferior theoi but only one Mover. All that is concerning the human shape
and attributes of these deities is mere fiction, invented to instruct the common people and
secure their obedience to wholesome laws. But the First Principle is neither fire, nor earth,
nor water, nor anything that is the object of sense. A spiritual substance is the cause of the
Universe, and the source of all order, all beauty, all the motions and all the forms which are
so much admired in it. All must be led up to this one primitive substance, which governs in
subordination to the First. This is the general doctrine of the ancients, which has, happily,
escaped the wreck of truth amid the rocks of popular errors and poetic fables.”

28
n. 4 Cf. Aristotle, Polit. I. 2 (1252b 22-25) (tr. Benjamin Jowett):

Every family is ruled by the eldest, and therefore in the colonies of the family the kingly
form of government prevailed because they were of the same blood. As Homer says: 3

“Each one gives law to his children and to his wives.”

For they lived dispersedly, as was the manner in ancient times. Wherefore men say that the
Gods have a king, because they themselves either are or were in ancient times under the rule
of a king. [25] For they imagine, not only the forms of the Gods, but their ways of life to be
like their own.
3
Od. ix. 114, quoted by Plato, Laws, iii. 680, and in Nic. Eth. X. 1180b 28.

n. 5. Cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, Sententia libri Politicorum. Commentary on Aristotle’s

Politics. Book 1: Lesson 1, n. 30. Translated by Ernest L. Fortin and Peter D. O'Neill:13

30 Then he sets down another sign from what used to be said about the gods. He states that
because of what has just been indicated, all the pagans [gentiles] used to say that their gods
were ruled by some king and claimed that Jupiter was the king of the gods, and this because
some men are still ruled by kings; but in former times almost all men were ruled by kings.
This was the first rule, as will be said later. Now just as men liken the outward appearance of
the gods, that is to say, their forms, to themselves, thinking the gods to be in the image of
certain men, so also they liken the lives of the gods, that is to say, their behavior, to their
own, thinking them to behave the way they see men behave. Aristotle is here referring, after
the manner of the Platonists, to the substances separated from matter and created by only one
supreme god, to whom the pagans erroneously attributed both human forms and human
habits, as the Philosopher says here.

n. 6. For Aristotle’s most explicit statement on ‘myth’, cf. Metaph., I. 2 (982b 11-27) (tr.
W. D. Ross):

That it [first philosophy] is not a science of production is clear even from the history of the
earliest philosophers. For it is owing to their wonder that men both now begin and at first
began to philosophize; they wondered originally at the obvious difficulties, then advanced
little by little [15] and stated difficulties about the greater matters, e.g. about the phenomena
of the moon and those of the sun and of the stars, and about the genesis of the universe. And
a man who is puzzled and wonders thinks himself ignorant (whence even the lover of myth
is in a sense a lover of Wisdom, for the myth is composed of wonders); [20] therefore since
they philosophized in order to escape from ignorance, evidently they were pursuing science
in order to know, and not for any utilitarian end. And this is confirmed by the facts; for it
was when almost all the necessities of life and the things that make for comfort and
recreation had been secured, that such knowledge began to be sought.

Evidently then we do not seek it for the sake of [25] any other advantage; but as the man is
free, we say, who exists for his own sake and not for another’s, so we pursue this as the only
free science, for it alone exists for its own sake.

13
https://dhspriory.org/thomas/Politics.htm [11/09/19] This translation is based on the Spiazzi 1951 edition.

29
n. 7. Stefan Stenudd, “Aristotle”, in “Cosmos of the Ancients: The Greek Philosophers on
Myth and Cosmology”:14

His judgement on myth can be harsh, as expressed in relation to “the school of Hesiod”
and similar “theologians”, who have said that those who do not eat the nectar and ambrosia
are mortal, but Aristotle questions how immortals can be of need of food. Then he plainly
states: “about those who have invented clever mythologies it is not worthwhile to take a
serious look.” On the other hand, he also speaks very appreciatively about the myths:
lovers of stories were in a way lovers of wisdom, since stories were composed of such won-
ders that make man start to philosophize. Those wonders were mainly astronomical and
cosmological ones. The birth of mythology he describes in closer detail in connection to his
discussion on how many primal movers and movements there can be, relating to a multitude
of gods. Tradition needs to be considered:

From old – and indeed extremely ancient – times there has been handed down to our later
age intimations of a mythical character to the effect that the stars are gods and that the
divine embraces the whole of nature. The further details were subsequently added in the
manner of myth. Their purpose was the persuasion of the masses and general legislative and
political expediency. For instance, the myths tell us that these gods are anthropomorphic or
resemble some of the other animals and give us other, comparable extrapolations of the
basic picture.

He suggests to discard the embroidered details, but to recognize that in mythical perspectives
the primary substances were gods – a claim he calls “inspired”, pointing out also that though
many other arts and doctrines may have perished through time, “these ancient cosmologies
have been preserved, like holy relics, right up to the present day.” (emphasis added)

N.B. As we have already mentioned and shall also argue for again below, the tradition of
myth Aristotle recognizes corresponds to the natural or physical theology of the ancients,
which took the form of ‘enigmatic’ myth, whereas the additions to it embrace the civil,
which was allegorical inasmuch as it consisted in the Mysteries; such stories coinciding (at
least in part) with the fables of the poets, as St. Augustine explains supra.

14
(http://www.stenudd.com/myth/greek/aristotle.htm [05/14/04])

30
Note 4. Some mythical subjects dealt with by Aristotle:

n. 1. On those who reign and rule, cf. Aristotle, Metaph., XIV. 4 (1091b 4-12) (tr. W. D.
Ross):

The old poets agree with this inasmuch as they say that not those who are first in time, e.g.
Night and Heaven or Chaos or Ocean, reign and rule, but Zeus. These poets, however, are
led to speak thus only because they think of the rulers of the world as changing; for those of
them who combine the two characters in that they do not use mythical language throughout,
e.g. Pherecydes and some others, make the original generating agent the Best, and so do the
Magi, and some of the later sages also, e.g. both Empedocles and Anaxagoras, of whom one
made love an element, and the other made reason a principle.

n. 2. On the outermost heaven and Aither, cf. Aristotle, De Caelo, I. 3 (270b 1-25) (tr. J. L.
Stock):

[270b 1] The reasons why the primary body is eternal and not subject to increase or dimin-
ution, but unaging and unalterable and unmodified, will be clear from what has been said to
any one who believes in our assumptions. Our theory seems to [5] confirm experience and to
be confirmed by it. For all men have some conception of the nature of the gods, and all who
believe in the existence of gods at all, whether barbarian or Greek, agree in allotting the
highest place to the deity, surely because they suppose that immortal is linked with immortal
and regard any [10] other supposition as inconceivable.

If then there is, as there certainly is, anything divine, what we have just said about the
primary bodily substance was well said. The mere evidence of the senses is enough to con-
vince us of this, at least with human certainty. For in the whole range of time past, so far as
our inherited records reach, no change appears to have taken place either in the whole
scheme of the outermost [15] heaven or in any of its proper parts. The common name, too,
which has been handed down from our distant ancestors even to our own day, seems to show
that they conceived of it in the fashion which we have been expressing. The same ideas, one
must believe, recur in men’s minds not once or twice but again and again. And so, implying
that the [20] primary body is something else beyond earth, fire, air, and water, they gave the
highest place a name of its own, aither, derived from the fact that it ‘runs always’ for an
eternity of time. Anaxagoras, however, scandalously misuses this name, taking aither as
equivalent to fire. [25]15

15
Cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, The Heavens (tr. Fabian R. Larcher and Pierre H. Conway), Bk. I, Lecture 3:
Preliminary notions for showing the parts perfecting the universe, n. 75:

75. Then at [37] he manifests the proposition through signs. And he says that both reason and things
that appear to be probable seem to support one another on this point. And he gives three signs. The
first of which is taken from the general opinion of men, who posit many gods or one God, whom the
other separated substances serve. All who believe thus, whether Greeks or barbarians, assign the
highest place, namely, the heavenly, to God, namely, all those who believe there are divine beings.
But they assign the heavens to the divine substances as though adapting an immortal place to
immortal and divine beings. In this way God’s habitation in the heavens is understood as appropriate
according to likeness, that is, that among all other bodies this body more closely approaches to a
likeness to spiritual and divine substances. For it is impossible for the habitation of the heavens to be
assigned to God for any other reason, as though He should need a bodily place by which He is
comprehended. If therefore divine beings are to be posited, and since, indeed, they certainly must, the
consequence is that the statements made about the first bodily substance, namely, the heavenly body,
were well made, namely, that the heavenly body is ungenerated and unalterable.

31
n. 3. Cf. also Aristotle, Meteor., I. 3 (341a 17-25) (tr. E. W. Webster):

We have already described and characterized the first element, and explained that the whole
world of the upper motions is full of that body. [20] This is an opinion we are not alone in
holding: it appears to be an old assumption and one which men have held in the past, for the
word ether has long been used to denote that element. Anaxagoras, it is true, seems to me to
think that the word means the same as fire. For he thought that the upper regions were full of
fire, and that men referred to those regions when they spoke of ether. In the latter point he
[25] was right, for men seem to have assumed that a body that was eternally in motion was
also divine in nature; and, as such a body was different from any of the terrestrial elements,
they determined to call it ‘ether’. For the same opinions appear in cycles among men not
once nor twice, but infinitely often.16

n. 4. On Aion (‘lifetime’, ‘eon’, ‘eternity’) and what is outside the heaven, cf. Aristotle, De
Caelo, I. 9 (279a 16—279b 3) (tr. J. L. Stock, with major revisions by B.A.M.):

It is therefore evident that there is also no place or void or time outside the heaven. For in
every place body can be present; and void is said to be that in which the presence of body,
though not actual, is possible; and time is the number of movement. But in the absence of
natural body there is no movement, and outside the heaven, as we have shown, body neither
exists nor can come to exist. It is clear then that there is neither place, nor void, nor time,
outside the heaven. Hence whatever is there, is of such a nature as not to occupy any place,
nor does time age it; nor is there any change in any of the things which lie beyond the outer-

Although men suppose that temples are the place of God, they do not suppose this from God’s
viewpoint but from that of the worshippers, who must worship Him in some place. That is why
perishable temples are proportioned to perishable men, but the heavens to the divine imperishability.

16
Cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorology (tr. Pierre Conway, O.P. and F.R.
Larcher, O.P.), Book I, Lecture 3 Mutual transformation of the elements. Presence above of the heavenly
body, n. 19:

19. Secondly [17], he repeats something already determined in On the Heavens: this is the condition
[sc. that it is “perpetual”], as far as its power is concerned, of the first element, namely, the celestial
body; and that that entire world which is “about the upper motions,” i.e., which is moved with a
circular motion [sc. which is everlasting], is filled with that body — for all the heavenly bodies
pertain to the nature of that first element [which element is called “aether” from the fact that it is
“always running”, as is next explained]. And since the philosophers supposed the contrary, he
therefore, lest his opinion appear novel, adds that not only did he have this opinion, but it was also an
ancient opinion of earlier men. For the body which is called “aether,” and which we call the “heaven,”
has an ancient name. But Anaxagoras seems to have supposed that it means the same as “fire” – for he
took the word “aether” not to mean “always running,” i.e., to be in continuous motion, but he derives
it from aethein, which is “to burn,” because he believed the superior bodies to be filled with fire. And
although in this he spoke ill, nevertheless he was right in supposing the name “aether” to befit a
corporeal potency over and above those bodies. For all the ancients are seen to have believed, and
decided, that the name “aether” should be given to the body which always “runs,” i.e., is always in
motion, and which is a certain “divine,” i.e., perpetual, something according to its nature. This they
did as if that body were like no body that exists around us. Nor should it seem strange if this opinion,
which we appeared to have adopted for the first time, was already held by the ancients. For we hold
that the same opinions re-appear among men after dying out through neglect of study, not twice or
thrice only, but an infinitude of times. Now he says this in keeping with his opinion that the world and
human generation have been going on from eternity, as indicated in previous books. This being
supposed, it is also plain that certain opinions and arts have begun from certain definite times; and
thus it is necessary to say that these were in turn frequently, nay, an infinitude of times, destroyed by
wars or other corrupting factors and again rediscovered.

32
 most motion; [20] they continue throughout their entire lifetime [aion] unalterable and
unmodified, living the best and most self-sufficient of lives.

As a matter of fact, this word ‘lifetime’ possessed a divine significance for the ancients, for
the definite period [to telos] which contains the time of each individual’s life, outside of
which according to nature nothing [of that life] can exist, is called its ‘lifetime’. According
to the same notion the period of the whole [25] heaven, the period which includes all time
and infinity, is a ‘lifetime’ immortal and divine, being so called from the fact it “always
exists” [= ai\ei) w)/n]. From it derive the being and life which other things, some more or less
articulately but others feebly, enjoy. So, too, in its discussions concerning the divine, popular
philosophy [30] often propounds the view that whatever is divine, whatever is primary and
supreme, is necessarily unchangeable. This fact confirms what we have said. For there is
nothing else stronger than it to move it—since that would mean more divine—and it has no
defect and lacks none of its proper excellences. Its unceasing movement, then, is also
reasonable, since everything ceases to move when it comes to its proper [279b 1] place, but
the body whose path is the circle has one and the same place for starting-point and goal. 17

n. 5. On Atlas, cf. Aristotle, De Caelo, II. 1 (283b 27—284a 19) (tr. J. L. Stocks):

Atlas, the upper bodies, and the heavens: (a) “That the heaven as a whole neither came into
being nor admits of destruction, as some assert, but is one and eternal, with no end or

17
Cf. idem, nn. 76-7:

76. The second sign he gives at [38] and it is taken from long experience. And he says that what has
been proved by reason and common opinion occurs, i. e., follows, sufficiently – i.e., not absolutely
but to the extent of human faith, i.e., so far as men can testify to what they have seen for a short time
and from afar. For according to the tradition which astronomers have passed on concerning their
observations of the dispositions and motions of heavenly bodies, in the whole time past there does not
seem to have been any change affecting either the entire heavens or any of its own parts. Now this
would not be, if the heaven were generable or perishable – for things subject to generation and
corruption arrive at their perfect state little by little and step by step, and then gradually depart from
that state, and this could not have been concealed in the heavens for such a long time, if they were
naturally subject to generation and corruption.

However, this is not necessary but probable. For the more lasting something. is, the greater the time
required for its change to be noted, just as change in a man is not noticed in two or three years, as it is
in a dog or other animals having a shorter life-span. Consequently someone could say that, even
though the heavens are naturally corruptible, nevertheless they are so lasting that the whole extent of
human memory is not sufficient to observe their change.

77. The third sign is given at [39] and is based on a name given by the ancients, which endures to the
present, and which gives us to understand that they thought the heaven to be imperishable just as we
do. And lest anyone object that some before their time thought the heavens were subject to generation
and corruption, he adds that true opinions are revived according to diverse times not once or twice but
infinitely, supposing that time is infinite. For the studies of truth are destroyed by various changes
occurring in these lower things, but because the minds of men are naturally inclined to truth, then
when obstacles are removed, studies are renewed and men at last arrive at the true opinions which
previously flourished, but false opinions need not be revived.

Consequently the ancients, supposing that the first body, namely, the heaven, to be of a nature
different from the four elements, named the highest place of the world the “aether,” thus applying to it
a name based on the fact that it always runs for an eternity of time – for thein in Greek is the same as
“to run.” But Anaxagoras misinterpreted this name, attributing it to fire, as though the heavenly body
were fiery – for aether in in Greek is the same as “to burn,” which is proper to fire. But that a
heavenly body is not of fire is plain from what has been said above [in L. 4].

33
 beginning of its total duration, containing and embracing in itself the infinity of time, we
may [30] convince ourselves not only by the arguments already set forth but also by a
consideration of the views of those who differ from us in providing for its generation. If our
view is a possible one, and the manner of generation which they assert is [284a 1]
impossible, this fact will have great weight in convincing us of the immortality and eternity
of the world. Hence it is well to persuade oneself of the truth of the ancient and truly
traditional theories, that there is some immortal and divine thing which [5] possesses
movement, but movement such as has no limit and is rather itself the limit of all other
movement. A limit is a thing which contains; and this motion, being perfect, contains those
imperfect motions which have a limit and a goal, having itself no beginning or end, but
unceasing through the infinity of time, and of other [10] movements, to some the cause of
their beginning, to others offering the goal. The ancients gave to the Gods the heaven or
upper place, as being alone immortal; and our present argument testifies that it is
indestructible and ungenerated. Further, it is unaffected by any mortal discomfort, and, in
addition, effortless; for it [15] needs no constraining necessity to keep it to its path, and
prevent it from moving with some other movement more natural to itself. Such a constrained
movement would necessarily involve effort the more so, the more eternal it were—and
would be inconsistent with perfection.

Hence we must not believe the old tale which says that the world needs some Atlas to keep it
safe—a tale composed, it would seem, by men who, like later thinkers, conceived of all the
upper bodies as earthy and endowed with weight, and therefore supported it in their fabulous
way upon animate necessity.18

n. 6. Cf. also Aristotle, Movement of Animals, ch. 3 (699a 27—699b 4) (tr. A. S. L. Far-
quharson):

And the mythologists with their fable of Atlas setting his feet upon the earth appear to have
based the fable upon intelligent grounds. They make Atlas a kind of diameter twirling the
heavens about the poles. Now as the earth remains still this would be reasonable enough, but
their theory involves them in the position that the [30] earth is no part of the universe. And
further the force of that which initiates movement must be made equal to the force of that
which remains at rest. For there is a definite quantity of force or power by dint of which that
which remains at rest does so, just as there is of force by dint of which that which initiates
[699b 1] movement does so; and as there is a necessary proportion between opposite
18
Cf. idem, n. 295:

295. Then at [219] he excludes contrary opinions.

First he dismisses certain errors;
Secondly, he concludes to the truth intended, at 299.

With respect to the first he dismisses three opinions, the first of which is a fable. And he says [219]
that because the motion of the heaven is neither laborious nor contrary to nature, no one should even
slightly suspect that the eternity of the heaven and of its motion are as the ancient fables of Homer and
other poets describe them. They said that the heaven, to be kept in its position, requires a giant they
named Atlas, who stands upon two pillars and supports the world on his shoulders. Now the ones who
originated that fable seem to have held the same opinion about celestial bodies as some later teachers,
namely, that they were heavy and earthy, and as such had to be held up against their nature by animate
power, or that of some living things, such as God or a separated substance of some kind. And if they
maintain that this is necessary on the ground that the heaven has weight, the fable is wholly to be
rejected. However, if they mean that the heaven has by nature such-and-such a position and motion,
but that its nature was produced and is conserved by another, then the fable contains something
divine.

34
 motions, so there is between absences of motion. Now equal forces are unaffected by one
another, but are overcome by a superiority of force. And so in their theory Atlas, or whatever
similar power initiates movement from within, must exert no more force than will exactly
balance the stability of the earth—otherwise the earth will be moved out of her place in the
centre of things.

n. 7. On the sleepers of Sardinia, cf. Aristotle, Phys., I. 11 (218b 25) (tr. Hardie & Gaye):

But neither does time exist without change; for when the state of our own minds does not
change at all, or we have not noticed its changing, we do not realize that time has elapsed
any more that those who are fabled to sleep among the heroes in Sardinia do when they are
awakened; for they connect the earlier “now” with the later and make them one. Cutting out
the interval because of their failure to notice it. So, just as if the “now” were not different but
one and the same, there would not have been time, so too when its difference escapes our
notice the interval does not seem to be time. If, then, the non-realization of the existence of
time happens to us when we do not distinguish any change, but the soul seems to stay in one
indivisible state, and when we perceive and distinguish we say time has elapsed, evidently
time is not independent of movement and change.19

n. 8. On Leto and the Hyperboreans in relation to the parturition of the she-wolf, cf.
Aristotle, History of Animals, VI. 35 (580a 17) (tr. D’Arcy Wentworth Thompson):

The wolf resembles the dog in regard to the time of conception and parturition, the number
of the litter, and the blindness of the newborn young. The sexes couple at one special period,
and the female brings forth at the beginning of the summer. There is an account given of the
parturition of the she-wolf that borders on the fabulous, to the effect that she confines her
lying-in to within twelve particular days of the year. And they give the reason for this in the
form of a myth, viz. that when they transported Leto in so many days from the land of the
Hyperboreans to the island of Delos, she assumed the form of a she-wolf to escape the anger
of Here. Whether the account be correct or not has not yet been verified; I give it merely as it
is currently told. There is no more of truth in the current statement that the she-wolf bears
once and only once in her lifetime.

n. 9. On Aesop’s fable of Charybdis, cf. Aristotle Meteor., II, 3 (4-15) (tr. E. W. Webster):

19
Cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics. Books I-II translated by Richard J.
Blackwell, Richard J. Spath & W. Edmund Thirlkel Yale U.P., 1963, Book IV, lect. 16, n. 570:

570. Next where he says, “But neither does time…’ (218 b 22), he shows that there is no time
without motion. When men are not changed in their apprehensions, or if changed, it escapes them,
then it does not seem to them that any time has passed. This is clear in regard to those who are fabled
to have slept among the Heroes, or the gods, in Sardos, a city in Asia. The souls of the good and the
great are called Heroes, and men revered them as gods, such as Hercules and Bacchus and others.
Through certain incantations, some were made insensible, and these, they said, slept among the
Heroes. For when they had awakened, they said they had seen wonderful things, and they predicted
future events. However, when they returned to themselves, they did not perceive the time that had
passed while they were so absorbed. For they joined the first instant in which they began to sleep with
the later ‘now’ in which they awoke, as if they were one. They did not perceive the middle time. And
thus when the difference between two ‘nows’ goes unnoticed, it would not seem that there is a middle
time. Therefore when we do not perceive some mutation, time is not thought of, and it seems to a man
that he exists in one indivisible ‘now’. But we perceive that time comes to be when we sense and we
number motion or mutation. It clearly follows that there is no time without motion or mutation.
Lastly, he concludes that time is not motion, and there is not time without motion.

35
 We must now explain why the sea is salt, and ask whether it eternally exists as identically
the same body, or whether it did not exist at all once and some day will exist no longer, but
will dry up as some people think.
Every one admits this, that if the whole world originated the sea did too; for they make
them come into being at the same time. It follows that if the universe is eternal the same
must be true of the sea. Any one who thinks like Democritus that the sea is diminishing and
will disappear in the end reminds us of Aesop’s tales. His story was that Charybdis had twice
sucked in the sea: the first time she made the mountains visible; the second time the islands;
and when she sucks it in for the last time she will dry it up entirely. Such a tale is appropriate
enough to Aesop in a rage with the ferryman, but not to serious inquirers.20

n. 10. On Chiron, cf. Aristotle, Eudemian Ethics VII. 10 (1229b 30-1230a 1) (tr. J.
Solomon):

But some face danger also for other pleasures—for passion is not without a certain pleasure,
involving as it does the hope of vengeance. But still, whether a man faces death for this or
some other pleasure or to flee from greater evils, he would not justly be called brave. For if
dying were pleasant, the [35] profligate would have often died because of his incontinence,
just as now—since what causes death is pleasant though not death itself—many knowingly
incur death through their incontinence, but none of them would be thought brave even if they
do it with perfect readiness to die. Nor is a man brave if he seeks death to avoid trouble, as
many do; to use Agathon’s words: [1230a] ‘Bad men too weak for toil are in love with
death’. And so the poets narrate that Chiron, because of the pain of his wound, prayed for
death and release from his immortality.

Supplement. Plato and Aristotle on the most ancient traditions of the Greeks.

1. Some ancient traditions in the form of myth according to Plato, Timaeus 22a ff. and
Statesman, 274c-d.

n. 1. Plato, Timaeus 22a-b (tr. Benjamin Jowett):

On one occasion, wishing to draw them [the Egyptian priests] on to speak of antiquity, he
[Solon] began to tell about the most ancient things in our part of the world—

20
Cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorology (tr. Pierre Conway, O.P. and F.R.
Larcher, O.P.), Book II, Lecture 4. Whether the sea always, was, and always will be, n. 161:

161. Secondly [168], he disproves the opinions of the ancients about the disappearance of the sea.
First he compares this theory to fables. And he says that to think that the sea will diminish in size and
at length disappear, as Democritus said, is no different than the ideas in the fables of Aesop, who
stated in a fable that Charybdis, a certain deep chasm in the sea, has twice absorbed the sea, in such a
manner that previously water covered the entire earth, and this chasm imbibed enough water for the
mountains to appear, having been uncovered from the water, and also the land between them; the
second time it took in enough for islands to appear; the final time, it will swallow all the water of the
sea, and thus there will everywhere remain dry land without the sea. But although to compose such a
fable befits Aesop, the inventor of fables, who uttered this one when perhaps in a fit of anger with a
“porthmeum,” i.e., some harbor or seashore, so that, being angry with the waters, he pretended that all
waters were destined to be swallowed up, yet, the utterance of such tales is less fitting for
philosophers seeking the truth.

36
 1. about Phoroneus, who is called “the first man,”
2. and about [B] Niobe [= the legendary source of the river Achelous];
3. and after the Deluge, of the survival of Deucalion and Pyrrha;
4. and he traced the genealogy of their descendants, and reckoning up the dates, tried to
compute how many years ago the events of which he was speaking happened

n. 2. Plato, Timaeus 22c-d (tr. Benjamin Jowett):

There have been, and will be again, many destructions of mankind arising out of many
causes; the greatest have been brought about by the agencies of fire and water, and other
lesser ones by innumerable other causes. There is a story, which even you have preserved,
that once upon a time Phaethon, the son of Helios, having yoked the steeds in his father’s
chariot, because he was not able to drive them in the path of his father, burnt up all that was
upon the earth, and was [D] himself destroyed by a thunderbolt. Now this has the form of a
myth, but really signifies a declination of the bodies moving in the heavens around the earth,
and a great conflagration of things upon the earth, which recurs after long intervals; at such
times those who live upon the mountains and in dry and lofty places are more liable to de-
struction than those who dwell by rivers or on the seashore. And from this calamity the Nile,
who is our never-failing saviour, delivers and preserves us.

n. 3. Plato, Statesman, 274c-d, tr. B. Jowett):

Deprived of the care of God, who had possessed and tended them, they were left helpless
and defenceless, and were torn in pieces by the beasts, who were naturally fierce and had
now grown wild. And in the first ages they were still without skill or resource; the food
which once grew spontaneously had failed, [c] and as yet they knew not how to procure it,
because they had never felt the pressure of necessity. For all these reasons they were in a
great strait; wherefore also the gifts spoken of in the old tradition were imparted to man by
the gods, together with so much teaching and education as was indispensable;

1. fire was given to them by Prometheus, [d]

2. the arts by Hephaestus and his fellow-worker, Athene,
3. seeds and plants by others.

From these is derived all that has helped to frame human life; since the care of the Gods, as I
was saying, had now failed men, and they had to order their course of life for themselves,
and were their own masters….

2. Some ancient traditions according to Aristotle, On Philosophy, fr. 8.

n. 1. John Philoponus, In Nicom. Isagogen I. 1 [= Aristotle, On Philosophy frag. 8, R2 2, R3

13, W 8, tr. ed. W. D. Ross, The Works of Aristotle, Vol. XII, Select Fragments, pp. 80—
82]):

“Wisdom (sofi/a) was so called as being a sort of clearness (sa/feia), inasmuch as it makes
all things clear. This clearness being, as it were, something light, has acquired its name from
that of light, because it brings hidden things to light. Since, then, as Aristotle says, things
intelligible and divine, even if they are most clear in their own nature, seem to us dark [80-
81] and dim because of the mist of the body which hangs over us, men naturally gave to the
knowledge which brings these things into the light for us the name of wisdom. But since we
use the words ‘wisdom’ and ‘wise’ in a general way, it must be realized that these words are

37
 ambiguous. They have been taken by the ancients in five ways, which Aristotle mentions in
his ten books On Philosophy.

For you must know that men perish in diverse ways—both by plagues and famines and
earthquakes and wars and various diseases and by other causes, but above all by more
violent cataclysms, such as that in the time of Deucalion is said to have been; it was a great
cataclysm but not the greatest of all. For herdsmen and those who have occupation in the
mountains or foothills are saved, while the plains and the dwellers in them are engulfed; so,
at least, they say that Dardanus was swept by the flood from Samothrace to what was
afterwards called Troy, and thus was saved. Those who are saved from the water must live
on the uplands, as the poet shows when he says: ‘First Zeus the cloud-gatherer begat
Dardanus, and he established Dardania, for not yet was holy Ilios built upon the plain to be a
city of mortal men, but they still dwelt on slopes of many-fountained Ida.’ 1 The word ‘still’
shows that they had not yet the courage to live in the plains. These survivors, then, not
having the means of sustenance, were forced by necessity to think of useful devices—the
grinding of corn, sowing, and the like—and they gave the name of wisdom to such thought,
thought which discovered what was useful with a view to the necessities of life, and the
name of wise to anyone who had had such thoughts.
Again, they devised arts, as the poet says, ‘at the prompting of Athene’—arts not limited to
the necessities of life, but going on to the production of beauty and elegance; and this again
men called wisdom, and its discoverer wise, as in the phrase ‘A wise craftsman framed it,’ 2
‘knowing well by Athene’s promptings of wisdom’. 3 For, because of the excellence of the
discoveries, they ascribed the thought of these things to God.
Again, they turned their attention to politics, and invented [81-82] laws, and all the things
that hold a state together; and such they also called wisdom; for such were the Seven Wise
Men—men who attained political virtues.
Then they went farther and proceeded to bodies themselves and the nature that fashions
them, and this they call by the special name of natural science, and its possessors we
describe as wise in the affairs of nature.
Fifthly, men applied the name in connexion with things divine, supramundane, and
completely unchangeable, and called the knowledge of these things the highest wisdom”.
1
Hom., Il. 20. 215-18.
2
Cf. ibid. 23, 712.
3
Cf. ibid. 14. 412, Od. 16. 233.

3. Aristotle’s division of things called ‘wisdom’ in On Philosophy, fr. 8:

1. art
(a) useful (1)
(b) fine (2)
2. prudence (practical or political wisdom) (3)
3. science (4)
4. wisdom (theoretical, i.e. speculative or contemplative) (5)

4. In sum:

(1) the useful arts providing the necessities of life

(2) arts aimed at the production of beauty and elegance
(3) laws, and all things that hold a state together
(4) natural science, concerned with bodies and the nature that fashions them

38
 (5) the highest wisdom, applied in connection with things divine, supramundane, and
completely unchangeable

5. Elaborations on the foregoing division:

(2) (fine art) in its poetic part embraces the work of the theologoi, certain ‘poet theo-
logians’, or the ‘ancient poets’, such as Orpheus, Musaeus, Linus, Homer, and Hesiod; but
their work is actually a mixture of poetry and dialectic, the latter being a speculative art
(3) (prudence, i.e. practical or political wisdom) embraces the work of the first political
thinkers, especially that of the Seven Wise Men (cf. the priests and lawgivers), who pro-
duced the religious fables aimed at inducing virtue in the multitude through fear of eternal
punishment and the like
(4) (science) embraces the work of the phusiologoi, such as Thales, Empedocles, and the
other Pre-Socratic philosophers concerned with nature
(5) (wisdom, i.e. speculative wisdom, or wisdom simply speaking) embraces the work of
the sophoi who were first philosophers, such as Pythagoras and Plato (but note that the first
three also include wisdom in some way insofar as they touch on the first principles of
things)

6. Some ancient traditions in the form of myth according to Plato, Timaeus 22a-d;
Statesman, 274c:

 Phoroneus, the first man

 Niobe [= the legendary source of the river Achelous]
 after the Deluge, the survival of Deucalion and Pyrrha
 Phaethon, the son of Helios
 the destruction of mankind by periodic catastrophes, such as the flooding of the
Nile
 fire given to men by Prometheus, the arts by Hephaestus and his fellow-worker,
Athene, seeds and plants by others

7. Some ancient traditions according to Aristotle, On Philosophy, fr. 8:

 more violent cataclysms, such as that in the time of Deucalion is said to have been
 Dardanus swept by the flood from Samothrace to what was afterwards called Troy,
and thus was saved
 arts devised at the prompting of Athene

8. Survivals from the epoch prior to the last cataclysm (taught by that age’s
equivalent to Aristotle).

 that the first substances are gods (= that the celestial bodies are divine; cf. the
separated substances that are their conjoined movers)
 that the divine embraces the whole of nature (= Pythagoras, cf. the Metaphysics)

9. Anthropomorphic and theriomorphic elements (= to muthikon) added on by legis-

lators in order to persuade to multitude (for the sake of expedience) and to lead them
to virtue (= ‘things men say, such as about the gods’; see infra).

39
  that the gods had the form of men
 that the gods had the form of other animals
 and other things similar to and consequent upon these things (all Aristotle,
Metaphysics)

10. What has been added by poet theologians of the present epoch.

(1) By Hesiod and his followers:

 that the principles of things are gods, or are generated from gods
 that the gods need ambrosia and nectar in order to remain immortal (both Aristotle,
Metaphysics)

(2) By Orpheus, Homer, and Hesiod:

 that water is the genesis of all things (Ocean, Tethys, swearing by Styx)

(3) By others:

 that the heavens are upheld by something at rest (= by a certain Titan named
‘Atlas’, Aristotle, On the Movement of Animals)
 that the earth periodically undergoes catastrophic destruction by the declination of
heavenly bodies (= the myth of Phaeton, Plato, Timaeus)

11. A division of muthos into ‘traditional’ and ‘fabricated’:

(1) muthos that is ‘traditional’ or ‘handed on’; the material used by poets in composing
tragedies: “Wherefore one must not seek to adhere entirely to the traditional fables
[or ‘to the fables that have been handed down’, paradedomenon muthon], which
tragedies are about.” (Aristotle, Poet. ch. 9, 1451b 24, tr. B.A.M.)
(2) muthos that is ‘fabricated’ or ‘invented” by the poet, as Plato made up the story of
Atlantis (for which reason it may be understood as “a likely story”, eikos muthos):
(a) “Concerning Atlantis Plato relates that Solon, after having made inquiry of
the Egyptian priests, reported that Atlantis did once exist, but disappeared—
an island no smaller in size than a continent; and Poseidonios thinks that it
is better to put the matter this way than to say of Atlantis: ‘Its inventor
caused it to disappear, just as the Poet the wall of the Achaeans ( o( de\
pla/saj au)th\n h)fa/nisen, w(j o( poihth\j to\ tw=n )Axaiw=n tei=xoj ; ‘He who
fabricated it made it disappear, just as the Poet the wall of the Acha-eans’—
tr. B.A.M.).” (Strabo, Geog., 2.3.6, tr. H. L. Jones)
(b) “…for Homer says that the wall had only recently been built (or else it was
not built at all, but the poet who fabricated it made it disappear, as Aristotle
says) (h)\ ou)d’ e)ge/neto, o( de\ pla/saj poihth\j h)fa/nisen, w(j )Aris-tote/lhj
fhsi/n)….” (Strabo, Geog., 13.1.36, = Arist. fr. 162 R, tr. H. L. Jones; rev.
B.A.M.)
(c) “…rather we should be content if we can furnish accounts that are inferior
to none in likelihood, remembering that both I who speak [29d] and you

40
 who judge are but human creatures, so that it becomes us to accept the
likely account [ton eikota muthon] of these matters and forbear to search be-
yond it.” (Plato, Tim., 29-c-d, tr. R. G. Bury)

12. Two sorts of myths composed of wonders:

 traditional, and hence allegorical (Phaethon)

 invented, and hence a likely story (Atlantis)

13. Aristotle’s descriptions of muthoi as they are ‘handed down’ to the poet and as
they are ‘invented’ by him anew leading to a division of muthos into three:

Poetics ch. 9 (1451b 24):

tw=n paradedome/nwn mu/qwn, ‘traditional fables’; ‘fables that have been handed down’

Poetics ch. 13 (1453a 18):

tou\j tuxo/ntaj mu/qouj, ‘fables that came their way’; ‘chance fables’

Poetics ch. 14 (1453b 22):

pareilhmme/nouj mu/qouj, ‘the received fables’

Poetics ch. 14 (1453b 25):

toi=j paradedome/noij, ‘the traditional ones’ sc. ‘fables’

Poetics ch. 14 (1453b 26):

mu/qouj…au)to\n de\ eu(ri/skein dei, ‘fables…he (the poet) should invent himself’

Poetics ch. 17 (1454a 34):

lo/gouj…pepoihme/nouj, ‘stories…already composed’

Poetics ch. 17 (1455b 1):

lo/gouj…au)to\n poiou=nta, ‘stories…he (the poet) composes himself’

(Note how muthoi are equivalent to logoi in the foregoing witnesses; cf. the various re-
marks cited above on their respective meanings.)

14. According to Aristotle, fables or stories fall into three kinds:

(1) those ‘already composed’, which have been ‘handed down’ or are ‘received’

41
(2) ‘traditional fables’ which ‘(the poet) should invent himself’ (= received fables which
the poet composes anew or remakes)
(3) those the poet ‘composes for himself’ (= fables the poet originates)

15. Examples:

(1) Those already composed which have been handed down: the story of Iphigeneia as it
was known to Euripides and Polyidus.
(2) Traditional fables the poet should invent himself: Euripides’ Iphigeneia, or Polyidus’
version.
(3) Those the poet composes for himself: Agathon’s Antheus; Aeschylus’ Persae.

‘traditional’ or ‘handed down’ = ‘received’

‘fables he (the poet) should invent himself’ = those the poet devises or remakes

16. On traditional fables:

Cf. Sir Francis Bacon, Wisdom of the Ancients (1619). From the Preface:

But the consideration which has most weight with me is this, that few of these fables were
invented, as I take it, by those who recited and made them famous, —Homer, Hesiod, and
the rest. For had they been certainly the production of that age and of those authors by whose
report they have come down to us, I should not have thought of looking for anything great or
lofty from such a source. But it will appear upon an attentive examination that they are deliv-
ered not as new inventions then first published, but as stories already received and believed.
And since they are told in different ways by writers nearly contemporaneous, it is easy to see
that what all the versions have in common came from ancient tradition, while the parts in
which they vary are the additions introduced by the several writers for embellishment – a
circumstance which gives them in my eyes a much higher value: for so they must be re-
garded as neither being the inventions nor belonging to the age of the poets themselves, but
as sacred relics and light airs breathing out of better times, that were caught from the tradi-
tions of more ancient nations and so received into the flutes and trumpets of the Greeks.

17. On tales that are “new”:

Cf. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien, From Letter #131 to Milton Waldman
(1951) (Boston, 2000; 1st ed. 1981), p. 147:

In the cosmogony [sc. of Middle-earth] there is a fall: a fall of Angels we should say.
Though quite different in form, of course, to that of Christian myth. These tales are ‘new’,
they are not directly derived from other myths and legends, but they must inevitably contain
a large measure of ancient wide-spread motives or elements. After all, I believe that legends
and myths are largely made of ‘truth’, and indeed present aspects of it that can only be
received in this mode; and long ago certain truths and modes of this kind were discovered
and must always reappear.

Supplement. On Aristotle’s view of the gods:

42
n. 1. Arthur Madigan, S.J., Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2001.02.29. review of Richard
Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals. Albany: State University of
New York Press:

(3) While recognizing that the popular narratives about the gods include fantastic elements,
Aristotle believes that the core of popular belief about the gods is sound, including: (a) the
gods are living immortals; (b) they are supremely happy; (c) they are beneficent; (d) they
reward good human beings; and (e) we owe them the duties of piety. Thus the question about
Aristotle’s commitment to traditional beliefs is really a series of questions about his
commitments to particular beliefs. Commitment to (3a) and (3b), which are compatible with
the natural theology traditionally ascribed to Aristotle, does not entail commitment to (3c),
(3d), or (3e). That Aristotle used (3a) and (3b) both in theoretical and in practical philosophy
strongly suggests that he believed them. The case for his belief in (3c) and (3d) is more
difficult to assess. Bodéüs cites a number of brief references as well as the longer discussion
in EE VII 14, but the silence of Physics II 4-6 about divine activity is telling.

43
Supplement. On what has been handed down in the form of myth: The Timaeus:

n. 1. Plato, Timaeus 20d-23d (tr. R. B. Bury):

Critias: Listen then, Socrates, to a tale which, though passing strange, is yet wholly true, as
Solon, [20e] the wisest of the Seven, once upon a time declared.

Now Solon—as indeed he often says himself in his poems—was a relative and very dear
friend of our great-grandfather Dropides; and Dropides told our grandfather Critias as the old
man himself, in turn, related to us—that the exploits of this city in olden days, the record of
which had perished through time and the destruction of its inhabitants, were great and
marvellous, the greatest of all being one which it would be proper [21a] for us now to relate
both as a payment of our debt of thanks to you and also as a tribute of praise, chanted as it
were duly and truly, in honor of the Goddess on this her day of Festival.

Socrates: Excellent! But come now, what was this exploit described by Critias, following
Solon’s report, as a thing not verbally recorded, although actually performed by this city
long ago?

Critias: I will tell you: it is an old tale, and I heard it from a man not young.

For indeed at that time, as he said himself, [21b] Critias was already close upon ninety years
of age, while I was somewhere about ten; and it chanced to be that day of the Apaturia which
is called “Cureotis.” The ceremony for boys which was always customary at the feast was
held also on that occasion, our fathers arranging contests in recitation. So while many poems
of many poets were declaimed, since the poems of Solon were at that time new, many of us
children chanted them. And one of our fellow tribesmen--whether he really thought so at the
time or whether he was paying a compliment [21c] to Critias—declared that in his opinion
Solon was not only the wisest of men in all else, but in poetry also he was of all poets the
noblest. Whereat the old man (I remember the scene well) was highly pleased and said with
a smile, “If only, Amynander, he had not taken up poetry as a by-play but had worked hard
at it like others, and if he had completed the story he brought here from Egypt, instead of
being forced to lay it aside owing to the seditions and all the other evils he found here on his
return, —[21d] why then, I say, neither Hesiod nor Homer nor any other poet would ever
have proved more famous than he.”

“And what was the story, Critias?” said the other. “Its subject,” replied Critias, “was a very
great exploit, worthy indeed to be accounted the most notable of all exploits, which was
performed by this city, although the record of it has not endured until now owing to lapse of
time and the destruction of those who wrought it.”

“Tell us from the beginning,” said Amynander, “what Solon related and how, and who were
the informants who vouched for its truth.”

[21e] “In the Delta of Egypt,” said Critias, "where, at its head, the stream of the Nile parts in
two, there is a certain district called the Saitic. The chief city in this district is Sais—the
home of King Amasis,—the founder of which, they say, is a goddess whose Egyptian name
is Neith, and in Greek, as they assert, Athena. These people profess to be great lovers of
Athens and in a measure akin to our people here. And Solon said that when he travelled
there he was held in great esteem amongst them; moreover, when he was questioning such of
their priests [22a] as were most versed in ancient lore about their early history, he discovered
that neither he himself nor any other Greek knew anything at all, one might say, about such
matters. And on one occasion, when he wished to draw them on to discourse on ancient

44
history, he attempted to tell them the most ancient of our traditions, concerning Phoroneus,
who was said to be the first man, and Niobe; and he went on to tell the legend about
Deucalion and Pyrrha after the Flood, and how they survived it, and to give the geneology of
their descendants; [22b] and by recounting the number of years occupied by the events
mentioned he tried to calculate the periods of time.

Whereupon one of the priests, a prodigiously old man, said, “O Solon, Solon, you Greeks are
always children: there is not such a thing as an old Greek.” And on hearing this he asked,
“What mean you by this saying?”

And the priest replied, “You are young in soul, every one of you. For therein you possess not
a single belief that is ancient and derived from old tradition, nor yet one science that is hoary
with age. [22c] And this is the cause thereof: There have been and there will be many
and divers destructions of mankind, of which the greatest are by fire and water, and
lesser ones by countless other means. For in truth the story that is told in your country as
well as ours, how once upon a time Phaethon, son of Helios, yoked his father’s chariot, and,
because he was unable to drive it along the course taken by his father, burnt up all that was
upon the earth and himself perished by a thunderbolt,—that story, as it is told, has the
fashion of a legend [or “the form of a myth”], but the truth of it lies in [22d] the occurrence
of a shifting of the bodies in the heavens which move round the earth, and a destruction of
the things on the earth by fierce fire, which recurs at long intervals.

At such times all they that dwell on the mountains and in high and dry places suffer
destruction more than those who dwell near to rivers or the sea; and in our case the Nile, our
Saviour in other ways, saves us also at such times from this calamity by rising high. And
when, on the other hand, the Gods purge the earth with a flood of waters, all the herdsmen
and shepherds that are in the mountains are saved, [22e] but those in the cities of your land
are swept into the sea by the streams; whereas in our country neither then nor at any other
time does the water pour down over our fields from above, on the contrary it all tends
naturally to well up from below. Hence it is, for these reasons, that what is here preserved is
reckoned to be most ancient; the truth being that in every place where there is no excessive
heat or cold to prevent it there always exists some human stock, now more, now less in
number.

[23a] And if any event has occurred that is noble or great or in any way conspicuous, whe-
ther it be in your country or in ours or in some other place of which we know by report, all
such events are recorded from of old and preserved here in our temples; whereas your people
and the others are but newly equipped, every time, with letters and all such arts as civilized
States require and when, after the usual interval of years, like a plague, the flood from
heaven comes sweeping down afresh upon your people, [23b] it leaves none of you but the
unlettered and uncultured, so that you become young as ever, with no knowledge of all that
happened in old times in this land or in your own. Certainly the genealogies which you
related just now, Solon, concerning the people of your country, are little better than
children's tales; for, in the first place, you remember but one deluge, though many had
occurred previously; and next, you are ignorant of the fact that the noblest and most perfect
race amongst men were born in the land where you now dwell, and from them both you
yourself are sprung and the whole [23c] of your existing city, out of some little seed that
chanced to be left over; but this has escaped your notice because for many generations the
survivors died with no power to express themselves in writing. For verily at one time, Solon,
before the greatest destruction by water, what is now the Athenian State was the bravest in
war and supremely well organized also in all other respects. It is said that it possessed the
most splendid works of art and the noblest polity of any nation under heaven of which we
have heard tell.”

45
n. 2. Proclus, Commentaries of Proclus on the Timaeus of Plato, tr. Thomas Taylor, vol. 1
(1820, rpt. Kessinger Publishing, n.d.), pp. 108-109:

Again, however, we should remind ourselves respecting the whole deed of the Athenians,
that it is neither called a fable, nor a mere history; some indeed receiving what is narrated as
a history, but others, as a fable. And some asserting, that, in the first place, the development
of these, and such like narrations, appeared to Plato himself to be the province of a certain
laborious and not very fortunate man.1 And in the second place, that what is delivered by
Plato is not a thing of such an enigmatical nature, as the doctrine of Pherecydes, but that he
teaches with perspicuity concerning most of his dogmas. Neither, therefore, say they, should
we force him to analyse, since the man proposes to instruct us without ambiguity. They also
add, in the third place, that neither is a development in the present instance necessary. For
the cause of the insertion of this narration is known to be the delight and allurement of the
reader. And in the fourth place, that if we analyse all things, we shall suffer the same as
those who in a slippery manner are conversant with Homer. Others again think that the
development of this history should be referred to physical harmony, from what Plato
says of the narration about Phaeton, that it indeed has the form of a fable, but that it
manifests a certain natural event; since the Egyptians also, who, as Plato says, were the
fathers of this relation, obscurely signified the arcana of nature through fable. So that
the development of this narration [108-109]
1
Plato says this in the Phaedrus of the man who does not adapt the explications of fables to
divine concerns, but interprets them physically.

will be adapted to him, who speaks in the person of the Egyptians. For as Timaeus himself,
conformably to the philosophy of the Pythagoreans, makes his discussion from numbers and
figures, as interpreting nature through images; thus, also, the Egyptian priest will teach the
truth of things through symbols adapted to himself. To which may be added, that Plato
himself elsewhere accuses those who speak everything from what is at hand, in order, says
he, that they may render their wisdom manifest, even to shoemakers. So that he who delivers
true assertions through enigmas, is not foreign from the mind of Plato. And such are the
arguments of each.
We, however, say, that all these particulars are a history, and also an indication of the mun-
dane contrariety, and the whole order of things; the history, indeed, narrating past trans-
actions of men, but symbolically comprehending in itself those things which are compre-
hended in the universe, and the mundane contrariety. (emphasis added)

n. 3. Jeremiah Genest, “Places of Note: The Sun Chamber”:21

Plato confirms this in his own version of the crisis, given in Timaeus 22 CE. The Egyptian
priest talking with Solon states that the legend of Phaethon “has the air of a fable; but the
truth behind it is a deviation (parallaxis) of the bodies that revolve in heaven around the
earth, and a destruction, occurring at long intervals, of things on earth by a great conflag-
ration.” (emphasis added)

21
(http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Labyrinth/2398/oocinfo/primer/sun.html [5/5/03])

46
Note 5. Primary beliefs coming under the tradition Aristotle explains as being in the
form of myth: That the sun, the moon, and the stars were thought by the ancients to
be gods:

n. 1. Plato, Crat., 397d (tr. Benjamin Jowett):

SOCRATES. My notion would be something of this sort: I suspect that the sun, moon, earth,
stars, and heaven, which are still the Gods of many barbarians, were the only Gods known to
the aboriginal Hellenes. Seeing that they were always moving and running, from their run-
ning nature they were called Gods or runners ( qeou/j, qe/ontaj); and when men became ac-
quainted with the other Gods, they proceeded to apply the same name to them all. Do you
think that likely?

n. 2. Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, Bk I:

The first men looking up to the world above them, and terrified and struck with admiration at
the nature of the universe, supposed the sun and moon to be the principal and eternal gods.

n. 3. Euhemerus, in Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, Bk. VI. 1, tr. C. H. Oldfather):

Certain of the gods, they say, are eternal and imperishable, such as the sun and the moon and
the other stars of the heavens, and the winds as well and whatever else possesses a nature
similar to theirs; for each of these the genesis and duration are from everlasting to ever-
lasting.

n. 4. Eusebius of Caesarea, Praeparatio Evangelica (Preparation for the Gospel), Book I,

Chapter VI (1903) (tr. E.H. Gifford):

It is reported then that Phoenicians and Egyptians were the first of all mankind to declare the
sun and moon and stars to be gods, and to be the sole causes of both the generation and de-
cay of the universe, and that they afterwards introduced into common life the deifications
and theogonies which are matters of general notoriety.

n. 5. Eusebius of Caesarea, ibid., Book I, Chapter IX (1903) (tr. E.H. Gifford):

You find, too, in the Phoenician theology, that their first ‘physical philosophers knew no
other gods than the sun, the moon, and besides these the planets, the elements also, and the
things connected with them’; and that to these the earliest of mankind ‘consecrated the
productions of the earth, and regarded them as gods, and worshipped them as the sources of
sustenance to themselves and to following generations, and to all that went before them, and
offered to them drink-offerings and libations.’ But pity and lamentation and weeping they
consecrated to the produce of the earth when perishing, and to the generation of living
creatures at first from the earth, and then to their production one from another, and to their
end, when they departed from life. These their notions of worship were in accordance with
their own weakness, and the want as yet of any enterprise of mind.’

n. 6. See also the excerpts from Aristotle’s dialogue On Philosophy cited out of Sextus
Empricus below.

47
Supplement. The rationale of Euhemerus:

n. 1. Euhemerus of Messene, apud Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca (Library of History), VI.

1:

As regards the gods, then, men of ancient times have handed down to later generations two
different conceptions: Certain of the gods, they say, are eternal and imperishable, such as the
sun and the moon and the other stars of the heavens, and the winds as well and whatever else
possesses a nature similar to theirs; for each of these the genesis and duration are from ever-
lasting to everlasting. But the other gods, we are told, were terrestrial beings who attained to
immortal honor and fame because of their benefactions to mankind, such as Herakles,
Dionysus, Aristaeus, and the others who were like them.…

Now Euhemerus, who was a friend of King Cassander [a successor of Alexander the Great,
ruling Macedon from 301 to 297 B.C.E.] and was required by him to perform certain affairs
of state and to make great journeys abroad, says that he traveled southward as far as the
ocean; for setting sail from Arabia he voyaged through the ocean for a considerable number
of days and was carried to the shore of some islands in the sea, one of which bore the name
of Panchaea. On this island he saw the Panchaeans who dwell there, who excel in piety and
honor the gods with the most magnificent sacrifices and with remarkable votive offerings of
silver and gold.... There is also on the island, situated on an exceedingly high hill, a
sanctuary of Zeus, which was established by him during the time when he was king of all the
inhabited world and was still in the company of men. And in the temple there is a stele of
gold on which is inscribed in summary, in the writing employed by the Panchaeans, the
deeds of Ouranos and Kronos and Zeus.
Euhemerus goes on to say that Ouranos was the first to be king, that he was an honorable
and beneficent man, who was versed in the movement of the stars, and that he was also the
first to honor the gods of the heavens with sacrifices, whence he was called Ouranos, or
“Heaven”. There were born to him by his wife Hestia two sons, Titan and Kronos, and two
daughters, Rhea and Demeter. Kronos became king after Ouranos, and marrying Rhea he
begat Zeus and Hera and Poseidon. And Zeus, on succeeding to the kingship, married Hera
and Demeter and Themis, and by them he had children, the Kouretes by the first named,
Persephone by the second, and Athena by the third. And going to Babylon he was
entertained by Belus, and after that he went to the island of Panchaea, which lies in the
ocean, and here he set up an altar to Ouranos, the founder of his family. From there he
passed through Syria, ...and coming to Cilicia he conquered in battle Cilix, the governor of
the region, and he visited very many other nations, all of which paid honor to him and
publicly proclaimed him a god.

[Euhemerus (in Diodorus Siculus VI 1) ca. 300 B.C.E.]

Diodorus of Sicily, The Library of History, book VI, translated by C. H. Oldfather, volume
3, Cambridge 1970.

48
Supplement. Men who have been deified as ‘heroes’:

n. 1. Aristotle, Nic. Eth., VII. 1 (1145a 15-26) (tr. W. D. Ross):

[15] Let us now make a fresh beginning and point out that of moral states to be avoided there
are three kinds—vice, incontinence, brutishness. The contraries of two of these are evident,
—one we call virtue, the other continence; to brutishness it would be most fitting [20] to
oppose superhuman virtue, a heroic and divine kind of virtue, as Homer has represented
Priam saying of Hector that he was very good,

For he seemed not, he,

The child of a mortal man, but as one that of God’s seed came. (Il. xxiv. 258 f.)

Therefore if, as they say, men become gods by excess of virtue, of this kind must evidently
be the state opposed to the brutish state; for as a brute has no vice or virtue, so neither has a
god; his state [25] is higher than virtue, and that of a brute is a different kind of state from
vice.

n. 2. St. Thomas Aquinas, In VII Ethic. lect. 1, n. 7 (tr. B.A.M.):

For the gentiles used to call ‘heroes’ the souls of certain distinguished dead men, whom they
also used to call ‘deified’.

n. 3. Peter of Auvergne, In Polit. Contin., lib. III, lect., 13, n. 9 (tr. B.A.M.):

And they used to call the leaders ‘heroes’, as meaning those attaining to perfect virtue and its
act beyond the common state of men….

n. 4. Jean Seznec, “Myth in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance”, Dictionary of the
History of Ideas:

The essential question, however, is not how but why did the legends and figures of the gods
continue to obsess men’s minds and imaginations since the end of the pagan era. The cause
is to be found in the interpretations which antiquity itself had proposed on their origin and on
their nature. These interpretations can roughly be reduced to three. The first, and the most
prosaic, is euhemerism: the gods were only men, famous or powerful men, who had been
deified after their death through the adulation of their contemporaries. This theory is eagerly
seized upon by the Christian apologists, who use it as a weapon against paganism; but it is a
double-edged weapon. While it debases the gods by setting them on a level with mortal
beings, it also confirms their past existence: it makes them part of history. What Orosius,
Isidore of Seville, and their followers—such as Petrus Comestor in the twelfth century—
attempt to do is to assign to the gods a place in time, in relation with the great figures of the
Bible; the result of these synchronisms is to restore their prestige, by placing them on the
same footing as the Patriarchs. And indeed they seem to deserve this rehabilitation, if they
had been deified, to start with, for their virtues, their wisdom, Page 287, Volume 3 or their
services to mankind. Cicero observed in the De natura deorum:

Many divinities have with good reason been recognized and named both by the wisest
men of Greece and by our ancestors from the great benefits that they bestow. For it was
thought that whatever confers utility on the human race must be due to the operation of
divine benevolence towards men. Thus sometimes a thing sprung from a god was called
by the name of the god itself, as when we speak of corn as Ceres, or wine as Liber....

49
 Human experience moreover and general custom have made it a practice to confer the
deification of renown and gratitude upon distinguished benefactors. This is the origin of
Hercules and Aesculapius. These were duly deemed divine as being supremely good and
immortal because their souls survived and enjoyed eternal life (De natura deorum, tr. H.
Rackham, Loeb Classical Library, 1933, 1967).

The Middle Ages, too, proclaim the gratitude of humanity towards those “men” on whom
antiquity had conferred apotheosis; they even feel themselves related, as well as indebted, to
them, as civilization is a treasure which has been handed down through the centuries,
and no further distinction is made between the sacred and profane precursors of Christianity,
who first forged that treasure.

In accordance with the foregoing witnesses, then, we see there are two origins of the hero:
heroes may be (1) understood as mortal men raised up to that status of gods, or (2) as the
offspring of a mortal and an immortal parent.

N.B. Having seen how Aristotle’s twofold tradition of myth underlay the division into
three of the theology of the ancients, let us next consider the reasons for men’s belief in the
gods in the first place.

50
Note 6. On the origin of the religious beliefs of the ancients:

n. 1. On the four causes of men’s belief in the gods, cf. Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Natura
Deorum (On the Nature of the Gods) II (tr. Francis Brooks) (London, 1896). Book II, V:

Now Cleanthes, who belongs to our own school, said that ideas of the gods had been formed
in men’s minds owing to four causes. First he placed the cause just mentioned by me, which
had had its origin in premonitions of the future; second, the one which we have found in the
greatness of the advantages obtained from temperate climate, the fertility of the earth, and a
plentiful number of other sources of benefit; third, the terror caused to the mind by lightning,
tempest, storm-clouds, snow, hail, desert places, pestilence, the movements and frequent
rumblings of the earth, showers of stones, rain-drops with the appearance of blood, landslips
or sudden openings in the earth, monstrous human and animal portents, torch-like
appearances in the sky, stars of the kind which the Greeks call cometæ, and our countrymen
cincinnatæ,1 which in the recent struggle with Octav-ius 2 were the precursors of great
calamities, the phenomenon of a double sun, which I have heard from my father occurred
during the consulship of Tuditanus and Aquilius, the very year in which the light of that
other sun Publius Africanus was extinguished,—things which by the terror they inspired
made men conceive the existence of some kind of divine and heavenly power. As the fourth
and most important cause of all he names the uniformity of motion, the revolutions of the
heavens, the grouping of the sun, and moon, and all the stars, their serviceableness, beauty,
and order, the mere appearance of which things would be a sufficient indication that they
were not the result of chance. Just as a man going into a house, or gymnasium, or market-
place, would find it impossible, when he saw the plan, and scale, and arrangement of
everything, to suppose that these things came into being uncaused, but would understand that
there was some one who superintended and was obeyed, so in the case of such vast
movements and alternations, in the orderly succession of phenomena so numerous and so
mighty, in which the measureless and infinite extent of past time has never deceived
expectation, it is much more inevitable that he should conclude that such great operations of
nature are directed by some intelligence.
1
i.e., “with curling hair,” just as cometes (κομήτης) = “longhaired”.
2
i.e., Cnæus Octavius, a partisan of Sulla. The calamities portended were the proscriptions
under Marius and Sulla. (emphasis added)

n. 2. The four causes in sum:

1. “premonitions of the future”

2. “the greatness of the advantages obtained from temperate climate, the fertility of
the earth, and a plentiful number of other sources of benefit”
3. “the terror caused to the mind by lightning, tempest, storm-clouds, snow, hail,
desert places, pestilence, the movements and frequent rumblings of the earth,
showers of stones, rain-drops with the appearance of blood, landslips or sudden
openings in the earth, monstrous human and animal portents, torch-like appear-
ances in the sky”, etc.
4. “the uniformity of motion, the revolutions of the heavens, the grouping of the sun,
and moon, and all the stars, their serviceableness, beauty, and order”

n. 3. Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Natura Deorum (On the Nature of the Gods), trans.
Francis Brooks (London, 1896). Book I:
XXIV.

51
Furthermore, the life and common practice of mankind have admitted of their exalting to the
realms above, as the recipients of fame and gratitude, individuals who have excelled in well-
doing. To this we owe Hercules, Castor, Pollux, Æsculapius, and also Liber,—I mean by
him Liber the son of Semele, not the one whom our forefathers solemnly and piously
consecrated in connection with Ceres and Libera, the nature of which consecration may be
understood from the mysteries. It was in consequence of liberi being the term that we use of
our own children that the children of Ceres were named Liber and Libera, a use which is
retained in the case of Libera, but not so in that of Liber. To this we also owe Romulus, who
is thought to be the same as Quirinus. These men, since their souls survived and enjoyed
immortality, were rightly regarded as gods, for they were of the noblest nature and also
immortal.

There is, too, another method, and one moreover based upon natural science, from
which a great number of gods have resulted, the clothing of whom in mortal form has
supplied poets with stories, but has saturated human life with every kind of super-
stition. This subject has been treated by Zeno, and afterwards worked out more at length by
Cleanthes and Chrysippus. For instance, a long-established belief prevailed over Greece that
Cælus had been mutilated by his son Saturn, and Saturn himself bound by his son Jupiter,
but in these impious stories a physical theory was contained which was not without point, for
they meant that the element which holds the topmost position in the sky, the element of
æther, or fire, which creates all things by its own agency, is without that part of the body
which in order to generate needs the conjunction of a second part.

XXV.

By Saturn, again, they meant him who controlled the course and revolution of periods and
times, the god who in Greek bears that actual name, for he is called Κρόνος, which is the
same as χρόνος, that is, a period of time. And he was named Saturn because, it was
supposed, he was “made full” (saturo) with years, for it is because time swallows up the
periods of time, and is loaded, without being satisfied, with the years of the past, that Saturn
is represented as having been accustomed to devour his own offspring, and it was in order
that he might not have an unrestricted course, and that Jupiter might fetter him with the yoke
of the stars,1 that he is represented as having been bound by Jupiter. Jupiter himself, that is,
juvans pater, to whom, by a change of inflections, we give the name of Jove from juvare, is
called by the poets “father of gods and men,” and by our forefathers “best and greatest,”
“best,” indeed, that is, most beneficent, before “greatest,” because it is a greater, or at any
rate a more acceptable thing, to be of universal benefit than to possess great power; well, he,
as I said before, is described by Ennius in the following terms:—

Look upon yonder dazzling sky, which all address as Jove,

a clearer statement than when he says elsewhere:—

Wherefore with all my might will I curse yonder shining sky, whatsoever that is.

He is defined in the same way by our augurs, when they say, “when Jove lightens and
thunders”.2 Euripides also made, as he often did, an admirable remark when he said:—

You behold the boundless æther diffused on high, which with soft embrace encompasses the
earth: consider this the highest god, hold this as Jove.

XXVI.

52
Air, again, which has its place between the sea and the sky, is, as the Stoics maintain,
consecrated under the name of Juno, who is the sister and wife of Jove, because it has both a
likeness to æther and the very closest connection with it. Their making it feminine and
assigning it to Juno was due to the fact that there is nothing softer than air. As to the name
Juno, I believe it to have been derived from juvare. Water and earth remained, so that there
might according to the legends be a division into three kingdoms. To Neptune, therefore,
who is, they say, one of the two brothers of Jove, the whole of the kingdom of the sea was
given, and the name Neptunus was lengthened from nare, like Portunus from portus, the first
letters being slightly changed. The whole principle and element of earth, on the other hand,
was dedicated to father Dis, that is, Dives, “the wealthy god,” like Πλούτων 1 amongst the
Greeks, because all things return to the earth and proceed from it. His wife, they tell us, was
Proserpina, a name which comes from the Greeks, for she is the goddess who is called in
Greek Περσεfόνη; they identify her with the corn-seed, and have a fancy that when she has
been concealed in the ground her mother seeks for her. The name of the mother, derived
from the bearing of corn (gerere), is Ceres, as though Geres, and the first letter, as it
happened, was changed just as it was by the Greeks, for they on their side named her
Δημήτηρ as the equivalent of Γημήτηρ. Mavors, again, was so called because he was the
overturner of greatness (magna verteret), and Minerva either because she lessened
(minueret) or threatened (minaretur).

XXVII.

Since, moreover, in all things the beginning and the end are of most importance, they
assigned the first place in sacrifice to Janus, whose name is derived from ire, to go, the word
from which a through way of passage is called janus, and the doors at the entrance of private
houses januæ. As for Vesta,1 her name is taken from the Greeks, for she is the goddess who
is styled by them στία. Her functions relate to altars and hearths, and consequently, as she
is the guardian of what is most closely domestic, it is with her that all prayer and sacrifice
conclude. Not far different from her functions are those of the Penates, whether so called
from their name being derived from penus, which is the word used of everything that men
eat, or from the fact that they have their abode far within (penitus), on which account they
are also called by the poets penetrales. The name of Apollo, in the next place, is Greek, and
they hold that he is Sol, while they think that Diana is the same as Luna, Sol being so called
either because he alone (solus) of the heavenly bodies is of such a size, or because, when he
has risen, all are obscured, and he alone is to be seen, and Luna being named from lucere, to
shine, as appears from her other title being Lucina. Just as, therefore, among the Greeks it is
Diana,2 with the added designation of Lucifera, 3 that is invoked in child-birth, so among us it
is Juno Lucina.1 The latter goddess is also known as Diana omnivaga, “the all-wandering,”
not from hunting, but because she is reckoned amongst the seven apparently wandering stars,
and having the name of Diana because it was felt she created a kind of day ( dies) by night.
And she is summoned at births because they are completed sometimes in seven, or generally
in nine revolutions of the moon, which are called menses, months, because they accomplish
a measured space (mensa spatia). There is a remark of Timæus which, like many of his,
shows ingenuity; after saying in his history that the temple of the Ephesian Diana had been
burnt down on the same night that Alexander was born, he added that that was by no means
to be wondered at, since Diana wishing to be present at the delivery of Olympias had been
absent from her home. As to Venus, she was so named by our countrymen as being the
goddess who came to all things (veniret), and the word venustas, loveliness, is derived from
her rather than Venus from venustas.

XXVIII.

53
 Do you see, then, how from the right and useful discovery of natural phenomena a pas-
sage was made in thought to imaginary and fictitious deities?—a passage which gave
rise to false beliefs, and frantic errors, and superstitions worthy almost of a beldame.
For we are made acquainted with the forms, age, dress, and equipment of the gods, as also
with their descents, marriages, relationships, and everything in them that has been reduced to
the likeness of human frailty. Thus, they are brought before us with their minds a prey to
disturbance, for we hear of their desires and sorrows and angers, and they have even, as the
stories relate, had experience of wars and battles, not only, as in Homer, when they protected
on one side or the other two opposing armies, but they have also waged their own personal
wars, as with the Titans and Giants. These are things to which it is in the highest degree
foolish to give either utterance or credit, and they abound in futility and the most utter
triviality. Nevertheless, while we scorn and reject these stories, we shall be able to
understand the being and character of the gods who extend through the nature of each
thing, Ceres through the earth, Neptune through the sea, one god through one thing, and
another through another, together with the name by which custom has designated them, and
it is these gods1 whom we ought to reverence and worship.

And the worship of the gods which is best, and also purest, and holiest, and most full of
piety, is that we should always reverence them with a mind and voice that are without stain,
and guiltless, and uncorrupt; for religion has been dissociated from superstition not only by
philosophers but by our own ancestors as well. I may mention as to these two terms that men
who used to spend whole days in prayer and sacrifice in order that their children might
survive them (essent superstites), were called superstitiosus, a title which afterwards
extended more widely, while such as heedfully repeated and, as it were, “regathered”
(relegerent) everything that formed a part of divine worship, were named religiosus from
relegere, in the same way that elegans is derived from eligere, diligens from diligere, and
intellegens from intellegere, for in all these words the force of legere is the same as in
religiosus. It was in this way that with the words superstitiosus and religiosus the one
became the designation of a fault, the other of an excellence. I have, I think, sufficiently
shown both the existence of the gods and their nature.
1
i.e., gods whom we regard as personified forces of nature. (emphasis added)

[N.B. Notice how Cicero here brings together the two traditions of myth Aristotle de-
scribes.]

n. 4. De Natura Deorum Liber Tertius by Marcus Tullius Cicero (from “Introduction”, De

Natura Deorum Libri Tres, ed. Austin Stickney. Boston, 1881):

English Summary of Book II

Besides the gods whose existence has thus far been proved, namely the universe and the
heavenly bodies, wise men, continues Balbus, have for good reasons accepted many others.

1. Desirable and useful things have been regarded as gifts of divine persons and so have
been named after the givers; as, for instance, wine and grain are called Liber and Ceres:
so also
2. virtues and relations of great importance, which were referred to especial divine influ-
ence, like Truth, Virtue, Honor, Unity, Freedom &c. (59-61).
3. Famous men have been deified for their achievements (62).
4. Finally the forces of nature have been personified and natural phenomena clothed in
allegories; and this has given rise to a great number of gods and fables relating to them

54
 (62-70). It would be in the highest degree foolish to interpret these literally and to be-
lieve them; a sensible person will rather take them in their true sense, and regard those
gods as nothing more than manifestations of the divine being working in different parts
of the universe, to whom we should pay reverence with a true and honest heart.

N.B. In one way, to say that the divine ‘embraces’ or ‘pervades’ or ‘contains’ all things is
to equate it with the world soul, as did Pythagoras in the passage quoted by Justin; in an-
other way, it is to equate it with the forces of the universe, as some understand Pherecydes
to take Zeus as a “fundamental force of nature”.

Note 7. Aristotle on the causes of men’s belief in gods.

n. 1. For Aristotle, cf. Sextus Empiricus, Phys. I. 20-23 (= Aristotle, On Philosophy, frag.
R3 12), tr. W. D. Ross, The Works of Aristotle, Vol. XII, Select Fragments, 12 a, p. 84:

Aristotle used to say that men’s thought of gods sprang from two sources—the experiences
of the soul and the phenomena of the heavens. To the first head belonged the inspiration and
prophetic power of the soul in dreams. For when, he says, the soul is isolated in sleep, it
assumes its true nature and foresees and foretells the future. So it is too with the soul, when
at death it is severed from the body. At all events, Aristotle accepts even Homer as having
observed this; for Homer has represented Patroclus, in the moment of his death, as
foretelling the death of Hector, and Hector as foretelling the end of Achilles. It was from
such events, he says, that men came to suspect the existence of something divine, 1 of that
which is in itself akin to the soul and of all things most full of knowledge. But the heavenly
bodies also contributed to this belief; seeing by day the sun running his circular course, and
by night the well-ordered movement of the other stars, they came to think that there is a God
who is the cause of such movement and order. Such was the belief of Aristotle.
1
Reading in R, 28. 13 qei=on, with Mutschmann.

n. 2. Cf. also Sextus Empiricus, Math. 9 (Phys. I) 26-27 (= Aristotle, On Philosophy, frag.
R3 13), tr. W. D. Ross, The Works of Aristotle, Vol. XII, Select Fragments, 12 b, p. 85:

Some men, when they come to the unswerving and well-ordered movement of the heavenly
bodies, say that in this the thought of gods had its origin; for as, if one had sat on the Trojan
Mount Ida and seen the array of the Greeks approaching the plains in good order and
arrangement, ‘horsemen first with horses and chariots, and footmen behind’, 1 such a one
would certainly have come to think that there was someone arranging such an array and
commanding the soldiers ranged under him, Nestor or some other hero who knew ‘how to
order horses and bucklered warriors’.2

And as one familiar with ships, as soon as he sees from afar a ship running before the wind
with all its sails well set, knows that there is someone directing it and steering it 3 to its ap-
pointed harbours, so those who first looked up to heaven and saw the sun running its race
from its rising to its setting, and the orderly dances of the stars, looked for the Craftsman of
this lovely design, and surmised that it came about not by chance but by the agency of some
mightier and imperishable nature, which was God.
1
Hom. Il. 4. 297.
2
Ibid. 2. 554
3
Reading in R. 29. 6 kata/gwn, with Mutchsmann.

55
n. 3. For a related observation, cf. Diodorus of Sicily. Bibliotheca historica, Book II,
28.30:

30. Now, as the Chaldeans say, the world is by its nature eternal, and neither had a first be-
ginning nor will at a later term suffer destruction; furthermore, both the disposition and the
orderly arrangement of the universe have come about by virtue of a divine providence, and
today whatever takes place in the heavens is in every instance brought to pass, not at hap-
hazard nor by virtue of any spontaneous action, but by some fixed and firmly determined
divine decision. And since they have observed the stars over a long period of time and have
noted both the movements and the influences of each of them with greater precision than any
other men, they foretell to mankind many things that will take place in the future.

n. 4. Aristotle, On Philosophy fr.12 Rose (quoted by Cicero On the Nature of the Gods
2.95) (tr. Malcolm Heath):

So Aristotle brilliantly remarks: If there were people who had always lived beneath the earth,
in comfortable, well-lit dwellings, decorated with statues and pictures and furnished with all
the things in which persons thought to be supremely happy abound, and who had never come
forth above the ground, but had learnt by report and by hearsay of the existence of a certain
divine spirit or power; and then if at some time the jaws of the earth were opened and they
were able to escape from their hidden abode and to come forth into these regions which we
inhabit; when they suddenly had caught sight of the earth and the seas and the sky, and come
to know of the vast clouds and mighty winds, and beheld the sun, and realised not only its
size and beauty but also its potency in causing the day by shedding light over all the sky;
and, after night had darkened the earth, they then saw the whole sky spangled and adorned
with stars, and the changing phases of the moon's light, now waxing, now waning, and the
rising and setting of all of these and their courses fixed and changeless throughout all
eternity—when they saw these things, surely they would conclude that the gods exist and
that these great things are the work of the gods.

n. 5. Cf. also Sacred Scripture on Cicero’s fourth cause:

“All men are vain, in whom there is not the knowledge of God: and who by these good
things that are seen, could not understand him that is, neither by attending to the works have
acknowledged who was the workman: but have imagined either the fire, or the wind, or the
swift air, or the circle of the stars, or the great water, or the sun and moon, to be the gods that
rule the world.” (Wisdom xiii, 1-2)

“The invisible things of God from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being
understood by the things that are made.” (Romans 1:20)

“26 If I beheld the sun when it shined, and the moon going in brightness: 27 And my heart in
secret hath rejoiced, and I have kissed my hand with my mouth: 28 Which is a very great
iniquity, and a denial against the most high God.” (Job 31:26-28)

“And when you look up to the sky and see the sun, the moon and the stars - all the heavenly
array - do not be enticed into bowing down to them and worshipping things the LORD your
God has apportioned to all the nations under heaven.” (Deuteronomy 4:19)

“When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou
hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou
visitest him?” (Psalms 8:3–4)

56
“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.” (Psalms
19:1)

“By the word of the LORD were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of
his mouth.” (Psalms 33:6)

“The heavens are thine, the earth also is thine: as for the world and the fulness thereof, thou
hast founded them.” (Psalms 89:11).

“Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth: and the heavens are the work of thy
hands. They shall perish, but thou shalt endure: yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment;
as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed:” (Psalms 102:25–26)

“Whatsoever the LORD pleased, that did he in heaven, and in earth, in the seas, and all deep
places.” (Psalms 135:6).

“It is he that sitteth upon the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as
grasshoppers; that stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to
dwell in:” (Isaiah 40:22).

“Thus saith God the LORD, he that created the heavens, and stretched them out; he that
spread forth the earth, and that which cometh out of it; he that giveth breath unto the people
upon it, and spirit to them that walk therein:” (Isaiah 42:5).

“I have made the earth, and created man upon it: I, even my hands, have stretched out the
heavens, and all their host have I commanded.” (Isaiah 45:12).

“Thus saith the LORD... I clothe the heavens with blackness, and I make sackcloth their
covering.” (Isaiah 50:1, 3).

“Ah Lord GOD! behold, thou hast made the heaven and the earth by thy great power and
stretched out arm, and there is nothing too hard for thee:” (Jeremiah 32:17).

“He hath made the earth by his power, he hath established the world by his wisdom, and hath
stretched out the heaven by his understanding.” (Jeremiah 51:15).

57
Note 8. The passage from popular religion to the theology of the philosophers in sum:

n. 1. “Introduction” to De Natura Deorum Libri Tres, ed. Austin Stickney (Boston, 1881):

The philosophy of religion has to deal with the most important questions which can occupy
the human mind. These regard the existence and nature of those unseen powers which are
felt by man to control both his own inner and outer life, and the visible world about him.
There is one answer ever ready for these questions: religion, older than any philosophy,
offers a body of more or less definite conceptions which constitute the popular faith; and this
faith is realized in the public worship and in the whole religious tone of the people. But in
this as in all other matters there comes a time in the intellectual development of all nations
when the more advanced minds feel a need, which is the beginning and end of all philos-
ophy, the need of positive knowledge. People are no longer able to accept the tradi-tions of
religion upon mere faith; they ask for the reason of faith, for the ground of the pre-vailing
ideas; and if religion cannot make good its claims by appeal to a higher authority, to a divine
revelation, and thus raise its domain above all doubt or cavil (a thing which the religions of
antiquity neither were able nor pretended to do), the necessary consequence is that reason
makes an attempt to find an answer to these questions in her own way; and she then
concedes the truth of the traditional faith only in so far as it coincides with or at least does
not contradict her own conclusions.
This is sufficient to indicate in general the relation of the philosophy of religion to the
popular religion; it would of necessity be variously modified according to the greater or less
degree in which speculation had freed itself from the influence of the popular faith; to hold a
quite free and independent position was never an easy matter. The faith in which a person
was brought up, and which prevailed around him, necessarily exercised an influence upon
philosophy; and the latter, instead of taking its own course regardless of the result it might
reach, was often directed to a foregone conclusion from a desire to keep in harmony with the
common faith. Although there was in antiquity no catechetical instruction, yet the universal
belief operated with the same force; and implanted prejudices and modes of thought in the
mind, before it could test and judge them, from which it afterwards found it difficult to break
loose. Even where speculative reason was least affected by such influences the factors of the
problem differed according to the ability and culture of individuals; and hence the inevitable
consequence, that instead of sure and demonstrable results one reached only theories and
opinions; and the confusing variety of these fully justified the most conscientious persons in
concluding that it was useless to hope for any positive knowledge in these matters, and that
every one must adopt such opinions as best satisfied his own reason and temperament; and
we find this confession to be the result which Cicero reaches in the present essay. (emphasis
added)

n. 2. Jack Goody and Ian Watt, “The Consequences of Literacy”, in Jack Goody, ed.,
Literacy in Traditional Societies (Cambridge, 1968), Myth and history; excerpted above,
Note 1, n. 12.

n. 3. Gerald Nadaff, “Allegory and the Origins and Development of Philosophy from the
Presocratics to the Enlightenment”:22

Given the importance of allegoresis, that is, allegorizing as an interpretative mode, it is most
surprising that histories of ancient philosophy rarely mention the notion in the development
of early Greek philosophy.

22
(http://www.acpcpa.ca/publications/presidential-addresses/2006-in-english/ [2/13/07])

58
 The history of allegoresis is complex. It features many actors with widely different posi-
tions and roles. The initial protagonists are, of course, Homer and Hesiod, who were canon-
ized prior to the birth of philosophy as the ‘educators of Greece.’ Their works constitute the
original and primary object of allegoresis. Then there are the Milesians, the first philo-
sophers. They are the real heroes in this affair – although never acknowledged as such by
contemporary scholars. Indeed, within a generation or two of their articulation, their natural-
istic theories – with which we associate the origins of philosophy– appeared so convincing
to the intellectual milieu that there is a sense in which they were uncontested. If Homer and
Hesiod were to maintain their unparalleled prestige as the guarantors of the cultural past,
their poems had to be seen as conveying the same ideas as those of the Milesians, at least by
a large portion of the intelligentsia. This is already clear in the scholium to (or the ‘com-
ment’ on) [Homer by] the late 6th century BC grammarian Theagenes of Rhegium, who
plays, as we will see, a pivotal role in this history.

We also have Xenophanes and Heraclitus, who were the first to challenge publicly the idea
that Homer and Hesiod had any claim to ‘truthful knowledge.’ Until their very public
scolding of the two great poets, there was nothing to indicate that Homer and Hesiod were
understood otherwise than literally. It was only when Xenophanes and Heraclitus drew
attention to the consequences of a literal interpretation that allegoresis, a radical new way of
interpreting Homer and Hesiod, was introduced. Xenophanes and Heraclitus thus appear to
have paved the road for the aforementioned Theagenes of Rhegium, a younger Italian (or
western Greek) contemporary, who is the first per-son credited with writing an allegorical
exegesis of Homer as a reply to his detractors. (emphasis added)

n. 4. Consider in this regard the following summary, excerpted from my paper “Plot Con-
struction and Character Portrayal in Aristotle’s Poetics” on mythical subject-matter em-
ployed by poets like Homer:

Presumably, such things are to be understood as coming under the rationale Aristotle deter-
mines about at Poetics ch. 25 (1460b35—1461a1) (tr. B.A.M.): “If, however, in neither way,
[it may be replied], “but so they say”, 23 such as the things [they say] about the gods; for
perhaps it is not better, nor true to say [things are so], but is just as it happens, as in the view
of Xenophanes: ‘but, at any rate, they say [they are so].’” 24 So, to take an example, Herodo-
tus tells us that, with respect to the gods, the poets Hesiod and Homer taught the Greeks their
origin, their duration, their descent, their names, their offices, their activities, and their
outward forms or appearances (The Histories, 2.53.1-3). “And,” adds Aristotle (Pol. I. 2,
1252b 24-27, tr. B.A.M.): “….as men liken the form of the gods to themselves, so also do
they liken the god’s ways of life.” For, as Xenophanes tells us, “…mortals consider that the
23
That is to say, if the poet is censured that his imitation is neither true nor better, it may be replied that men
say such things; i.e. “so the story goes”, or “thus runs the tale”.
24
According to Xenophanes (Fr. 186, Raven and Kirk), with respect to the gods, “…should one chance to
say what is true for the most part, he could not know it to be the truth. But all is mere guesswork” (my trans.).
Compare also Plato, Crat. 425c (tr. B. Jowett): “…as I said before about the gods, that of the truth about
them we know nothing, and do but entertain human notions about them”. Such being the case, we cannot dis-
miss out of hand the things men say in such matters but owe rather to tradition a respectful hearing. Cf. Paus-
anias, Description of Greece with an English Translation by W.H.S. Jones, Litt.D. in 4 Volumes. Volume 1.
Attica and Corinth (Cambridge & London, 1918), 8.8.3:

When I began to write my history I was inclined to count these legends as foolishness, but on getting
as far as Arcadia I grew to hold a more thoughtful view of them, which is this. In the days of old those
Greeks who were considered wise spoke their sayings not straight out but in riddles, and so the
legends about Cronus I conjectured to be one sort of Greek wisdom. In matters of divinity, therefore, I
shall adopt the received tradition.

59
 gods are born, and that they have clothes and speech and bodies like their own.” 25
Accordingly, he says, “The gods of Ethiopia are black, their noses flat; In Thrace, their hair
is red and eyes are blue”.26 To sum up, the poet’s use of mythologems like the divine descent
of Heracles may be justified by an appeal to the things men say—that is, to what is merely a
matter of tradition, to which the many give belief—but such things are referred in the first
place to the manner in which the poet speaks: in such cases, he is speaking, not of himself,
but as a storyteller.

In sum, when the truth-value of traditional stories of the gods and heroes is called into
question, an attempt is made by philosophical thinkers to arrive at “positive knowledge”
concerning such things; an enterprise eventually leading to the first formulations of what
later became known as ‘natural’ theology, but first giving rise to what Plato called “likely
stories,” and which we might call “educated guesses”.

25
It follows that, while the mythical or fabulous is taken by certain men as incredible—that is, as unworthy of
belief—for many others, such things are not so taken. One must consider here the mythical character of the
believed religion—that is, insofar as it consists in the sort of story, with its allied cultic ritual, lying at the
origin of religion: I mean here that arising from man’s most direct experience of the mysteries of life and the
wonders of nature, a sort which we discuss at length elsewhere in relation to superstition and idolatry, as
described further below.
?
Cf. G. S. Kirk and J. E. Raven, The Presocratic Philosophers (Cambridge, 1957), n. 167, p. 169.
26
Translation taken from David Mulroy, ed., Early Greek Lyric Poetry (Ann Arbor, 1992), p. 123.

60
Note 9. A philosophical system in substantial agreement with Aristotle’s description
of the first thing that was handed down in the form of myth:

n. 1. Justin Martyr, “Exhortation to the Greeks”, Chapter XIX. Testimony of Pythagoras:

And Pythagoras, son of Mnesarchus, who expounded the doctrines of his own philosophy,
mystically by means of symbols, as those who have written his life show, himself seems to
have entertained thoughts about the unity of God not unworthy of his foreign residence in
Egypt. For when he says that unity is the first principle of all things, and that it is the cause
of all good, he teaches by an allegory that God is one, and alone. And that this is so, is
evident from his saying that unity and one differ widely from one another. For he says that
unity belongs to the class of things perceived by the mind, but that one belongs to numbers.
And if you desire to see a clearer proof of the opinion of Pythagoras concerning one God,
hear his own opinion, for he spoke as follows:

“God is one; and He Himself does not, as some suppose, exist outside the world, but in it,
He being wholly present in the whole circle, and beholding all generations; being the re-
gulating ingredient of all the ages, and the administrator of His own powers and works,
the first principle of all things, the light of heaven, and Father of all, the intelligence and
animating soul of the universe, the movement of all orbits.”

Thus, then, Pythagoras. (emphasis added)

n. 2. Fabre D’Olivet, Examinations of the Golden Verses of Pythagoras. 3. ...Revere the

memory Of the Illustrious Heroes, of Spirits demi-Gods...:

Pythagoras considered the Universe as an animated All, whose members were the divine
Intelligences, each ranked according to its perfections, in its proper sphere. He it was who
first designated this All, by the Greek word Kosmos, in order to express the beauty, order,
and regularity which reigned there; the Latins translated this word by Mundus, from
which has come the French word monde. It is from Unity considered as principle of the
world, that the name Universe which we give to it is derived. Pythagoras establishes Unity as
the principle of all things and said that from this Unity sprang an infinite Duality. The
essence of this Unity, and the manner in which the Duality that emanated from it was finally
brought back again, were the most profound mysteries of his doctrine; the subject sacred to
the faith of his disciples and the fundamental points which were forbidden them to reveal.
Their explanation was never made in writing; those who appeared worthy of learning them
were content to be taught them by word of mouth. When one was forced, by the
concatenation of ideas, to mention them in books of the sect, symbols and ciphers were used,
and the language of Numbers employed; and these books, all obscure as they were, were still
concealed with the greatest care; by all manner of means they were guarded against falling
into profane hands. I cannot enter into the discussion of the famous symbol of Pythagoras,
one and two, without exceeding very much the limits that I have set down in these
examinations; let it suffice for me to say, that as he designated God by 1, and matter by 2, he
expressed the Universe by the number 12, which results in the union of the other two. This
number is formed by the multiplication of 3 by 4: that is to say, that this philosopher
conceived the Universal world as composed of three particular worlds, which, being linked
one with the other by means of the four elementary modifications, were developed in twelve
concentric spheres. The ineffable Being which filled these twelve spheres without being
understood by anyone, was God. Pythagoras gave to It, truth for soul and light for body.
The Intelligences which peopled the three worlds were, firstly, the immortal gods properly
so-called; secondly, the glorified heroes; thirdly, the terrestrial demons.

61
 The immortal gods, direct emanations of the uncreated Being and manifestation of Its
infinite faculties, were thus named because they could not depart from the divine life – that
is, they could never fall away from their Father into oblivion, wandering in the darkness of
ignorance and of impiety; whereas the souls of men, which produced, according to their
degree of purity, glorified heroes and terrestrial demons, were able to depart sometimes from
the divine life by voluntary drawing away from God; because the death of the intellectual
essence, according to Pythagoras and imitated in this by Plato, was only ignorance and
impiety. It must be observed that in my translation I have not rendered the Greek word
******** by the word demons, but by that of spirits, on account of the evil meaning that
Christianity has attached to it, as I explained in a preceding note. (emphasis added)

n. 3. Albert Pike, Morals and Dogma of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Free-
masonry, prepared for the Supreme Council of the Thirty Third Degree for the Southern
Jurisdiction of the United States: Charleston, 1871:

Timaeus of Locria and Plato his Commentator wrote of the Soul of the World, developing
the doctrine of Pythagoras, who thought, says Cicero, that God is the Universal Soul,
resident everywhere in nature, and of which our Souls are but emanations. ‘“God is one,”
says Pythagoras, as cited by Justin Martyr: “He is not, as some think, without the
world, but within it, and entire in its entirety. He sees all that becomes, forms all
immortal beings, is the author of their powers and performances, the origin of all
things, the Light of Heaven, the Father, the Intelligence, the Soul of all beings, the
Mover of all spheres.” God, in the view of Pythagoras, was ONE, a single substance,
whose continuous parts extended through all the Universe, without separation, difference,
or inequality, like the soul in the human body. He denied the doctrine of the spiritualists,
who had severed the Divinity from the Universe, making Him exist apart from the
Universe, which thus became no more than a material work, on which acted the Abstract
Cause, a God, isolated from it. The Ancient Theology did not so separate God from the
Universe. This Eusebius attests, in saying that but a small number of wise men, like
Moses, had sought for God or the Cause of all, outside of that ALL; while the
Philosophers of Egypt and Phoenicia, real authors of all the old Cosmogonies, had placed
the Supreme Cause in the Universe itself, and in its parts, so that, in their view, the world
and all its parts are in God. The World or Universe was thus compared to man: the
Principle of Life that moves it, to that which moves man; the Soul of the World to that of
man. Therefore Pythagoras called man a microcosm, or little world, 27 as possessing in
miniature all the qualities found on a great scale in the Universe; by his reason and
intelligence partaking of the Divine Nature: and by his faculty of changing aliments into
other substances, of growing, and reproducing himself, partaking of elementary Nature.

Thus he made the Universe a great intelligent Being, like man—an immense Deity, having
in itself, what man has in himself, movement, life, and intelligence, and besides, a perpetuity
of existence, which man has not; and, as having in itself perpetuity of movement and life,
therefore the Supreme Cause of all. Everywhere extended, this Universal Soul does not, in
the view of Pythagoras, act everywhere equally nor in the same manner. The highest portion
of the Universe, being as it were its head, seemed to him its principal seat, and there was the
guiding power of the rest of the world. In the seven concentric spheres is resident an eternal
order, fruit of the intelligence, the Universal Soul that moves, by a constant and regular
progression, the immortal bodies that form the harmonious system of the heavens. Manilius
says:

27
For Plato’s view of these matters, see the excerpts from the Timaeus given below. For the place of this sys-
tem among the various forms of idolatry, see my treatment below synthesizing the doctrine of St. Thomas.

62
 “I sing the invisible and potent Soul of Nature; that Divine Substance which, everywhere
inherent in Heaven Earth, and the Waters of the Ocean, forms the bond that holds together
and makes one all the parts of the vast body of the Universe. It, balancing all Forces, and
harmoniously arranging varied relations of the many members of the world, maintains the
life and regular movement that agitate it, as a result of action of the living breath or single
spirit that dwells in all parts, circulates in all the channels of universal nature, flashes with
rapidity to all its points, and gives to animated bodies configurations appropriate to the
organization of each .... This eternal Law, this Divine Force, that maintains the harmony [of]
the world, makes use of the Celestial Signs to organize and guide the animated creatures that
breathe upon the earth; and gives each of them the character and habits most appropriate.

By action of this Force Heaven rules the condition of the Earth and of its fields culti-
vated by the husbandman: it gives us or takes from us vegetation and harvests: it
makes the great ocean over-pass its limits at the flow, and retire within them again at
ebbing, of the tide.”

Thus it is no longer by means of a poetic fiction only that heavens and the earth become
animated and personified, and are deemed living existences, from which other existences
proceed. For now they live, with their own life, a life eternal like the bodies, each gifted with
a life and perhaps a soul, like those [of] man, a portion of the universal life and universal
soul; and the other bodies that they form, and which they contain in the bosoms, live only
through them and with their life, as the embryo lives in the bosom of its mother, in
consequence and by means a the life communicated to it, and which the mother ever
maintains by the active power of her own life. Such is the universal life of the world,
reproduced in all the beings which its superior portion creates in its inferior portion, that is as
it were the matrix of the world, or of the beings that the heavens engender in its bosom.
(emphasis added)

n. 4. “Origins of Scientific Materialism”, Theosophy, Vol. 28, No. 12, October, 1940:

The ancient pagan cosmogonies had included a multiplicity of gods who were the intel-
ligences behind the forces of nature – personifications which were rendered acceptable to
philosophy by Pythagoras and Plato. The Greek philosopher-initiates assimilated the “gods”
to various degrees of spiritual intelligences emanated from the One, coming forth in mathe-
matical harmonies expressive of and participants in the intelligence of Cosmic Mind.

It would appear, then, that the cosmogony attributed to Pythagoras agrees to a certain ex-
tent with the content of Aristotle’s first tradition “handed down in the form of myth”,
namely, “that these [celestial] bodies are gods, and that the divine encloses [that is, per-
vades] the whole of nature”.28 And let us take occasion here to note that the Philosopher’s
view, while resembling the former in certain particulars, is in no way to be identified with
it: Whereas the Pythagorean is a system of pantheism, making the divine pervading nature
to be the substance of God himself, Aristotle’s view is that there is an element in the world
which can be reasonably called ‘divine’. Nor does he account for this element as involving
anything like an emanation from God.

n. 5. On the propria of Judeo-Christian world-view on the points at issue, cf. Tatian,

Address to the Greeks, ch. iv. The Christians Worship God Alone (tr. J. E. Ryland):

28
For a consideration of this first tradition as regarding the divinity of the sun, the moon, and the stars see our
excerpts given above.

63
 For what reason, men of Greece, do you wish to bring the civil powers, as in a pugilistic
encounter, into collision with us? And, if I am not disposed to comply with the usages of
some of them, why am I to be abhorred as a vile miscreant? Does the sovereign order the
payment of tribute, I am ready to render it. Does my master command me to act as a
bondsman and to serve, I acknowledge the serfdom. Man is to be honoured as a fellow-man;
God alone is to be feared,—He who is not visible to human eyes, nor comes within the
compass of human art. Only when I am commanded to deny Him, will I not obey, but will
rather die than show myself false and ungrateful. Our God did not begin to be in time: He
alone is without beginning, and He Himself is the beginning of all things. God is a Spirit,
not pervading matter, but the Maker of material spirits, and of the forms that are in
matter; He is invisible, impalpable, being Himself the Father of both sensible and invisible
things. Him we know from His creation, and apprehend His invisible power by His works. I
refuse to adore that workmanship which He has made for our sakes. 29 The sun and moon
were made for us: how, then, can I adore my own servants? How can I speak of stocks and
stones as gods? For the Spirit that pervades matter is inferior to the more divine spirit; and
this, even when assimilated to the soul, is not to be honoured equally with the perfect God.
(emphasis added)

n. 6. For a helpful way of conceiving the relationship of God to the cosmos, cf. Abraham
Cohen, Everyman’s Talmud: The Major Teachings of the Rabbinic Sages (New York,
1949), Chapter I. The Doctrine of God. Omnipresence, p. 6:

To assist the comprehension of the place of the incorporeal God in the Universe, an analogy
is drawn from the incorporeal part of the human being—the soul. ‘As the Holy One, blessed
by He, fills the whole world, so also the soul fills the whole body. As the Holy One, blessed
be He, sees but cannot be seen, so also the soul sees but cannot be seen. As the Holy One,
blessed be He, nourishes the whole world, so also the soul nourishes the whole body. As the
Holy One, blessed be He, is pure, so also the soul is pure. As the Holy One, blessed be He,
dwells in the inmost part of the Universe, so also the soul dwells in the inmost part of the
body’ (Ber. 10a).

29
Cf. Rom 1:20: From the creation of the world, the invisible things of God are clearly seen, being
understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead. Cf. Wis. 13:1-2: But all men
are vain, in whom there is not the knowledge of God: and who by these good things that are seen, could not
understand him that is, neither by attending to the works have acknowledged who was the workman: but
have imagined either the fire, or the wind, or the swift air, or the circle of the stars, or the great water, or the
sun and moon, to be the gods that rule the world.

64
Note 10. On the riddling or ‘enigmatic’ form of myth (= Aristotle’s first tradition,
which is what the Roman Varro calls “the theology of the philosophers”, supra):

n. 1. James S. Romm, The Edges of the Earth (Princeton, 1992), pp. 177-179:

As mentioned earlier in chapter 1, Plato is perhaps the first writer to look at these passages 30
from a critical perspective, and his analysis prefigures that of many later readers. He wrestles
with the Iliad lines twice in the Theaetetus (152d7-e7), and once again in the Cratylus, this
time in conjunction with the Orphic hymn (402b1-c3). 31 On each occasion he has Socrates
find in these passages a veiled description of the Heraclitean “flux” governing the cosmos.
Nor does he treat this as a subjective or arbitrary interpretation, but one based on the explicit
intentions of the early poets:

Have we not heard something else regarding this question [of a universal flux] from the
ancients, who baffled the masses by way of their poetry: that Ocean and Tethys, both
flowing streams who do not stand still, are the source of all other things? (Theaet. 180c8-
d3)

Here Plato suggests that the “ancients” (hoi archaioi) had deliberately hidden allegori-
cal meanings in entities like Ocean by a kind of encryption, as if to keep their truths out
of reach of the unlettered public; he goes on to contrast this with the technique of modern-
day teachers (like Socrates) who express their meanings openly, “so that even the cobblers
may hear.” It is not clear whether Plato took such a view seriously (it sounds like the same
sort of labored hermeneutics he allows Socrates to scoff at elsewhere, e.g., Phaedrus 229c-
230a), but the frequency with which it recurs and the degree of its elaboration indicate that
some of his contemporaries probably did so.

Aristotle, although skeptical of Plato’s Heraclitean reading of Homer’s Ocean, proposes an

allegorizing interpretation of his own, grounded this time not in cosmology but in mete-
orology. In his Meteorologica he introduces Ocean as a figure for the circulation of water
vapor in the earth’s atmosphere:

We should think of [the hydrologic cycle] as a river, running in a circle high and low,
composed of air and water together: When the sun is near, a river of vapor runs upward,
and when it sets a river of water runs down. And this cycle keeps going continually in the
same order. Thus, if the men of old were speaking in riddles (einittonto) when they
mention Ocean, then perhaps they referred to this river which flows in a circle around
the earth. (347a2-7)

This solution may strike us as contrived, perhaps even more contrived than Plato’s; what is
interesting, however, is that Aristotle here agrees with Plato in supposing that early poets
deliberately “wrote in riddles,” and in seeing Ocean as a prime example of such encryption.
As to the question of what purpose this riddling style would have served, however, beyond
providing colorful metaphors for later cosmologists, Aristotle gives no clues. (emphasis
added)

n. 2. Plato, Theaet. 180c8-d3 (tr. Romm):

30
Cf. Il. 14.201, where Ocean is described as “origin of the gods” and 14. 246, where he is called “begetter of
all things”.
31
“Ocean I call upon, father unperishing, always existing, origin of immortals and mortals, who sends his
waves round about the farthest circle of earth.” (tr. ed. Romm)

65
 “Have we not heard something else regarding this question [of a universal flux] from the
ancients, who baffled the masses by way of their poetry: that Ocean and Tethys, both
flowing streams who do not stand still, are the source of all other things?”

n. 3. St. Thomas Aquinas, In I De Caelo, lect. 22, n. 8 (tr. B.A.M.):

But certain men say that these poets and philosophers, and principally Plato, have not so
understood <the matter> in the way it sounds according to the surface of their words [ quod
sonat secundum superficiem verborum]; but they wished to hide their wisdom with
certain fables and riddling expressions [quibusdam fabulis et aenigmaticis locutionibus
occultare]; and that Aristotle was accustomed for the most part not to object to their
understanding, but to their words, lest someone fall into error from their manner of speaking,
as Simplicius says in his Commentary. Still, Alexander wanted to have it that Plato and the
other ancient philosophers understood this matter as their words outwardly sound [quod
verba eorum exterius sonant]; and so Aristotle wished to argue not only against their words,
but also against their understanding.

Now whatever the case may be in these matters is no great concern of ours, because the
endeavor of philosophy is not to know what men have thought, but how the truth of things
stands [quidquid autem horum sit, non est nobis multum curandum: quia studium
philosophiae non est ad hoc quod sciatur quid homines senserint, sed qualiter se habeat
veritas rerum]. (emphasis added)

n. 4. St. Thomas Aquinas, In II Meta., lect. 11, n. 3 (tr. B.A.M.):

Concerning the first, one must consider that among the Greeks, or natural philosophers, there
were certain men pursuing wisdom who meddled with the gods themselves, hiding the truth
of divine things under a certain covering of fables [qui deis se intromiserunt occultantes
veritatem divinorum sub quodam tegmine fabularum], as did Orpheus, Hesiod, and certain
others; as Plato also hid the truth of philosophy under mathematics, as Simplicius says in his
commentary on the Predicaments.

n. 5. Clement of Alexandria, The Stromata, or Miscellanies V, 4 (ANF, Vol. II):

All then, in a word, who have spoken of divine things, both Barbarians and Greeks, have
veiled the first principles of things, and delivered the truth in enigmas, and symbols, and
allegories, and metaphors, and such like tropes…. But those, taught in theology by those
prophets, the poets, philosophize much by way of a hidden sense. I mean…those in this
fashion wise.

n. 6. Proclus, The Theology of Plato. Translated by Thomas Taylor (London, 1816), Book
I, ch. IV:

For that mythological mode which indicates divine concerns through conjecture is ancient,
concealing truth under a multitude of veils, and proceeding in a manner similar to nature,
which extends sensible fragments of intelligibles, material, of immaterial, partible, of im-
partible natures, and images, and things which have a false being, of things perfectly true.

n. 7. Strabo, Geogr., 10.3.23 (= The Geography of Strabo, tr. Horace Leonard Jones, LCL,
1924):

66
 And theology as a whole must examine early opinions and myths [doxas kai muthous], since
the ancients expressed enigmatically [ainittomenon] the physical notions [ennoias phusikas]
which they entertained concerning the facts and always added the mythical element to their
accounts [kai prostithenton aei tois logois ton muthon].

n. 8. Heliodorus, An Ethiopian Story, 9.9. In D. Fidler, Jesus Christ, Sun of God, Quest
Books, 1993, p. 322, note 46:

Philosophers and theologians do not disclose the meaning embedded in these stories to lay-
men but simply give them preliminary instruction in the form of a myth. But those who have
reached the higher grades of the Mysteries they initiate into clear knowledge in the privacy
of the Holy Shrine, in the light cast by the blazing torch of truth.

n. 9. Plutarch of Chaeroneia, Isis and Osiris, ch. 11:

“Therefore, Clea, whenever you hear the traditional tales which the Egyptians tell about the
gods, their wanderings, dismemberments, and many experiences of this sort, you must
remember what has been already said, and you must not think that any of these tales actually
happened in the manner in which they are related”.

n. 10. Pausanias, Description of Greece with an English Translation by W.H.S. Jones,

Litt.D. in 4 Volumes. Volume 1. Attica and Corinth (Cambridge & London, 1918), 8.8.3:

When I began to write my history I was inclined to count these legends as foolishness, but
on getting as far as Arcadia I grew to hold a more thoughtful view of them, which is this. In
the days of old those Greeks who were considered wise spoke their sayings not straight out
but in riddles, and so the legends about Cronus I conjectured to be one sort of Greek
wisdom. In matters of divinity, therefore, I shall adopt the received tradition.

n. 11. [Pseudo-Plutarch], Essay on the Life and Poetry of Homer, n. 92, tr. Keaney & Lam-
berton; rev. B.A.M.):

Indeed, if we should find that Homer provides the beginnings and seeds of all of these [arts
and sciences], how then would he not deserve the greatest admiration? And if he reveals
these ideas through enigmatic and mythic language [ainigmaton kai muthikon logon], this
should not be unexpected, for the reason is the nature of poetry and the custom of the an-
cients. They did this so that lovers of learning, delighted by a certain elegance [ eumousias
psuchagogoumenoi], might more easily seek and find the truth [rhaon zetosi te kai euriskosi
ten aletheian], while the ignorant would not scorn what they could not understand. That
which is signified through hidden meanings [di huponoias semainomenon] may be attractive
where that which is said explicitly is of little value.

n. 12. For a general statement on the need of the man of learning to study myth, and the
right method to employ, cf. Strabo, Geogr., 10.3.23 (tr. Horace Leonard Jones):

I have been led on to discuss these people rather at length, although I am not in the least fond
of myths [hekista philomuthontes], because the facts in their case border on the province of
theo-logy [theologikou]. And theology as a whole must examine early opinions and
myths [doxas kai muthous], since the ancients expressed enigmatically [ainittomenon]
the physical notions [ennoias phusikas] which they entertained concerning the facts and
always added the mythical element to their accounts [kai prostithenton aei tois logois
ton muthon]. Now it is not easy to solve with accuracy all the enigmas, but if the

67
multitude of myths be set before us, some agreeing and others contradicting one
another, one might be able more readily to conjecture out of them what the truth is. For
instance, men probably speak in their myths about the “mountain-roaming” of religious
zealots and of gods themselves, and about their “religious frenzies,” for the same reason that
they are prompted to believe that the gods dwell in the skies and show forethought, among
their other interests, for prognostication by signs. Now seeking for metals, and hunting, and
searching for the things that are useful for the purposes of life, are manifestly closely related
to mountain-roaming, whereas juggling and magic are closely related to religious frenzies,
worship, and divination. And such also is devotion to the arts, in particular to the Dionysiac
and Orphic arts. But enough on this subject. (emphasis added)

68
Note 11. On ainigma and related forms:

A. Dictionary definitions.

n. 1. Henry George Liddell. Robert Scott. A Greek-English Lexicon. revised and augment-
ted throughout by. Sir Henry Stuart Jones. With the assistance of. Roderick McKenzie.
Oxford. Clarendon Press. 1940:

ai)/nigma , atoj , to/ , dark saying, riddle, Pi.Fr.177, A.Pr.610, etc., cf. LXX De.28.37 :
freq. in pl., e)c ai)nigma/twn in riddles, darkly, A.Ag. 1112,1183; di’ ai)nigma/twn
Aeschin.3.121 (v.l.), etc. ; e)n ai)ni/gmati 1 Ep.Cor.13.12 ; ai)/. proba/llein, cuntiqe/nai,
ple/kein to make a riddle, Pl.Chrm.162b, Ap.27a, Plu.2.988a; opp. dieipei=n, ei)de/nai , S.OT
393,1525; maqei=n E.Ph.48 .
II. taunt, Aristaenet.1.27.
III. ambush (Theban), Palaeph.4.

ai)ni/ssomai , Att. ai)ni/k-ttomai : fut. -i/comai : aor. h)?nica/mhn : ( [ai)=noj] ):-- speak
darkly or in riddles, mw=nh)?nica/mhn; S.Aj.1158 ; lo/goisikruptoi=sin ai) . E.Ion430;
gnwri/mwj ai)ni/comai so as to be understood, Id.El.946: c. acc. cogn., lo/gon . . ai)ni/cato
Pi.P.8.40 ; ai)ni/ssesqai e)/pea to speak riddling verses, Hdt.5.56: c. acc. rei, hint a thing,
intimate, shadow forth, Pl.Ap.21b, Tht.152c; to\ di/kaion o(\ ei)/h R.332b ; o(/ti . . Phd.69c;
ai). ei)j . . to refer as in a riddle to, to hint at, ei)j Kle/wna tou=t’ ai)ni/ttetai Ar.Pax47 ; th\n
Kullh/nhn . . ei)j th\n xei=r’ o)rqw=j h)?ni/cato used the riddling word Cyllene (cf. kullo/j ) .
., Id.Eq.1085; so h)?ni/caq’ o( Ba/kij tou=to pro\j to\n a)e/ra Id.Av.970 ; ai)nitto/menoj ei)j
e)me/ Aeschin.2.108 ; ai). w(j . . Ps.-Plu. Vit.Hom.4:--ai). to\n w)keano/n form guesses about
it, Arist.Mete.347a6.
II. Act. in late Prose, Philostr.V A6.11.
III. Pass., to be spoken darkly, aor. h)?ni/xqhn Pl.Grg.495b : pf. h)/?nigmai Thgn.681 ,
Ar.Eq.196, Arist.Rh. <*>405b4.

B. Philosophical Definitions.

n. 1. Aristotle, Poet. ch. 22 (1458a 24-31) (tr. Benardete & Davis; rev. B.A.M.):

But, were someone to make everything of this sort, it would be either an enigma or a barbar-
ism, an enigma if out of metaphors and a barbarism if [25] out of foreign words. For the
form of an enigma [or riddle] is this: while speaking of things that exist to join them together
in impossible ways. One cannot do this from the composition of the <proper> names, but it
can happen with respect to metaphor, for example, “I saw a man who welded bronze on a
man [30] with fire”159 and things of this sort. But when they are from foreign words, it is a
barbarism.
159
An enigma of Cleobulina. Aristotle cites it at Rhetoric 1405a34-b3. See appendix 3
below.

N.B. Aristotle’s view amounts to this. If, when speaking of existing things, one’s speech
consists of names for those things said not properly but metaphorically, one will produce
an enigma or riddle. On this point, compare the following:

n. 2. Plutarch, On Isis and Osiris, 11, tr. F. C. Babbitt):

Thus whenever you hear the myths told by the Egyptians about the gods, those, for instance,
which tell of their wanderings, mutilations, and many other such tales, you should remember

69
 what was said above and not think that any of these things is said to have actually happened
so or to have been enacted so; for they do not call Hermes ‘the Dog’ in a literal sense, but in-
asmuch as the animal discriminates friend and foe by recognition and non-recognition, as
Plato says (Resp. 375E sqq.), they associate its qualities of guardianship, vigilance and
sagacity with the most discerning of gods. Nor do they believe that the Sun-god arises from a
lotus-flower as a newborn babe, but thus they represent sunrise, symbolizing the rekindling
of the sun from amid moisture.…

In exact accordance with Aristotle’s understanding of riddles, “the myths told by the Egyp-
tians about the gods” do not consist in proper names for the things spoken of, but of (pro-
portional) metaphors.

n. 2. Cf. also Aristotle, Rhet., III, 2, 1405a 34—1405b 3 (tr. B.A.M.):

Furthermore, [35] when giving names to nameless things [anonuma], one should not carry
over [metapherein] [names] from things that are remote [porrothen], but from things that are
akin [sungenon] and of a similar kind [homoeidon], so that, as soon as [such a name] is
uttered, it is obvious that it is akin, [1405b] as in the well-thought of riddle, I saw a man who
welded bronze on a man with fire. For the experience [pathos] is unnamed, but in both cases
there is a kind of ‘putting on or next to’ [prosthesis], so he called the application of the
cupping-glass ‘welding’.1
1
Athenaeus, p. 452.

n. 3. Definitions: AINIGMA (‘ENGIMA’, ‘RIDDLE’). While speaking of things that exist,

the joining together of them in impossible ways; the impossibility arising from the fact that
the existing things are spoken of according to a proportional metaphor (worded by B.A.M.,
after Poet. ch. 22, 1458a 26-27); hence, “the very nature of a riddle (ainigma) is this, to de-
scribe a fact in an impossible combination of names” (= Ingram Bywater’s translation of
Poetics ch. 22, 1458a 26).32

Supplement. That nursery rhymes consist in “familiar objects in fantastic conjunct-

tion”:

n. 1. G. K. Chesterton, “Child Psychology and Nonsense”, The Illustrated London News,

October 15, 1921:

Now the old nursery rhymes were honestly directed to give children pleasure. Many of them
have genuine elements of poetry, but they are not primarily meant to be poetry, because they
are simply meant to be pleasure. In this sense “Hey Diddle Diddle” is something much more
than an idyll. It is a masterpiece of psychology, a classic and perfect model of education. The
lilt and jingle of it is exactly the sort that a baby can feel to be a tune and can turn into a
dance. The imagery of it is exactly what is wanted for the first movements of imagination
when it experiments in incongruity. For it is full of familiar objects in fantastic conjunction.
The child has seen a cow and he has seen the moon. But the notion of the one jumping over
the other is probably new to him and is, in the noblest sense of the word, nonsensical.
n. 2. In sum:

32
N.B. A riddle or enigma presupposes a foundation in fact, just as Strabo’s conception of the poetry of
Homer presupposes the factual nature of the Trojan War and the like.

70
an impossible combination
of familiar objects: nursery rhyme
of names: enigma or riddle
of wonders: myth
C. Aenigma and allegory.
n. 1. Demetrius of Phalerum, Peri Hermeneias, nn. 99-102: Two translations:
Demetrius on Style, nn. 99-102
(tr. W. Rhys Roberts):
99. There is a kind of impressiveness also in
allegorical language. This is particularly true of
such menaces as that of Dionysius: ‘their cicalas
shall chirp from the ground’.
100. If Dionysius had expressed his meaning
directly, saying that he would ravage the
Locrian land, he would have shown at once
more irritation and less dignity. In the phrase
actually used the speaker has shrouded his
words, as it were, in allegory.
Any darkly-hinting expression is more terror-
striking, and its import is variously conjectured
by different hearers. On the other hand, things
that are clear and plain are apt to be despised,
just like men when stripped of their garments.
101. Hence the Mysteries are revealed in an
allegorical form in order to inspire such shud-
dering and awe as are associated with dark-ness
and night.
Allegory also is not unlike darkness and night.
102. Here again excess must be avoided, lest
language become a riddle in our hands, as in the
description of the surgeon’s cupping-glass:
A man I beheld who with fire had
welded brass to a man’s flesh
(Cleobulina, fragm. 1. Bergk).
The Lacedaemonians conveyed many of their
threats by means of allegory, as in the message
71
On Style, nn. 99-102
(tr. Doreen Innis):
(99) Allegory [allegoria] is also impressive
[megaleion], particularly in threats, for ex-
ample that of Dionysius, “their cicadas will
sing from the ground.”b
(100) If he had said openly [haplos] that he
would ravage the land of Locris, he would
have shown more anger but less dignity. As
it is, he has shrouded his words, as it were, in
allegory.
What is implied always strikes more terror
[huponooumenon phoberoteron], since its
meaning is open to different interpretations,
whereas what is clear and plain [saphes kai
phaneron] is apt to be despised, like men
who are stripped of their clothes.
(101) This is why the mysteries are revealed
in allegories [en allegoriais legetai], to in-
spire the shuddering and awe [pros ekplexin
kai phriken] associated with darkness and
night.
In fact allegory is not unlike darkness and
night.
(102) Here again in the case of allegory we
should avoid a succession of them (to sun-
eches), or our words become a riddle [ain-
igma], as in the description of the surgeon’s
cupping glass:
“I saw a man who had with fire welded
bronze to a man.”c
The Spartans too often spoke in allegory to
evoke fear, as in the message to Philip, “Di-
‘Dionysius at Corinth’ addressed to Philip, and onysius in Corinth,”d and many other similar
in many similar expressions. threats.
b
Stesichorus according to Ar. Rhet. 1395a1-
2 and 1412a22-23 (= PMG 281(b)); cf. sec.
243.
c
Cleobulina 1.1 West; cf. Ar. Rhet. 1405b1.
[Cf. also Ar. Po. 1458a 29-20. (B.A.M.)]
d
Cf. secs. 8, 241.

n. 2. Robert Lamberton, Homer the Theologian: Neoplatonist Allegorical Reading and the
Growth of the Epic Tradition (Los Angeles, 1986), p. 187:

An anonymous author, possibly to be identified as the Stoic Cornutus, 85 includes a)lle-gori/a

in a list of modes of expression that contribute to “lack of clarity” ( to\ a)safe/j), and the same
attitude can be found in the De elocutione’s fascinating discussion of the use of “allegories”
in the mysteries: “Therefore the mysteries are spoken in allegories as well, for the sake of
shock and fear, as if from darkness and night. For allegory is like darkness and night.”
85
Hahn, Allegorie, p. 29 and n. 31, gives the arguments regarding the identification of the
author. The text is in Rhetores Graeci I, pars ii, pp. 352-98.
86
dio\ kai\ ta\ musth/ria e)n a)llegori/aij le/getai pro\j e)/kplhcin kai\ fri/khn, o(/sper e)n sko/t% kai\
nukti/. e)/oiken de\ h( a)llhgori/a t%= sko/t% t$= nukti/ (Demetr. De eloc. 101, cited by Hahn,
Allegorie, p. 30). See the edition of W. Rhys Roberts for the text (p. 118) and for an
excellent discussion of the meaning of a)llegori/a in “Demetrius” with valuable com-paranda.
Though attributed to Demetrius of Phaleron (fourth century B.C.), the De elo-cutione is
actually a text of the first century after Christ (cf. Robert’s edition, pp. 49-64).

D. Two classical authors on allegory.

n. 1. Donatus, Ars Grammatica. De Tropis:

Allegoria est tropus, quo aliud significatur quam Allegory is a trope by which something other
dicitur, ut than what is said is meant, as

“et iam tempus equum fumantis solvere colla,” “And now it is time to loosen the necks of our
foaming horses,”

hoc est “carmen finire”. that is, “to end the song” (Georg. 2.542).

Huius species multae sunt, ex quibus eminent The species of this are many, seven of which
septem stand out:

ironia, antiphrasis, aenigma, charientismos, irony, antiphrasis, enigma, charientismos,

paroemia, sarcasmos, astysmos. paroemia, sarcasm, astismos.

n. 2. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae I cap. XXXVII. De Tropis N. 22, N. 26:

Allegoria est alieniloquium. Aliud sonat, et Allegory is the speaking of another thing. One
aliud intelligitur, ut thing is expressed and something else is under-
stood, such as

72
“tres litore cervos conspicit errantes.” “he observes three stags wandering on the
shore,” (Aen. 1. 184)

Ubi tres duces belli Punici, vel tria bella Punica were the three leaders of the Punic Wars, or the
significantur. three Punic Wars, are meant.

Et in Bucolicis: “Aurea mala decem misi,” id est And in the Eclogues: “I have sent ten golden
ad Augustum decem eglogas pastorum. apples,” (3.71) that is, the ten pastoral eclogues
sent to Augustus.

Huius tropi plures sunt species, ex quibus There are many species of this trope, seven of
eminent septem: ironia, antiphrasis, aenigma, which stand out: irony, antiphrasis, enigma,
charientismos, paroemia, sarcasmos, astymos…. charientismus, paroemia, sarcasm, astismus….

Aenigma est quaestio obscura quae difficile An enigma is an obscure question which is un-
intellegitur, nisi aperiatur, ut est illud: derstood with difficulty unless it is opened up,
such as this:

“De comedente exivit cibus, et de forte egressa “Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the
est dulcedo,” strong came forth sweetness” (Judges 14:14),

significans ex ore leonis favum extractum. meaning that honeycomb was drawn from the
mouth of a lion.

Inter allegoriam autem et enigma hoc interest,
quod allegoria vis gemina est sub res alias aliud
figuraliter indicat: aenigma vero sensus tantum
obscurus est, et per quasdam imagines
adumbratus.
Between allegory and enigma there is this dif-
ference, that allegory is a twofold power that in-
dicates in a figurative manner one thing under
something else; but an enigma is only an ob-
scure meaning, and is drawn in outline by cer-
tain images.

n. 3. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on St. Paul’s Letter to the Galatians (Super ad
Galatas), Cap. 4, Lect. 7 (tr. B.A.M.):

He says, therefore, These things which are written about the two sons, etc. are said through
an allegory—that is, through another understanding. For allegory is a trope or manner of
speaking by which one thing is said and another is understood. Whence allegory is said from
allos, which is “other” and goge, “a leading”, as if to say, “leading to another under-
standing”. But it must be noted that allegory is sometimes taken for a mystical understanding
of any sort, sometimes for only one of the four which are the historical, the mystical, and the
anagogical, which are the four senses of Sacred Scripture, and yet they differ with respect to
signification. For there is a twofold signification. One is through sounds of voice; another is
through the things signified by the sounds of voice. And this is particularly the case in
Sacred Scripture and not in the others; forasmuch as God is its author, in whose power it is
not only to accommodate vocal sounds for the purpose of designating [something] (which
even man is able to do), but also the things themselves. And so in the other sciences handed
on by man which cannot be accommodated for signifying except by words alone, they
signify solely by sounds of voice. But this is proper in this science, that the very things
signified by vocal sounds signify something else through them, and so this science can have
many senses. For that signification by which vocal sounds signify something pertains to the
literal or historical sense; but that signification by which the things signified by the vocal
sounds in turn signify other things, pertains to the mystical sense.

73
 But something can be signified by the literal sense in two ways, namely, according to
proper speech, as when I say, “the man smiles;” or according to a likeness or metaphor, as
when I say, “the meadow smiles.” And we use both ways in Sacred Scripture, as when we
say according to the first way that “Jesus ascends,” and when we say according to the second
that “He sits at the right hand of the Father.” And so under the literal sense is included the
parabolic or metaphoric.
But the mystical or spiritual sense is divided into three. For in the first place, as the
Apostle says, the Old Law is a figure of the New Law. And so, insofar as those things which
belong to the Old Law signify the things of the New, there is the allegorical sense.
Again, according to Dionysius in the book About the Celestial Hierarchy, the New Law is
the figure of future glory. And so insofar as those things which are in the New Law and in
Christ signify the things in the fatherland, there is the anagogic sense.
Again, in the New Law those things which are done in the Head are examples of the things
we ought to do, because whatever things are written are written for our doctrine. And so
insofar as those things in the New Law done in Christ, and in those things which signify
Christ, are signs of the things we ought to do, there is the moral sense. And all of these are
clear in an example. For when I make this statement, “Let there be light,” according to the
letter about bodily light, it pertains to the literal sense. If “Let there be light” is understood to
mean that Christ is born in the Church, it pertains to the allegorical sense. But if “Let there
be light” is said so that (one understands that) through Christ we are led into glory, it
pertains to the anagogic sense. If, however, “Let there be light” is said so that [one
understands that] through Christ we are enlightened in understanding and inflamed in
affection, it pertains to the moral sense.

n. 4. On the difference between symbolism and allegory, cf. C. S. Lewis, The Allegory of
Love: A Study in Medieval Tradition (Oxford, 1936, rpt. New York, 1958), p. 44:

This fundamental equivalence between the immaterial and the material may be used by the
mind in two ways…. On the one hand you can start with an immaterial fact, such as the
passions which you actually experience, and can then invent visibilia to express them. If you
are hesitating between an angry retort and a soft answer, you can express your state of mind
by inventing a person called Ira with a torch and letting her contend with another invented
person called Patientia. This is allegory…. But there is another way of using the equivalence,
which is almost the opposite of allegory, and which I would call sacramentalism or sym-
bolism. If our passions, being immaterial, can be copied by material inventions, then it is
possible that our material world in its turn is the copy of an invisible world. As the god
Amor and his figurative garden are to the actual passions of men, so perhaps we ourselves
and our ‘real’ world are to something else. The attempt to read that something else through
its sensible imitations, to see the archtype in the copy, is what I mean by symbolism or
sacramentalism.

n. 5. Sir Ernest Gower, Fowler’s Modern English Usage, s.v. “Simile and metaphor”:

Simile and metaphor, allegory, apologue and fable. Allegory (uttering things otherwise)
and parable (putting side by side) are almost exchangeable terms. The object of each is, at
least ostensibly, to enlighten the hearer by submitting to him a case in which he has
apparently no direct concern, and upon which therefore a disinterested judgement may be
elicited from him, as Nathan submitted to David the story of the poor man’s ewe lamb. Such
judgement given, the question will remain forever for the hearer whether Thou art the man:
whether the conclusion to which the dry light of disinterestedness has helped him holds also
for his own concerns. Every parable is an allegory, and every allegory a parable. Usage,
however, has decided that parable is the fitter name for the illustrative story designed to

74
 answer a single question or suggest a single principle, and offering a definite moral, while
allegory is to be preferred when the application is less restricted, the purpose less exclusively
didactic, and the story of greater length. The Faerie Queene and The Pilgrim’s Progress are
allegories. The object of a parable is to persuade or convince; that of an allegory is often
rather to please. But the difference is not inherent in the words themselves; it is the result of
their history, the most important factor being the use of parable to denote the allegorical
stories told by Christ.
It is of allegory that the OED gives as one of the definitions ‘an extended or continued
metaphor’. But the comment may be hazarded that there is some analogy between the
relation of allegory to parable and that of simile to metaphor, and that the OED definition
would, if that is true, have been still better suited to parable than to allegory. For between
simile and metaphor the differences are (1) that a simile is a comparison proclaimed as such,
where as a metaphor is a tacit comparison made by the substitution of the compared notion
for the one to be illustrated (the ungodly flourishing ‘like’ a green bay-tree is a confessed
comparison or simile; if ye had not plowed with my heifer, meaning dealt with my wife, is a
tacit comparison or metaphor); (2) that the simile is usually worked out at some length and
often includes many points of resemblance, whereas a metaphor is as often as not expressed
in a single word; and (3) that in nine out of ten metaphors the purpose is the practical one of
presenting the notion in the most intelligible or convincing or arresting way, but nine out of
ten similes are to be classed not as a means of explanation or persuasion, but as ends in
themselves, things of real or supposed beauty for which a suitable place is to be found.
It cannot be said (as it was of allegory and parable) that every simile is a metaphor, and
vice versa; it is rather that every metaphor presupposes a simile, and every simile is
compressible or convertible into a metaphor. There is a formal line of demarcation, implied
in (1) above; the simile is known by its as or like or other announcement of conscious
comparison. There is no such line between allegory and parable, but in view of the
distinctions (2) and (3) it may fairly be said that parable is extended metaphor and allegory
extended simile. To which may be added the following contrast. Having read a tale, and
concluded that under its surface meaning another is discernible as the true intent, we say
This is an allegory. Having a lesson to teach, and finding direct exposition ineffective, we
say Let us try a parable. To reverse the terms is possible, but not idiomatic. See also
METAPHOR.

n. 6. For an example of the symbolic method of interpretation as applied to Homer, cf. Jef-
frey Miller Bond, “Political Authority in Homer’s Odyssey: The Symbolism of the Loom
and the Mast” (University of Chicago Masters Thesis):

Before proceeding directly to an investigation of the loom and the mast, it is necessary to
understand, and may even be evident, that the metaphysical concepts of the ancient world
were often not formulated in theoretical language. Instead, symbol and myth created a com-
plex system of coherent affirmations about the ultimate reality of things. In Homer, for
example, we find little or no theoretical language; therefore, it is useless to search his lines
for terms such as “being” and “becoming,” “real” and “apparent,” “essential” and “acci-
dental,” or “form” and “matter,” terms made familiar to us by subsequent analytical tra-
ditions of thought beginning with Plato and Aristotle. Nonetheless, these nakedly rational
notions are given presence and appearance in Homer; that is, they are manifested, visualized,
or revealed by symbolic vehicles, the careful and consistent organization of which con-
stitutes the structure of the Homeric epic.33
One of the Church Fathers, Clement of Alexandria, explained the nature of Homeric poetry
as follows:

33
It would, perhaps, be more accurate to restrict this understanding to Homer’s employment of myth.

75
 The ancients taught their wisdom by means of a suggestive symbolism, and I am thinking
when I say this of Orpheus, Linus, Musaeus, Homer, and Hesiod, and of all other such
men as were possessors of wisdom. For the great multitude their poetic psychagogy was
like a concealing curtain. (Stromata, V.4 [ed. Hugo Rahner])

Clement not only points us in the right direction for understanding Homer, he also teaches us
why we should strive to do so. The Greeks, according to Clement, because of their love of
wisdom,

followed that inward vision of theirs which was aimed at the truth, and this they did, not
without help of God; and so in certain things they were in agreement with the words of
the prophets. They searched through truth in part and in whole and honored it by the
formulations of their thought which were in clear harmony with the intelligible nature of
things; for they had received an intimation of that which is related to truth itself. Thus the
Greek love of wisdom is like unto a lamp whose wick has been lit by men skillfully bor-
rowing light from the rays of the sun. Yet it was only when the Logos of God had been
proclaimed that the full holy light blazed forth. From this we see that the borrowed light
is useful in the night, but when it is day all flames are outshone; for the night itself has
been made day by the mighty sun of spiritual light. (Stromata, V.5 [ed. Hugo Rahner])

If Clement is correct in suggesting that the ancient lamps were lit by the sun of spiritual
light, who is none other than our Lord, Jesus Christ, then we, as Christians, are well-
equipped to discern those first rays of divine light in Homer, for we share with him the truth
that the world is one of objective order, purpose and meaning. Thus it is incumbent upon us
to penetrate the curtain of Homer’s symbolism if we are to discover his perennial wisdom
concerning the metaphysical order of things, and the nature and end of political authority.
Simply put, to read symbolically is to attempt to view the invisible world through the
visible, to see the inner meaning, the soul, as it were, as manifested in the literal text or
body.34 Homer must be read symbolically because, as I hope to show, he presents us with a
universe subject to superhuman authority, where the material world is shaped by and infused
with the transcendent principles of order and generation which underlie all things. The
Odyssey itself, therefore, works both allegorically and naturally as form relates to matter.
That is to say, the allegory, expressing the general meaning of the story, determines and
shapes the human and environmental material of the story and is, hence, manifested by it.
The allegory must be grasped before the story can be properly understood generally or in the
particulars. In fact, it is only on the allegorical level that the apparent naiveté and incon-
sistencies of the literal or natural level can be resolved.

34
Note how Dr. Bond is in striking agreement with C.S. Lewis’ understanding of symbolism.

76
E. On allegoresis:

n. 1. Gerald Nadaff, “Allegory and the Origins and Development of Philosophy from the
Presocratics to the Enlightenment”:35

Given the importance of allegoresis, that is, allegorizing as an interpretative mode, it is most
surprising that histories of ancient philosophy rarely mention the notion in the development
of early Greek philosophy.
The history of allegoresis is complex. It features many actors with widely different posi-
tions and roles. The initial protagonists are, of course, Homer and Hesiod, who were canon-
ized prior to the birth of philosophy as the ‘educators of Greece.’ Their works constitute the
original and primary object of allegoresis. Then there are the Milesians, the first
philosophers. They are the real heroes in this affair – although never acknowledged as such
by contemporary scholars. Indeed, within a generation or two of their articulation, their
naturalistic theories – with which we associate the origins of philosophy– appeared so con-
vincing to the intellectual milieu that there is a sense in which they were uncontested. If
Homer and Hesiod were to maintain their unparalleled prestige as the guarantors of the
cultural past, their poems had to be seen as conveying the same ideas as those of the
Milesians, at least by a large portion of the intelligentsia. This is already clear in the
scholium to (or the ‘comment’ on) [Homer by] the late 6th century BC grammarian
Theagenes of Rhegium, who plays, as we will see, a pivotal role in this history.
We also have Xenophanes and Heraclitus, who were the first to challenge publicly the
idea that Homer and Hesiod had any claim to ‘truthful knowledge.’ Until their very
public scolding of the two great poets, there was nothing to indicate that Homer and
Hesiod were understood otherwise than literally. It was only when Xenophanes and
Heraclitus drew attention to the consequences of a literal interpretation that allegor-
esis, a radical new way of interpreting Homer and Hesiod, was introduced. Xenophanes
and Heraclitus thus appear to have paved the road for the aforementioned Theagenes
of Rhegium, a younger Italian (or western Greek) contemporary, who is the first
person credited with writing an allegorical exegesis of Homer as a reply to his de-
tractors. It is unclear if Theagenes initiated allegoresis, but I will argue that his counter-
attack against the detractors of Homer and Hesiod was so effective and convincing that the
traditional philosophical successors to Xenophanes and Heraclitus thought that Homer and
Hesiod had access to the doctrines they themselves espoused. Indeed, there is evidence that
in some instances they thought that their respective doctrines were defensible because they
were ‘somehow’ endorsed by Homer and Hesiod. There is thus a complex reciprocal relation
between philosophy and mythology/poetry that has never been fully appreciated, in which
poetry acts as a catalyst in the post-Heraclitean development of philosophy. As I hope to
show, all the Presocratic philosophers, including Parmenides, Anaxagoras, Empedocles and
Democritus (to mention only the ‘giants’ of Presocratic philosophy), employ allegory and/or
allegoresis to various degrees and, no doubt, for various reasons. Although Plato, at least in
appearance, rejected allegory (and thus traditional mythology) because children he argued
were not in a position to distinguish ‘hidden’ meaning from the literal meaning ( Republic 2.
378), his ambiguous attitude toward myth and poetic inspiration was a catalyst in the post-
Platonic development of allegory and philosophy at least until to the Enlightenment period.
With this in mind, I will provide an overview of the rather surprising relation between philo-
sophy and mythology with allegoresis as the driving force from Aristotle to Newton, from
the Hellenistic period to the Enlightenment period.
Given the complexities of the history of allegoresis, it should be no surprise that allegory
itself is a very complex notion. The Greek word allegoria (from the Greek allos ‘other’
and agoreuein ‘to speak’) which literally means ‘speaking other’ or ‘speaking otherwise

35
(http://www.acpcpa.ca/publications/presidential-addresses/2006-in-english/ [2/13/07])

77
 than one seems to speak’ (OED), denotes two corresponding procedures: a way of com-
posing a work and a way of interpreting it. To compose allegorically is to construct a work
so that its apparent sense refers to an ‘other’ sense. To interpret allegorically (‘alle-
goresis’) is to explain a work as if there is an ‘other’ sense to it (Whitman 1993, 31).
Meanwhile, we can distinguish calling a text allegorical in a strong or in a weak sense: ‘A
text will be allegorical in a strong sense if its author composes with the intention of being in-
terpreted allegorically,’ while ‘a text will be allegorical in a weak sense if, irrespective of
what its author intended, it invites interpretation in ways that go beyond its surface or so-
called literal meaning’ (Anthony Long 1992, 43). We could also characterize the strong and
weak senses as intentional and nonintentional or deliberate and nondeliberate respectively.
So there is no confusion in what follows, a typical example of allegory in the weak sense
would be the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis which induces us to interpret the text
allegorically regardless of what the author intended; a typical example of allegory on the
strong sense would be Dante’s Divine Comedy which is a text that was meant to be
interpreted allegorically (I borrow these two typical examples from Long since most in the
audience would be familiar with them). In what follows, I want to show that already in the
pre-Platonic period (to say nothing of what follows) there was a tendency to interpret Homer
(and Hesiod) allegorically in the strong sense. (emphasis added)

n. 2. Gerald Nadaff, ibid.:

Let me begin with Aristotle – a rather unlikely candidate. Aristotle has a great admiration for
Homer and argues that there are many lessons to be learned from the great poet. But he sees
the poems as making ‘fiction’ or ‘the marvellous possible’ (Poetics 1460a18ff). Aristotle,
however, goes much further than this. Metaphysics 1074b1-14 shows that for Aristotle the
initial or pre-anthropomorphic notion of the divinity that was handed down in the form of
myth (en muthou schemati) and that identified the primary natural forces or substances with
gods must have been divinely inspired, for it constitutes the germ that culminated in his own
philosophical theology. More important, Aristotle (Movement of Animals 799b35ff.) pro-
vides with his own notion of the Unmoved Mover (his own notion of God) an allegorical
exegesis of the famous scene in Homer’s Iliad 8 (20-22) in which Zeus describes his
formidable power in the form of suspending all the other gods, and thus the entire universe,
from a golden chain.

n. 3. Aristotle, Movement of Animals, ch. 4 (799b 33-800a 11) (tr. A.S.L. Farquharson):

To resume, must there be something immovable and at rest outside of what is moved, and
no part of it, or not? And must this necessarily be so also in the case of the universe? Perhaps
it would be thought strange were the origin of movement inside. And to those who so
conceive it the word of Homer2 would appear to have been well spoken: [35] ‘Nay, ye would
not pull Zeus, highest of all from heaven to the plain, no not even if ye toiled right hard;
come, all ye gods and goddesses! Set hands to the chain’; [700a] for that which is entirely
immovable cannot possibly be moved by anything. And herein lies the solution of the
difficulty stated some time back, the possibility or [5] impossibility of dissolving the system
of the heavens, in that it depends from an original which is immovable. Now in the animal
world there must be not only an immovable without, but also within those things which
move in place, and initiate their own movement. For one part of an animal must be moved,
and another be at rest, and against this the [10] part which is moved will support itself and be
moved; for example, if it move one of its parts; for one part, as it were, supports itself
against another part at rest.
2
See Iliad VIII 20-22. §

78
Note 12. On the need for symbolic representation such as belongs to enigmatic myth:

n. 1. Moses Maimonides, Guide For the Perplexed (London, 1904), Ch. XVII (tr. M.
Friedländer):

Do not imagine that only Metaphysics should be taught with reserve to the common people
and to the uninitiated: for the same is also the case with the greater part of Natural Science.
In this sense we have repeatedly made use of the expression of the Sages, “Do not expound
the chapter on the Creation in the presence of two” [vide Introd. page 2]. This principle was
not peculiar to our Sages: ancient philosophers and scholars of other nations were like-
wise wont to treat of the principia rerum obscurely, and to use figurative language in
discussing such subjects. Thus Plato and his predecessors called Substance the female, and
Form the male. (You are aware that the principia of all existing transient things are three,
viz., Substance, Form, and Absence of a particular form; the last-named principle is always
inherent in the substance, for otherwise the substance would be incapable of receiving a new
form: and it is from this point of view that absence [of a particular form] is included among
the principia. As soon, then, as a substance has received a certain form, the privation of that
form, namely, of that which has just been received, has ceased, and is replaced by the
privation of another form, and so on with all possible forms, as is explained in treatises on
natural philosophy.)—Now, if those philosophers who have nothing to fear from a lucid
explanation of these metaphysical subjects still were in the habit of discussing them in
figures and metaphors, how much more should we, having the interest of religion at heart,
refrain from elucidating to the mass any subject that is beyond their comprehension, or that
might be taken in a sense directly opposite to the one intended. This also deserves attention.
(emphasis added)

n. 2. Cf. also ibid., Introduction:

Know that also in Natural Science there are topics which are not to be fully explained. Our
Sages laid down the rule, “The Ma’aseh Bereshith must not be expounded in the presence of
two.” If an author were to explain these principles in writing, it would be equal to expound-
ding them unto thousands of men. For this reason the prophets treat these subjects in figures,
and our Sages, imitating the method of Scripture, speak of them in metaphors and allegories;
because there is a close affinity between these subjects and metaphysics, and indeed they
form part of its mysteries. Do not imagine that these most difficult problems can be
thoroughly understood by any one of us. This is not the case. At times the truth shines so
brilliantly that we perceive it as clear as day. Our nature and habit then draw a veil over our
perception, and we return to a darkness almost as dense as before. We are like those who,
though beholding frequent flashes of lightning, still find themselves in the thickest darkness
of the night. On some the lightning flashes in rapid succession, and they seem to be in
continuous light, and their night is as clear as the day. This was the degree of prophetic
excellence attained by (Moses) the greatest of prophets, to whom God said, “But as for thee,
stand thou here by Me” (Deut. v. 31), and of whom it is written “the skin of his face shone,”
etc. (Exod. xxxiv. 29). [Some perceive the prophetic flash at long intervals; this is the degree
of most prophets.] By others only once during the whole night is a flash of lightning
perceived. This is the case with those of whom we are informed, “They prophesied, and did
not prophesy again” (Num. xi. 25). There are some to whom the flashes of lightning appear
with varying intervals; others are in the condition of men, whose darkness is illumined not
by lightning, but by some kind of crystal or similar stone, or other substances that possess
the property of shining during the night; and to them even this small amount of light is not
continuous, but now it shines and now it vanishes, as if it were “the flame of the rotating
sword.” <...>

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 If we were to teach in these disciplines, without the use of parables and figures, we
should be compelled to resort to expressions both profound and transcendental, and by
no means more intelligible than metaphors and similes: as though the wise and learned
were drawn into this course by the Divine Will, in the same way as they are compelled to
follow the laws of nature in matters relating to the body. You are no doubt aware that the
Almighty, desiring to lead us to perfection and to improve our state of society, has revealed
to us laws which are to regulate our actions. These laws, however, presuppose an advanced
state of intellectual culture. We must first form a conception of the Existence of the Creator
according to our capabilities; that is, we must have a knowledge of Metaphysics. But this
discipline can only be approached after the study of Physics: for the science of Physics
borders on Metaphysics, and must even precede it in the course of our studies, as is clear to
all who are familiar with these questions. Therefore the Almighty commenced Holy Writ
with the description of the Creation, that is, with Physical Science; the subject being on the
one hand most weighty and important, and on the other hand our means of fully compre-
hending those great problems being limited. He described those profound truths, which His
Divine Wisdom found it necessary to communicate to us, in allegorical, figurative, and
metaphorical language. (emphasis added)

On the method of concealment, cf. Socrates Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History, ch. xxiii,
“Refutation of what Libanius the Sophist said concerning Julian” [In Socrates and Sozo-
menus Ecclesiastical Histories. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series II, Volume 2.
Translated by Philip Schaff (New York, 1886), p. 93]:

But in his treatise On the Cynic Philosophy, where he [sc. the emperor Julian] shows to what
extent fables may be invented on religious subjects, he says that in such matters the truth
must be veiled: ‘For,’ to quote his very words [= Julian, Orat. VII], ‘Nature loves con-
cealment; and the hidden substance of the gods cannot endure being cast into polluted ears in
naked words.’ From which it is manifest that the emperor entertained this notion concerning
the divine Scriptures, that they are mystical discourses, containing in them some abstruse
meaning.

n. 3. Cf. also Clement of Alexandria, The Stromata, or Miscellanies V, 9, Reasons for

Veiling the Truth in Symbols:

But, as appears, I have, in my eagerness to establish my point, insensibly gone beyond what
is requisite. For life would fail me to adduce the multitude of those who philosophize in a
symbolical manner. For the sake, then, of memory and brevity, and of attracting to the truth,
such are the Scriptures of the Barbarian philosophy. For only to those who often approach
them, and have given them a trial by faith and in their whole life, will they supply the real
philosophy and the true theology. They also wish us to require an interpreter and guide. For
so they considered, that, receiving truth at the hands of those who knew it well, we would be
more earnest and less liable to deception, and those worthy of them would profit. Besides, all
things that shine through a veil show the truth grander and more imposing; as fruits shining
through water, and figures through veils, which give added reflections to them. For, in
addition to the fact that things unconcealed are perceived in one way, the rays of light shin-
ing round reveal defects. Since, then, we may draw several meanings, as we do from what is
expressed in veiled form, such being the case, the ignorant and unlearned man fails. But the
Gnostior apprehends. Now, then, it is not wished that all things should be exposed indiscrim-
inately to all and sundry, or the benefits of wisdom communicated to those who have not
even in a dream been purified in soul, (for it is not allowed to hand to every chance comer
what has been procured with such laborious efforts); nor are the mysteries of the word to be
expounded to the profane.

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 …It was not only the Pythagoreans and Plato then, that concealed many things; but the
Epicureans too say that they have things that may not be uttered, and do not allow all to
peruse those writings. The Stoics also say that by the first Zeno things were written which
they do not readily allow disciples to read, without their first giving proof whether or not
they are genuine philosophers. And the disciples of Aristotle say that some of their treatises
are esoteric, and others common and exoteric. Further, those who instituted the mysteries,
being philosophers, buried their doctrines in myths, so as not to be obvious to all. Did they
then, by veiling human opinions, prevent the ignorant from handling them; and was it not
more beneficial for the holy and blessed contemplation of realities to be concealed?

n. 4. Origen, Contra Celsus, ANF Vol. 4 (Buffalo, 1886) (tr. Frederick Crombie), 1.7:

But that there should be certain doctrines, not made known to the multitude, which are (re-
vealed) after the exoteric ones have been taught, is not a peculiarity of Christianity alone, but
also of philosophic systems, in which certain truths are exoteric and others esoteric. Some of
the hearers of Pythagoras were content with his ipse dixit; while others were taught in secret
those doctrines which were not deemed fit to be communicated to profane and insufficiently
prepared ears. Moreover, all the mysteries that are celebrated everywhere throughout Greece
and barbarous countries, although held in secret, have no discredit thrown upon them, so that
it is in vain that he endeavours to calumniate the secret doctrines of Christianity, seeing he
does not correctly understand its nature.

n. 5. Cf. also Clement of Alexandria, The Stromata, or Miscellanies V, 8, The Use of the
Symbolic Style by Poets and Philosophers:

Very useful, then, is the mode of symbolic interpretation for many purposes; and it is helpful
to the right theology, and to piety, and to the display of intelligence, and the practice of
brevity, and the exhibition of wisdom. “For the use of symbolical speech is characteristic of
the wise man,” appositely remarks the grammarian Didymus, “and the explanation of what is
signified by it.”

n. 6. Cf. also St. Thomas, In III Meta., lect. 11, n. 3, on the Hesiodists, excerpted below,
as well as Summa Theol., IIIa, q. 42, art. 2, c. (tr. English Dominican Fathers):

Thirdly, doctrine is hidden, as to the manner in which it is propounded. And thus Christ
spoke certain things in secret to the crowds, by employing parables in teaching them spiritual
mysteries which they were either unable or unworthy to grasp: and yet it was better for them
to be instructed in the knowledge of spiritual things, albeit hidden under the garb of parables,
than to be deprived of it altogether.

n. 7. Providentissimus Deus (On the Study of Holy Scripture), Encyclical of Pope Leo XIII
– November 18, 1893. C. ADVANCED STUDY OF HOLY SCRIPTURE:

The professor may now safely pass on to the use of Scripture in matters of theology. On this
head it must be observed that, in addition to the usual reasons which make ancient writings
more or less difficult to understand, there are some which are peculiar to the Bible. For the
language of the Bible is employed to express, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, many
things which are beyond the power and scope of the reason of man—that is to say, divine
mysteries and all that is related to them. There is sometimes in such passages a fullness and a
hidden depth of meaning which the letter hardly expresses and which the laws of inter-
pretation hardly warrant. Moreover, the literal sense itself frequently admits other senses,
adapted to illustrate dogma or to confirm morality.

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 1. GUIDES—Wherefore, it must be recognized that the sacred writings are wrapt in a certain
religious obscurity, and that no one can enter into their interior without a guide; 25 God so
disposing, as the holy Fathers commonly teach, in order that men may investigate them with
a greater ardor and earnestness, and that what is attained with difficulty may sink more
deeply into the mind and heart, and, most of all, that they may understand that God has
delivered the Holy Scripture to the Church, and that in reading and making use of His Word,
they must follow the Church as their guide and their teacher. St. Irenaeus long since laid
down, that where the CHARISMATA of God were, there the truth was to be learned, and the
Holy Scripture was safely interpreted by those who had the apostolic succession. 26

FOOTNOTES
25
St. Jerome, AD PAULIN. DE STUDIO SCRIPT. ep. liii, 4.
26
CONTRA HAERESES, iv, 26, 5.

n. 8. Dionysius the Areopagite, Ep. IX, To Titus. In Pseudo-Dionysius, The Complete

Works. Trans. Colm Luibheid. Classics of Western Spirituality. (New York, 1987), pp. 280-
4:

THE EPISTLE TO TITUS (Proem)

LETTER NINE

To Titus the hierarch. Asking by letter, what is the house of wisdom,

what is the mixing bowl, and what are its food and drinks.

[1104B] 1. My dear Titus, I do not know if the sacred Timothy, at the time he departed, was
unaware of the theological symbols of which I have been offering interpretations. Certainly
in my own Symbolic Theology I explained to him in detail all those scriptural passages con-
cerning God which to the man in the street appear quite extraordinary. Among uninstructed
souls the fathers of unspeakable wisdom give an impression of outstanding absurdity when,
with secret and daring riddles, they make known that truth which is divine, mysterious, and,
so far as the profane are concerned, inaccessible. That is why so many continue to be unbe-
lieving in the presence of the explanations of the divine mysteries, for we contemplate them
solely by way of the perceptible symbols attached to them. What is necessary is to uncover
them, to see them in their naked purity. By contemplating them in this manner we can revere
that [1104C] “source of life” 1 flowing into itself. We see it remaining within itself, a unique
and simple power, source of its own movement and activity, which is never failing and
which is the knowledge of all knowledge by virtue of its own perpetual self-contemplation.
Now I thought it necessary to explicate as well as I could to him and to others the great vari-
ety of sacred symbols used by Scripture to reveal God, for if one looks at them from the out-
side they seem filled with incredible and contrived fantasy.

Jer. 17:13 (LXX); cf. Jer. 2:13; Ps 36:9.

n. 9. Cf. also ibid., pp. 283-4:

[1105D] But there is a further point to understand. Theological tradition has a dual aspect,
the ineffable and mysterious on the one hand, the open and the more evident on the other.
The one resorts to symbolism and involves initiation. The other is philosophic and employs
the method of demonstration. (Further, the inexpressible is bound up with what can be
articulated.) The one uses persuasion and imposes the truthfulness of what is asserted. The

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 other acts and, by means of a mystery which cannot be taught, it puts souls firmly in the
presence of God. This is why the sacred initiators of our tradition, together with those of the
tradition of the Law, resorted freely to symbolism appropriate to God, [1108A] regarding the
sacraments of the most holy mysteries. Indeed we see the blessed angels using riddles to
introduce the divine mysteries.1 Jesus himself speaks of God by means of parables, and
passes on to us the mystery of his divine activity by using the symbolism of a table. It was
right not only that the Holy of Holies should be kept free from the contamination of the mob,
but also that human life which is undivided but also divided should receive in an appropriate
way the enlightenment of divine knowledge.2 And so [283-284]

Zec 3:4.
2
The double rationale for biblical and liturgical symbols, namely, secrecy and accom-
modation, is more fully stated in EH 1 377Q 1-5. See also CH 2 140 AB 7-18, 145 A 8-10,
and above 1105C 3645.

the impassive element of the soul is attuned to the simple and interior visions of those
images which have the shape of the divine. On the other hand the passionate element of the
soul, as befits its nature, honors and rises up toward the most divine realities by way of the
carefully combined elements of the representations. These symbolic veils are akin [1108B]
[to that part of the soul], as seen by the example of those who, having been taught the things
of God in a way which is clear and unveiled, go on then to picture in themselves some image
guiding them to a conception of the theological teaching which they have listened to.

2. As Paul said and as true reason has said, the ordered arrangement of the whole visible
realm makes known the invisible things of God. 3 By the same token, scripture writers in
their consideration of a theme look at it sometimes in a social and legal perspective and
sometimes purely and without any mixture of anything else. They look at it sometimes at the
human and intermediate level, sometimes in a transcendent mode and in the context of
perfection. Sometimes they rely on the laws governing visible things, sometimes on rules
which govern invisible things, and all things depending on what suits the sacred writings,
minds, and souls. Whether one looks at the question in its entirety or in individual detail
theirs is not a discourse totally in the bare historical domain but one which has to do with
life-giving perfection….
3
Rom 1:20.

[N.B. Cp. C.S. Lewis on “sacramentalism” elsewhere in this paper. (B.A.M.)]

n. 10. On the limitation of figurative language in conveying the truth, cf. St. Thomas Aqui-
nas, In III Sent., dist. 11, q. 1, art. 4, ex. (tr. B.A.M.):

But from tropic expressions there is no correct process of argumentation. The reason for this
is that they are not true simply, but only in a certain respect. And this is why Dionysius says
in his letter to Titus that symbolic theology does not use arguments.

n. 11. Cf. also St. Thomas Aquinas, In I Sent., dist. 3, q. 3, art. 2, ad 4 (tr. B.A.M.):

To the fourth it must be said that in one thing diverse properties can be considered. And so it
is not unfitting that from the same thing according to its own diverse properties a substitution
be made to some contrary, as God is called a lion by reason of his generosity and courage, or
something of the sort, and the devil is called a lion because of his cruelty.

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 It also sometimes happens, as Dionysius says in his Letter to Titus, that the same name is
transferred in order to signify the thing participating, as well as the participation and the
principle of the participation, as if a man possessed of charity were called fire, and the
charity itself, and God infusing charity: and it is to be explained according to all this
different ways.

n. 12. Cf. also St. Thomas Aquinas, In I Sent., dist. 32, q. 3, art. 1 (tr. B.A.M.):

Whether something should be said of God by way of transference.

One proceeds to the first as follows.

obj. 1. It seems that nothing ought to be said of God by way of transference. For, as
Boethius says, in divine things one must be busied in an intellectual manner, and not be led
to images. But transumptive expressions of this sort are taken from images formed of
sensible things. Therefore, they are not to be used in divine things.

obj. 2. Further, according to the Philosopher, everything being carried over is carried over
according to some likeness (Top. VI. 6, 140a 11). But according to Boethius, likeness is the
same quality of different things. Therefore, since qualities of bodily things are not found in
the divine, it seems that no likeness or metaphor can be taken from sensible things, so that
something be said of God by way of transference.

obj. 3. Again, every doctrine—and principally Sacred Scripture—exists for the mani-
festation of truth. But metaphors of this sort, or symbolic expressions, are, as it were, a
certain veiling of the truth, as Dionysius says. Therefore, they are not to be used in theology.

obj. 4. Further, according to the Philosopher, knowledge comes about through the assimi-
lation of the intellect to the thing known. But our intellect, since it is incorporeal and
immaterial, has a greater likeness to divine things than to the bodily, which are material.
Therefore, it relates more to knowing the divine than bodily things of this sort. And so it
seems that the divine ought not to be manifested to us by a likeness of bodily things.

s.c. But against this is what Dionysius says: Neither is it possible otherwise for the divine
ray to shine in us except it be veiled about by an interchange of likenesses. But the divine ray
is the truth of divine things. Therefore, the truth of the divine must be proposed to us under
the likenesses of bodily things.

c. I reply that it must be said that it is most fitting for the divine to be indicated to us by
bodily likenesses, a fact for which four reasons can be assigned:

First and principally by reason of the loftiness of the matter, which exceeds the capacity of
our understanding. And so we cannot take hold of the truth of divine things according to its
own mode, and so it must be proposed to us according to our mode. But it is connatural to us
to come to intelligible things from the sensible, and to the prior from the posterior. And so
intelligible things are proposed to us under the figure of sensible things so that from the
things we know the soul might rise up to the unknown.

The second reason is this: since there is a twofold knowing part in us, namely, an
intellective and a sensitive, divine wisdom provides that both parts, insofar as possible, be
led to divine things. And so figures of bodily things that the sensitive part can take hold of
have been employed, because it could not of itself attain to the intellectual things of the
divine.

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 The third reason is that, with respect to God, we more truly know what He is not than what
He is. And so Dionysius says that in divine things affirmations are loosely put together, but
negations are true. And seeing that, with respect to all the things we say about God, it must
be understood that they are not found in creatures in the same way in which they belong to
Him, but by way of some mode of imitation and likeness; this sort of preeminence of God
was expressly shown through the things to be removed from Him which are more manifest.
But these things are bodily; and so it was fitting that divine things be signified by bodily
species so that that the human soul, being inured to these things, would learn to attribute to
Him none of those things it predicates of God except by way of a certain likeness, insofar as
the creature imitates the Creator.

The fourth reason is for the sake of hiding divine truth: because the deep things of Faith
should be hidden from unbelievers, lest they mock them, and from simple men, lest they take
occasion to err. And all these causes are assigned by Dionysius at the beginning of the
Celestial Hierarchy, and in the Epistle to Titus.

ad 1. To the first, therefore, it must be said that there are two things to consider in
knowledge of intellectual things, namely, the starting-point of speculation, and the term. The
starting-point is from sensibles, but the term is in intelligibles, insofar as in natural
knowledge of species taken from sense we acquire universal intentions through the light of
the agent intellect. And so it must be said that, with respect to the term of speculation, the
starting-point must rise up to the divine from certain sensible species.

ad 2. To the second it must be said that likeness is twofold: for there is a certain kind
through a sharing of the same form, and there is no such likeness of the bodily to the divine,
as the objection proves. There is also a certain kind by a likeness of proportionality, which
consists in the same relation of proportions, as when it is said, as eight is to four, so is six to
three; and as the consul is to the city, so is the pilot to the ship. And the transport from
bodily things to the divine is made according to such a likeness: as if God were called a fire
because, just as fire stands to this, that it make what is liquefied flow through its own heat,
so God through his own goodness pours perfections into every creature, or something of the
sort.

ad 3. To the third it must be said that the manifestation of the truth is to be made according
to a proportion to the recipient, and because certain men impede the manifestation of the
truth rather than bring it forth, either when they quarrel from impiety, or fall short from
simplicity—therefore, the truth of the divine should be hidden, as is said in Matthew [7:6]:
Do not give what is holy to dogs.

ad 4. To the fourth it must be said that there is a certain assimilation according to a

fittingness in nature; and in this way there is a greater assimilation of our intellect to the
divine than to sensibles; but this is not the case in those things required for knowledge. There
is also a certain assimilation through the informing required for knowledge, just as sight is
assimilated to color, by whose species the pupil is informed. But this informing cannot come
about in the intellect following the road of nature, except by a species abstracted from sense,
because, as the Philosopher says, as color stands to sight, so stands the phantasm to the
understanding; and so it remains that in this way the intellect can be assimilated more to
sensibles than to the divine.

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Note 13. The several methods of concealment:

n. 1. Proclus, The Commentaries of Proclus on the Timaeus of Plato (London, 1829 Vol.
1). Translated by. Thomas Taylor):

But Plato, for the sake of concealment, employed mathematical names, as veils of the truth
of things, in the same manner as theologists employed fables, and the Pythagoreans symbols.
For it is possible in images to survey paradigms, and through the former to pass to the latter.

n. 2. On the difference between the methods of conveying truth employed by Plato and
Aristotle, cf. also Simplicius, Commentary on Aristotle’s Categories 6.22-33 (tr. Ian Mu-
eller):

There are two kinds of enlightenment which produce conviction; one proceeds from nous,
one from perception. Aristotle prefers the latter since he is speaking to those who live by the
senses. In his case compulsion lies in proofs (just as we force a person to be silent when he is
not persuaded because of certain unfortunate preconceptions). Aristotle never wants to
withdraw from nature; rather he investigates even what transcends nature in terms of its
relation to nature. Conversely, Plato, following the Pythagorean manner, investigates natural
things insofar as they participate in what transcends nature. Aristotle did not use myths or
symbolic enigmas in the way some of his predecessors did, but he preferred obscurity of
formulation to every other form of concealment.

N.B. The texts on the respective methods employed by Plato and Aristotle reveal a differ-
ence between the two philosophers with respect to the following: the manner of proceeding
from the known to the unknown, and the manner of conveying that knowledge by means of
concealment: Plato, as Simplicius tells us, proceeded from nous, or ‘intellect’, investiga-
ting “natural things insofar as they participate in what transcends nature”, whereas Aris-
totle proceeded from perception—that is, from sensation—and so “never wants to with-
draw from nature; rather he investigates even what transcends nature in terms of its relation
to nature”. With respect to their manner of conveying their teaching, Proclus tells us that
“Plato, for the sake of concealment, employed mathematical names, as veils of the truth of
things, in the same manner as theologists employed fables, and the Pythagoreans symbols.
For it is possible in images to survey paradigms, and through the former to pass to the
latter”; whereas Simplicius tells us that “Aristotle did not use myths or symbolic enigmas
in the way some of his predecessors did, but he preferred obscurity of formulation to every
other form of concealment”.

Supplement. Proclus on “the modes of theologic doctrine employed by Plato”:

n. 1. Proclus, The Theology of Plato. Translated by Thomas Taylor (London, 1816), Book
I, ch. IV complete, ch. V (excerpt):

Chapter IV

After the all-perfect comprehension of the first theory, we must deliver the modes
according to which Plato teaches us mystic conceptions of divine natures. For he appears not
to have pursued everywhere the same mode of doctrine about these; but sometimes
according to a deific energy, and at other times dialectically, he evolves the truth concerning
them. And sometimes he symbolically announces their ineffable peculiarities, but at other

86
times recurs to them from images, and discovers in them the primary causes of wholes. For
in the Phaedrus being inspired by the Nymphs, and having exchanged human intelligence for
a better possession, fury, he unfolds with a divine mouth many arcane dogmas concerning
the intellectual Gods, and many concerning the liberated rulers of the universe, who lead
upwards the multitude of mundane Gods to the monads which are intelligible and separate
from [mundane] wholes. But relating still more about those gods who are allotted the world,
he celebrates their intellections, and mundane fabrications, their unpolluted providence and
government of souls, and whatever else Socrates delivers entheastically [or according to
divinely-inspired energy] in that dialog, as he clearly asserts, ascribing at the same time this
fury to the deities of the place.
But in the Sophista, dialectically contending about being, and the separate hypostasis of
the one from beings, and doubting against those more ancient than himself, he shows how all
beings are suspended from their cause, and the first being, but that being itself participates of
the unity which is exempt from the whole of things, that it is a passive one, but not the one
itself, being subject to and united to the one, but not being that which is primarily one. In a
similar manner too, in the Parmenides, he unfolds dialectically the progressions of being
from the one, and the transcendency of the one, through the first hypotheses, and this, as he
asserts in that dialog, according to the most perfect division of this method. And again, in the
Gorgias, he relates the fable concerning the three demiugi [or fabricators] and their
demiurgic allotment, which indeed is not only a fable, but a true narration. But in the
Banquet, he speaks concerning the union of Love. And in the Protagoras, about the
distribution of mortal animals from the Gods; in a symbolical manner concealing the truth
respecting divine natures, and as far as to mere indication unfolding his mind to the most
genuine of his hearers.
If likewise, you are willing that I should mention the doctrine delivered through the
mathematical disciplines, and the discussion of divine concerns from ethical or physical
discourses, of which many may be contemplated in the Timaeus, many in the dialog called
the Politicus, and many may seen scattered in other dialogs; here likewise to you who are
desirous of knowing divine concerns through images, the method will be apparent. For all
these shadow forth the powers of things divine. The Politicus, for instance, the fabrication in
the heavens. But the figures of the five elements delivered in geometric proportions in the
Timaeus, represent in images the peculiarities of the Gods who ride on the parts of the
universe. And the divisions of the psychical essence in that dialog shadow forth the total
orders of the Gods.
I omit to mention that Plato composes polities, assimilating them to divine natures, and to
the whole world, and adorns them from the powers which it contains. All these therefore,
through the similitude of mortal to divine concerns, exhibit to us in images, the progressions,
orders, and fabrications of divine natures. And such are the modes of theologic doctrine
employed by Plato. It is evident however, from what has been already said, that they are
necessarily so many in number. For those who treat of divine concerns in an indicative
manner, either speak symbolically and fabulously, or through images. But of those who
openly announce their conceptions, some frame their discourses according to science,
but others according to inspiration from the Gods. And he who desires to signify divine
concerns through symbols is Orphic, and in short, accords with those who write fables
concerning the Gods. But he who does this through images is Pythagoric. For the
mathematical disciplines were invented by the Pythagoreans, in order to a remin-
iscence of divine concerns, at which, through these as images they endeavor to arrive.
For they refer both numbers and figures to the Gods, according to the testimony of
their historians. But the entheastic character, or he who is under the influence of divine
inspiration, unfolding the truth by itself the Gods, most perspicuously ranks among the
highest initiators. For these do not think proper to unfold the divine orders, or their
peculiarities to their familiars, through certain veils, but announce their powers and
their numbers, in consequence of being moved by the Gods themselves. But the trad-

87
itions of divine concerns according to science, is the illustrious prerogative of the phil-
osophy of Plato. For Plato alone, as it appears to me, of all those who are known to us, has
attempted methodically to divide and reduce into order, the regular progression of the divine
genera, their mutual difference, the common peculiarities of the total orders, and the dis-
tributed peculiarities in each. But the truth of this will be evident when we frame pre-
cedaneous demonstrations about the Parmenides, and all the divisions which it contains.
At present we shall observe that Plato does not admit all the fabulous figments of
dramatic composition, but those only which have reference to the beautiful and the
good, and which are not discordant with a divine essence. For that mythological mode
which indicates divine concerns through conjecture is ancient, concealing truth under a
multitude of veils, and proceeding in a manner similar to nature, which extends sensible
fragments of intelligibles, material, of immaterial, partible, of impartible natures, and
images, and things which have a false being, of things perfectly true. But Plato rejects the
more tragical mode of mythologicizing of the ancient poets, who thought proper to
establish an arcane theology respecting the Gods, and on this account devised wanderings,
sections, battles, lacerations, rapes and adulteries of the Gods, and many other such
symbols of the truth about divine natures, which this theology conceals; this mode he
rejects, and asserts that it is in every respect most foreign from erudition. But he considers
those mythological discourses about the Gods, as more persuasive, and more adapted to truth
and the philosophical habit, which assert that a divine nature is the cause of all good, but of
no evil, and that it is void of all mutation, ever preserving its own order immutable, and
comprehending in itself the fountain of truth, but never becoming the cause of any deception
to others. For such types of theology, Socrates delivers in the Republic.
All the fables therefore of Plato, guarding the truth in concealment, have not even their
externally apparent apparatus discordant with our undisciplined and unperverted anticipation
respecting the Gods. But they bring with them an image of the mundane composition, in
which both the apparent beauty is worthy of divinity, and a beauty more divine than this, is
established in the unapparent lives and powers of the Gods. This therefore, is one of the
mythological modes respecting divine concerns, which from the apparently unlawful,
irrational, and inordinate, passes into order and bound, and regards as its scope the
composition of the beautiful and good.
But there is another mode which he delivers in the Phaedrus. And this consists in
everywhere preserving theological fables, unmixed with physical narrations, and being
careful in no respect to confound or exchange theology, and the physical theory with
each other. For, as a divine essence is separate from the whole of nature, in like man-
ner, it is perfectly proper that discourses respecting the Gods should be pure from
physical disquisitions. For a mixture of this kind is, says he, laborious; and to make
physical passions the end of mythological conjecture, is the employment of no very
good man; such for instance, as considering through his [pretended] wisdom, Chimera,
Gorgon, and things of a similar kind, as the same with physical figments. Socrates, in
the Phaedrus, reprobating this mode of mythologizing, represents its patron as saying
under the figure of a fable, that Orithya sporting with the wind Borcas, and being
thrown down the rocks, means nothing more, than that Orithya who was a mortal, was
ravished by Borcas through love. For it appears to me, that fabulous narrations about
the gods, should always have their concealed meaning more venerable than the appar-
ent. So that if certain persons introduce to us physical hypotheses of Platonic fables,
and such as are conversant with sublunary affairs, we must say that they entirely
wander from the intention of the philosopher, and that those hypotheses alone, are
interpreters of the truth contained in these fables, which have for their scope, a divine,
immaterial, and separate hypostasis, and which looking to this, make the compositions
and analyses of the fables, adapted to our inherent anticipations of divine concerns.

Chapter V

88
 As we have therefore enumerated all these modes of the Platonic theology, and have shown
what compositions and analyses of fables are adapted to the truth respecting the Gods, let us
consider, in the next place, whence, and from what dialogs principally, we think the dogmas
of Plato concerning the Gods may be collected, and by a speculation of what types or forms
we may be able to distinguish his genuine writings, from those spurious compositions which
are ascribed to him…. (emphasis added)

n. 2. On the rationales in particular, cf. Proclus, The Theology of Plato. Translated by

Thomas Taylor (London, 1816), Bk. I, ch. IV:

At present we shall observe that Plato does not admit all the fabulous figments of
dramatic composition, but those only which have reference to the beautiful and the good,
and which are not discordant with a divine essence. For that mythological mode which
indicates divine concerns through conjecture is ancient, concealing truth under a
multitude of veils, and proceeding in a manner similar to nature, which extends sensible
fragments of intelligibles, material, of immaterial, partible, of impartible natures, and
images, and things which have a false being, of things perfectly true. But Plato rejects the
more tragical mode of mythologicizing of the ancient poets, who thought proper to
establish an arcane theology respecting the Gods, and on this account devised wanderings,
sections, battles, lacerations, rapes and adulteries of the Gods, and many other such
symbols of the truth about divine natures, which this theology conceals; this mode he
rejects, and asserts that it is in every respect most foreign from erudition. (emphasis added)

n. 3. Marcus Tullius Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods, I. xvi (tr. C. D. Yonge, The Nature
of the Gods and Divination, Amherst, 1997; original ed. H. G. Bohn, 1853), p. 16:

XVI. Thus far have I been rather exposing the dreams of dotards, than giving the opinions of
philosophers. Not much more absurd than these are the fables of the poets, who owe all their
power of doing harm to the sweetness of their language; who have represented the Gods as
enraged with anger and inflamed with lust; who have brought before our eyes their wars,
battles, combats, wounds; their hatreds, dissensions, discords, births, deaths, complaints, and
lamentations; their indulgences in all kinds of intemperance; their adulteries; their chains;
their amours with mortals, and mortals begotten by immortals. To these idle and ridiculous
flights of the poets, we may add the prodigious stories invented by the Magi, and by the
Egyptians also, which were of the same nature, together with the extravagant notions of the
multitude at all times, who, from total ignorance of the truth, are always fluctuating in
uncertainty.

n. 4. On “the more tragical mode of mythologizing of the ancient poets” as an elaboration

of the allegorical or symbolic mode of conveying truth (with regard to which, see Varro’s
three forms of theology), cf. Eusebius of Caesarea, Praep. Evang. I. 10:36

Then the son of Thabion was the first hierophant of Phoenicia.

Having allegorically translated these facts, and having mingled them with the physical
movements of the universe, he transmitted them to the directors of orgies and the
prophets of mysteries.37
36
(http://www.antiqillum.com/texts/bg/Qadosh/qadosh047.htm [retrieved 7/16/03]) All Original material
contents © 1997 - 2003 c.e., Jonathan Sellers. All Rights Reserved.
37
Cp. Strabo, Geogr., 10.3.17 on Orpheus, Musaeus, etc., the earliest Greeks to write religious poetry of a
mystical kind. Note how Eusebius then goes on to reference a subsequent poetic tradition, that of the Cyclical
poets; the former taking the natural and elaborating it into the civil, the latter, the fabulous theology of Varro.

89
 The latter, wishing to increase the obscurity of all those traditions, added new invent-
tions to them and taught them to their successors and those they initiated. “The Greeks,
who excel among all peoples by their brilliant imagination, first appropriated most of
these things and added various embellishments to them in order to give them a dramatic
form; then, intending to beguile by the charm of fables, they completely transformed them.
“Hence Hesiod and the vaunted cyclical poets fabricated their own stories of gods,
giants and castrations and carried them from place to place until all truth was ex-
tinguished. “Our ears, accustomed from early childhood to hearing their false stories, and
our minds, imbued with those preconceptions for centuries, preserve those fantastic sup-
positions as if they were a sacred trust, as I said at the beginning. When time had corrob-
orated their work it made that usurpation almost impregnable, so that truth seems incredible,
and adulterated stories have the appearance of truth.” (emphasis added)

Supplement. On the method of “rationalization”:

n. 1. Proclus, The Theology of Plato (London, 1816), Translated by Thomas Taylor, Bk. I,
ch. IV:

But there is another mode which he delivers in the Phaedrus. And this consists in
everywhere preserving theological fables, unmixed with physical narrations, and being
careful in no respect to confound or exchange theology, and the physical theory with each
other. For, as a divine essence is separate from the whole of nature, in like manner, it is
perfectly proper that discourses respecting the Gods should be pure from physical
disquisitions. For a mixture of this kind is, says he, laborious; and to make physical passions
the end of mythological conjecture, is the employment of no very good man; such for
instance, as considering through his [pretended] wisdom, Chimera, Gorgon, and things of a
similar kind, as the same with physical figments. Socrates, in the Phaedrus, reprobating this
mode of mythologizing, represents its patron as saying under the figure of a fable, that
Orithya sporting with the wind Boreas, and being thrown down the rocks, means nothing
more, than that Orithya who was a mortal, was ravished by Boreas through love. For it
appears to me, that fabulous narrations about the gods, should always have their concealed
meaning more venerable than the apparent. So that if certain persons introduce to us physical
hypotheses of Platonic fables, and such as are conversant with sublunary affairs, we must
say that they entirely wander from the intention of the philosopher, and that those hypotheses
alone, are interpreters of the truth contained in these fables, which have for their scope, a
divine, immaterial, and separate hypostasis, and which looking to this, make the com-
positions and analyses of the fables, adapted to our inherent anticipations of divine concerns.

n. 2. Proclus, Commentaries of Proclus on the Timaeus of Plato. Translated by Thomas

Taylor, vol. 1 (1820, rpt. Kessinger Publishing, n.d.), p. 108:

Again, however, we should remind ourselves respecting the whole deed of the Athenians
[regarding the story of Atlantis], that it is neither called a fable, nor a mere history; some
indeed receiving what is narrated as a history, but others, as a fable. And some asserting,
that, in the first place, the development of these, and such like narrations, appeared to Plato
himself to be the province of a certain laborious and not very fortunate man. 1
1
Plato says this in the Phaedrus of the man who does not adapt the explications of fables to
divine concerns, but interprets them physically.

n. 3. Plato, Phaedrus 229 B – 230 B:

Socrates. Lead on then, and look out for a good place where we may sit.

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 Phaedrus. Do you see that very tall plane tree?

Socrates. What of it? [229b]

Phaedrus. There is shade there and a moderate breeze and grass to sit on, or, if we like, to lie
down on.

Socrates. Lead the way.

Phaedrus. Tell me, Socrates, is it not from some place along here by the Ilissus that Boreas is
said to have carried off Oreithyia?

Socrates. Yes, that is the story.

Phaedrus. Well, is it from here? The streamlet looks very pretty and pure and clear and fit for
girls to play by. [229c]

Socrates. No, the place is about two or three furlongs farther down, where you cross over to
the precinct of Agra; and there is an altar of Boreas somewhere thereabouts.

Phaedrus. I have never noticed it. But, for Heaven’s sake, Socrates, tell me; do you believe
this tale is true?

Socrates. If I disbelieved, as the wise men do, I should not be extraordinary; then I might
give a rational explanation, that a blast of Boreas, the north wind, pushed her off the
neighboring rocks as she was playing with Pharmacea, and [229d] that when she had died in
this manner she was said to have been carried off by Boreas.

But I, Phaedrus, think such explanations are very pretty in general, but are the inventions of
a very clever and laborious and not altogether enviable man, for no other reason than
because after this he must explain the forms of the Centaurs, and then that of the Chimaera,
and there presses in upon him a whole crowd of such creatures, Gorgons and Pegasuses, and
multitudes [229e] of strange, inconceivable, portentous natures. If anyone disbelieves in
these, and with a rustic sort of wisdom, undertakes to explain each in accordance with pro-
bability, he will need a great deal of leisure. But I have no leisure for them at all; and the
reason, my friend, is this: I am not yet able, as the Delphic inscription has it, to know myself;
so it seems to me ridiculous, [230a] when I do not yet know that, to investigate irrelevant
things. And so I dismiss these matters and accepting the customary belief about them, as I
was saying just now, I investigate not these things, but myself, to know whether I am a
monster more complicated and more furious than Typhon or a gentler and simpler creature,
to whom a divine and quiet lot is given by nature.

But, my friend, while we were talking, is not this the tree to which you were leading us?
[230b]

Phaedrus. Yes, this is it.

N.B. Why does Plato portray Socrates as dismissing the Sophist-style interpretation of the
myth of Oreithyia and Boreas? Is it not of the same sort as that of Phaethon, which he ap-
proves at the beginning of the Timaeus? Perhaps the answer is this: the Sophist’s interpret-
tation is reductive: it empties the myth of all meaning: it says that myths are “nothing more

91
than X”, where X is trivial or prosaic, whereas the Phaethon myth is presented as veiling a
profound truth. In sum, such things cannot be “explained in accordance with probability”
because they are deliberately “improbable”: they are meant to hide a truth; they are a de-
liberate disguise for something else—a truth, which IS explainable in accordance with
probability. For the foundation of this sort of interpretation, consider the following texts:

n. 4. Oscar Wilde, Essays and Lectures. The Rise of Historical Criticism, Ch. II:

To this allegorical school the tale of the fight around the walls of Troy was a mystery,
behind which, as behind a veil, were hidden certain moral and physical truths. The contest
between Athena and Ares was that eternal contest between rational thought and the brute
force of ignorance; the arrows which rattled in the quiver of the ‘Far Darter’ were no longer
the instruments of vengeance shot from the golden bow of the child of God, but the common
rays of the sun, which was itself nothing but a mere inert mass of burning metal.
Modern investigation, with the ruthlessness of Philistine analysis, has ultimately brought
Helen of Troy down to a symbol of the dawn. There were Philistines among the Greeks also
who saw in the [Greek omitted] a mere metaphor for atmospheric power.
Now while this tendency to look for metaphors and hidden meanings must be ranked as
one of the germs of historical criticism, yet it was essentially unscientific. Its inherent
weakness is clearly pointed out by Plato, who showed that while this theory will no doubt
explain many of the current legends, yet, if it is to be appealed to at all, it must be as a
universal principle; a position he is by no means prepared to admit.
Like many other great principles it suffered from its disciples, and furnished its own
refutation when the web of Penelope was analysed into a metaphor of the rules of formal
logic, the warp representing the premises, and the woof the conclusion.
Rejecting, then, the allegorical interpretation of the sacred writings as an essentially
dangerous method, proving either too much or too little, Plato himself returns to the earlier
mode of attack, and re-writes history with a didactic purpose, laying down certain ethical
canons of historical criticism. God is good; God is just; God is true; God is without the
common passions of men. These are the tests to which we are to bring the stories of the
Greek religion.
‘God predestines no men to ruin, nor sends destruction on innocent cities; He never walks
the earth in strange disguise, nor has to mourn for the death of any well-beloved son. Away
with the tears for Sarpedon, the lying dream sent to Agamemnon, and the story of the broken
covenant!’ (Plato, REPUBLIC, Book ii. 380; iii. 388, 391.)
Similar ethical canons are applied to the accounts of the heroes of the days of old, and by
the same A PRIORI principles Achilles is rescued from the charges of avarice and insolence
in a passage which may be recited as the earliest instance of that ‘whitewashing of great
men,’ as it has been called, which is so popular in our own day, when Catiline and Clodius
are represented as honest and far-seeing politicians, when EINE EDLE UND GUTE
NATUR is claimed for Tiberius, and Nero is rescued from his heritage of infamy as an
accomplished DILETTANTE whose moral aberrations are more than excused by his ex-
quisite artistic sense and charming tenor voice.

n. 5. The division of theology according to Proclus, The Theology of Plato, Bk. I, ch. 4.
1. One may treat of divine concerns in two ways: (a) through an indicative manner—
that is, by indications or hints, meaning indirectly or in a hidden manner—or (b) by
openly announcing one’s conceptions.

2. If through an indicative manner, then either by (a) speaking symbolically and fabu-
lously, or (b) speaking through images; if in the former way, one is Orphic; if in the
latter, Pythagoric.

92
 3. If by openly announcing one’s conceptions, either by (a) framing their discourses
according to science, or (b) according to inspiration from the Gods.

4. Another method is “ancient”, namely, “the mythological mode which indicates

divine concerns through conjecture…, concealing truth under a multitude of veils”.
Cf. myth or fable as a deliberate allegory disguising a truth, a tradition “our fore-
fathers in the most remote ages have handed down to their posterity…., in the form
of a myth [en muthou schemati]” (Metaph., XII. 8, 1074b 1-3).

5. Then there are “the fabulous figments of dramatic composition” which Plato reject-
ed. This constitutes “the more tragical mode of mythologicizing of the ancient
poets, who thought proper to establish an arcane theology respecting the Gods, and
on this account devised wanderings, sections, battles, lacerations, rapes and adult-
eries of the Gods, and many other such symbols of the truth about divine natures,
which this theology conceals”. And this mode, which is that of Homer and Hesiod,
is rejected by Plato who “considers those mythological discourses about the Gods
as more persuasive, and more adapted to truth and the philosophical habit, which
assert that a divine nature is the cause of all good, but of no evil, and that it is void
of all mutation, ever preserving its own order immutable, and comprehending in it-
self the fountain of truth, but never becoming the cause of any deception to others.
For such types of theology, Socrates delivers in the Republic”.

6. “The types and laws of divine fables” according to the Republic are these: “that the
Gods are not the causes of evils, and that they are the causes of all good”; and “that
every divine nature is immutable, and is established pure from falsehood and arti-
ficial variety”.

n. 6. The principles of the foregoing division:

spoken indirectly
by symbols (Orphic)
by images (Pythagoric)

spoken openly
according to science (Platonic)
by divine inspiration

the mythological mode

in the form of fabulous figments taught by the ancient poets
according to the types and laws of divine fables taught by Socrates in the Republic

93
Note 14. On Aristotle’s second division of what was handed on in the form of myth: 38
the tradition of the ancients embodying the understanding of the ancient pagan reli-
gion as a deliberate imposture (= Varro’s “civil theology”):

n. 1. Thomas B. Thayer, The Origin and History of the Doctrine of Endless Punishment
(1871, 1st ed. 1855):

Anyone at all familiar with the writings of the ancient Greeks or Romans, cannot fail to note
how often it is admitted by them that the national religions were the inventions of the legis-
lator and the priest, for the purpose of governing and restraining the common people. Hence,
all the early lawgivers claim to have had communications with the gods, who aided them in
the preparation of their codes. Zoroaster claimed to have received his laws from a divine
source; Lycurgus obtained his from Apollo, Minos of Crete from Jupiter, Numa of Rome
from Egeria, Zaleucus from Minerva, &c. The object of this sacred fraud was to impress
the minds of the multitude with religious awe, and command a more ready obedience on
their part. Hence Augustine says, in his ‘City of God,’ ‘This seems to have been done on no
other account, but as it was the business of princes, out of their wisdom and civil prudence,
to deceive the people in their religion; princes, under the name of religion, persuaded the
people to believe those things true, which they themselves knew to be idle fables; by this
means, for their own ease in government, tying them the more closely to civil society.’ B. IV
32. (emphasis added)

n. 2. F. W. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius (Oxford, 1957), note on His-

tories, VI. 6-12, p. 741:

The idea of the divine origin of law and divine sanction as a socially useful concept may
originally go back to the Pythagoreans (cf. Delatte, Essai, 44-46, quoting Isoc. Busiris, 24-
25; Iambl. VP, 179; and Xen. Mem. i. 4. where Socrates stresses the moral advantages of a
belief in the gods); but the first example of the rationalistic, atheistic, exploitation of this
approach, which would make religion a deliberate imposture devised for political reasons by
a cunning man, yeudei= kalu/ysaj th\n a)lh/qeian lo/g% [= “hiding the truth under a false/ untrue
account” (B.A.M.)], appears in Critias (Diels-Kranz, FVS, ii. 88, B 25 from the Sisyphus);
see Farrington (88 ff.), who traces the part played by this concept in the formulation of the
Platonic doctrine of the gennai=on yeu=doj.

n. 3. G.E.R. Lloyd, Magic, Reason, and Experience: Studies on the Origins and Develop-
ment of Greek Science (Cambridge, 1979, and Hackett, 1999) 14:

…[B]y the end of the fifth century [BC] we have evidence of a series of rationalistic
accounts of the origin of religion. First Democritus explained belief in the gods as in part a
mistaken inference from terrifying natural phenomena, although he did not dismiss notions
of the gods entirely…. Secondly, Prodicus is said to have accounted for beliefs in the gods in
terms of man’s gratitude for the benefits he derives from such things as bread, water, wine
and fire…. Thirdly, and far more radically, a text from Critias’ Sisyphus represents the gods
as a human invention for the purposes of moral control….

38
Cf. Aristotle, Metaph., XII. 8 (1074b 1-9) (tr. W. D. Ross):

The rest of the tradition has been added later in mythical form [ta de loipa muthikos ede prosektai]
with a view to the [5] persuasion of the multitude and to its legal and utilitarian expediency; they say
these gods are in the form of men or like some of the other animals, and they say other things conse-
quent on and similar to these which we have mentioned.

94
n. 4. For Critias, cf. fr. 25 DK. Excerpt from ‘Sisyphus’, satiric play, in Kathleen Freeman
(ed.). Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers: A Complete Translation of the Fragments
in Diels (Cambridge, 1948), pp. 157-158:

Then, when the laws forbade them to commit open crimes of violence, and they began to do
them in secret, a wise and clever man invented fear (of the gods) for mortals, that there
might be some means of frightening the wicked, even if they do anything or say or think it in
secret. Hence he introduced the Divine (religion), saying that there is a God flourishing with
immortal life, hearing and seeing with his mind, and thinking of everything and caring about
these things, and having divine nature, who will hear everything said among mortals, and
will be able to see all that is done. And even if you plan anything evil in secret, you will not
escape the gods in this; for they have surpassing intelligence. In saying these words, he
introduced the pleasantest of teachings, covering up the truth with a false theory [ yeudei=
kalu/ysaj th\n a)lh/qeian lo/g%, lit. “hiding the truth with/by an untrue/false account”—B.A.M.]
….

n. 5. Cf. also Polybius, The Histories, VI. 6-12 (LCL, 1927) (tr. W. R. Paton):

But the quality in which the Roman commonwealth is most distinctly superior is in my
opinion the nature of their religious convictions. I believe that it is the very thing which
among other peoples is an object of reproach, I mean superstition, which maintains the
cohesion of the Roman State. These matters are clothed in such pomp and introduced to such
an extent into their public and private life that nothing could exceed it, a fact which will
surprise many. My own opinion at least is that they have adopted this course for the sake of
the common people. It is a course which perhaps would not have been necessary had it been
possible to form a state composed of wise men, but as every multitude is fickle, full of law-
less desires, unreasoned passion, and violent anger, the multitude must be held in by invis-
ible terrors and suchlike pageantry. For this reason I think, not that the ancients acted rashly
and at haphazard in introducing among the people notions concerning the gods and beliefs in
the terrors of hell, but that the moderns are most rash and foolish in banishing such beliefs.

n. 6. Cf. also Strabo, Geogr., I. 2. 8 (= The Geography of Strabo, tr. Horace Leonard Jones,
LCL, 1924):

For in dealing with a crowd of women, at least, or with any promiscuous mob, a philosopher
cannot influence them by reason or exhort them to reverence, piety and faith; nay, there is
need of religious fear also, and this cannot be aroused without myths and marvels. For
thunderbolt, aegis, trident, torches, snakes, thyrsus-lances,— arms of the gods — are myths,
and so is the entire ancient theology. But the founders of states gave their sanction to these
things as bugbears wherewith to scare the simple-minded.

n. 7. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan or The Matter, Forme and Power of a Common Wealth
Ecclesiasticall and Civil (1651), Chapter 12, Of Religion:

CHAPTER XII

OF RELIGION

SEEING there are no signs nor fruit of religion but in man only, there is no cause to doubt
but that the seed of religion is also only in man; and consisteth in some peculiar quality, or
at least in some eminent degree thereof, not to be found in other living creatures.

95
And first, it is peculiar to the nature of man to be inquisitive into the causes of the events
they see, some more, some less, but all men so much as to be curious in the search of the
causes of their own good and evil fortune. Secondly, upon the sight of anything that
hath a beginning, to think also it had a cause which determined the same to begin then
when it did, rather than sooner or later. Thirdly, whereas there is no other felicity of
beasts but the enjoying of their quotidian food, ease, and lusts; as having little or no foresight
of the time to come for want of observation and memory of the order, consequence, and
dependence of the things they see; man observeth how one event hath been produced by
another, and remembereth in them antecedence and consequence; and when he cannot
assure himself of the true causes of things (for the causes of good and evil fortune for
the most part are invisible), he supposes causes of them, either such as his own fancy
suggesteth, or trusteth to the authority of other men such as he thinks to be his friends and
wiser than himself.

The two first make anxiety. For being assured that there be causes of all things that
have arrived hitherto, or shall arrive hereafter, it is impossible for a man, who contin-
ually endeavoureth to secure himself against the evil he fears, and procure the good he
desireth, not to be in a perpetual solicitude of the time to come; so that every man,
especially those that are over-provident, are in an estate like to that of Prometheus. For as
Prometheus (which, interpreted, is the prudent man) was bound to the hill Caucasus, a place
of large prospect, where an eagle, feeding on his liver, devoured in the day as much as was
repaired in the night: so that man, which looks too far before him in the care of future time,
hath his heart all the day long gnawed on by fear of death, poverty, or other calamity; and
has no repose, nor pause of his anxiety, but in sleep.

This perpetual fear, always accompanying mankind in the ignorance of causes, as it

were in the dark, must needs have for object something. And therefore when there is
nothing to be seen, there is nothing to accuse either of their good or evil fortune but
some power or agent invisible: in which sense perhaps it was that some of the old poets
said that the gods were at first created by human fear: which, spoken of the gods (that is to
say, of the many gods of the Gentiles), is very true.

<…>

And therefore the first founders and legislators of Commonwealths amongst the Gen-
tiles, whose ends were only to keep the people in obedience and peace, have in all places
taken care: first, to imprint their minds a belief that those precepts which they gave con-
cerning religion might not be thought to proceed from their own device, but from the dictates
of some god or other spirit; or else that they themselves were of a higher nature than mere
mortals, that their laws might the more easily be received; so Numa Pompilius pretended to
receive the ceremonies he instituted amongst the Romans from the nymph Egeria and the
first king and founder of the kingdom of Peru pretended himself and his wife to be the
children of the sun; and Mahomet, to set up his new religion, pretended to have conferences
with the Holy Ghost in form of a dove. Secondly, they have had a care to make it believed
that the same things were displeasing to the gods which were forbidden by the laws.
Thirdly, to prescribe ceremonies, supplications, sacrifices, and festivals by which they were
to believe the anger of the gods might be appeased; and that ill success in war, great
contagions of sickness, earthquakes, and each man's private misery came from the anger of
the gods; and their anger from the neglect of their worship, or the forgetting or mistaking
some point of the ceremonies required. And though amongst the ancient Romans men were
not forbidden to deny that which in the poets is written of the pains and pleasures after this
life, which divers of great authority and gravity in that state have in their harangues openly
derided, yet that belief was always more cherished, than the contrary.

96
 And by these, and such other institutions, they obtained in order to their end, which was the
peace of the Commonwealth, that the common people in their misfortunes, laying the fault
on neglect, or error in their ceremonies, or on their own disobedience to the laws, were the
less apt to mutiny against their governors. And being entertained with the pomp and pastime
of festivals and public games made in honour of the gods, needed nothing else but bread to
keep them from discontent, murmuring, and commotion against the state. And therefore the
Romans, that had conquered the greatest part of the then known world, made no scruple of
tolerating any religion whatsoever in the city of Rome itself, unless it had something in it
that could not consist with their civil government; nor do we read that any religion was there
forbidden but that of the Jews, who (being the peculiar kingdom of God) thought it unlawful
to acknowledge subjection to any mortal king or state whatsoever. And thus you see how the
religion of the Gentiles was a part of their policy. (emphasis added)

n. 8. For a more modern statement of the preceding view, cf. Baron D’Holbach, Good
Sense: or, Natural Ideas Opposed to Supernatural. Being a translation from a Work Called
“Le Bon Sens” corrected and carefully revised by H. D. Robinson (Boston: J. P. Mendum,
1856), nn. 10-15:

10. Ignorance and fear are the two hinges of all religion. The uncertainty in which man finds
himself in relation to his God, is precisely the motive that attaches him to his religion. Man
is fearful in the dark—in moral, as well as physical darkness. His fear becomes habitual, and
habit makes it natural; he would think that he wanted something, if he had nothing to fear.

11. He, who from infancy has habituated himself to tremble when he hears pronounced
certain words, requires those words and needs to tremble. He is therefore more disposed to
listen to one, who entertains him in his fears, than to one, who dissuades him from them. The
superstitious man wishes to fear; his imagination demands it; one might say, that he fears
nothing so much, as to have nothing to fear.

Men are imaginary invalids, whose weakness empirics are interested to encourage, in order
to have sale for their drugs. They listen rather to the physician, who prescribes a variety of
remedies, than to him, who recommends good regimen, and leaves nature to herself.

12. If religion were more clear, it would have less charms for the ignorant, who are pleased
only with obscurity, terrors, fables, prodigies, and things incredible. Romances, silly stories,
and the tales of ghosts and wizards, are more pleasing to vulgar minds than true histories.

13. In point of religion, men are only great children. The more a religion is absurd and thrill-
led with wonders, the greater ascendancy it acquires over them. The devout man thinks him-
self obliged to place no bounds to his credulity; the more things are inconceivable, they
appear to him divine; the more they are incredible, the greater merit, he imagines, there is in
believing them.

14. The origin of religious opinions is generally dated from the time, when savage nations
were yet in infancy. It was to gross, ignorant, and stupid people, that the founders of religion
have in all ages addressed themselves, when they wished to give them their Gods, their mode
of worship, their mythology, their marvellous and frightful fables. These chimeras, adopted
without examination by parents, are transmitted, with more or less alteration, to their
children, who seldom reason any more than their parents.

15. The object of the first legislators was to govern the people; and the easiest method to
effect it was to terrify their minds, and to prevent the exercise of reason. They led them
through winding bypaths, lest they might perceive the designs of their guides; they forced

97
 them to fix their eyes in the air, for fear they should look at their feet; they amused them on
the way with idle stories; in a word, they treated them as nurses do children, who sing
lullabies, and scold, to put them to sleep, or make them be quiet.

n. 9. Review of Jonathan Duncan, The Religions of Profane Antiquity (London, 1839): In

The Monthly Review, from January to April Inclusive. 1839. Vol. I:

ART. IX.— The Religions of Profane Antiquity; their Mythology, Fables, Hieroglyphics, and
Doctrines. Founded on Astronomical Principles. By JONATHAN DUNCAN, B. A. London:
Rickerby.

As Mr. Duncan professes to do little more than to simplify the arrangement of certain for-
eign writers of vast learning who have applied their minds to the unravelling the systems of
ancient heathenism, it will not be necessary for us, with the view of illustrating the purposes
contemplated by him, to do much more than to abridge some of his paragraphs, and extract a
few others, without having submitted the latter to any condensing process. These purposes
are twofold, classical and religious; and in their accomplishment no ordinary extent of
research, degree of comprehension, or freedom in the manner of interpretation and de-
duction, are manifested. Indeed, we sometimes have felt that an over-refinement and fanci-
fulness of speculation have tempted the author to pronounce positively where doubts and
mystery prevail. The general ground, however, which he adopts, if taken with certain excep-
tions to be noticed by us, seems solid and capable of supporting the superstructure; that
ground and theory being that the religions of profane antiquity have sprung from three
distinct varieties: Fetichism; Sabeism; and Heroism.

To the student and scholar it must be a point of no slight importance to have a clear and
consistent apprehension of the fables which enter into the poetry of the ancient classics,
and the principles of belief that coloured and controuled the doctrines of the philosophers
of Greece and Rome. To the inquirer into the merits of different religions; to the Christian
who desires to know what were the creeds of the most civilized nations prior to the birth of
our Saviour and to the promulgation of the Gospel, a still higher object is to be attained by
the student of such a work as the present, than the merely adequate understanding of the
verses of Homer, Hesiod, Virgil, and Ovid. The picture, in regard to this most important
view of the subject, is indeed forbidding and pitiable; and would be still more disheartening
and deplorable, did it not admit dreary and dark contrast to the beauties, exhaustless riches,
and consummate truths and of wisdom found in Revelation. To that picture as spread out by
Mr. Duncan, let us turn for a short time; and we shall perceive that though heathenism pro-
gressed from pure idolatry to what our author aptly calls philosophic theism, it was all alone
but a development of gross errors and cold superstitions, which, although such systems may
now be deemed by those who have had the benefit of inspired truths as puerile conceits,
ought to satisfy us that no human learning, no original sagacity are equal to the momentous
discovery which alone is to be found in the Sacred Record which Christians possess.

In tracing the history of heathenism and idolatry, the earliest stage to which our author
refers is that of Fetichism, which consisted, he thinks, of that adoration which in the
most remote ages of barbarism was bestowed upon material substances. This, says Mr.
Duncan, “appears to have been the universal religion of the earliest inhabitants of the earth.”
We wish, however, that he had defined more closely than he does what he means by the
earliest inhabitants; for surely the immediate descendants of Adam, the earliest Patriarchs,
and the sons of Noah, will not be called barbarians, nor supposed to have been entirely
ignorant of the attributes of the true God, or unacquainted with the worship due to him. How
or when mankind became degraded to the condition of gross barbarism, are in a great
measure matters of conjecture; but this we know, that in the superstitions of nations whose

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histories can be traced the furthest back, those of the Hindoos for example, vestiges are to be
found of traditions which can alone refer to primitive events, nowhere truly described but by
Moses; and therefore we could have wished that our author had been somewhat more
explicit when speaking of the earliest barbarian nations; and that he had also afforded us
some grounds for thinking, that even when tribes had descended to the condition of savage
hunters, no remnant of traditional truth entered into their debased religion. Instead of
Fetichism being the first form of heathenism, or as we understand the term, idolatrous
worship, may we not rather suppose that the first form proceeded upon a belief in a
sort of demi-gods, —in something not far removed from what is called Heroism,—such
men as Noah, whose longevity and marvellous preservation would naturally fill the
mouths of posterity, at length, from small beginnings of traditional error, becoming
exalted to more than that of real humanity? In fact, there are good grounds for believing,
that the Deluge became the theme of various extravagant and poetical imaginings, till the
loud lessons which it taught were entirely lost just as its hero, in one shape or another,
became the object idolatrous homage; a sure way, according to the very nature of error, if
not checked by repeated or a full revelation of the truth from Heaven, to send at a rapid rate
every succeeding generation further astray, until a complete obscuration of all that was pure
and salutary took place.

Inclined as we are to take up Mr. Duncan’s “earliest inhabitants” at the point of obs-
cureation to which we have attempted to indicate the manner of arrival, and at those
remote ages of barbarism when, as roaming hunters, tribes encountered all the fears
and hopes which the chances of the chase, the variation of the seasons, the unequal
supplies afforded by different fields of enterprize, must ever have been presenting, it is
very easy to believe that the elements and the phenomena in nature, that “whatever bani-
shed evil, or secured good,” would become objects of worship and propitiation. Abstract
and intangible things are not acceptable or comprehensible by minds sunk to the grossest
condition, and therefore the rude symbols also of the powers and influences feared or hoped
for would be set up, and the knee bended before them.

When men, experiencing the uncertainties of the chase, found that by taming the more docile
species of game, they could make sure of a constant supply to satisfy the wants of nature, a
transition of course would be made from the savage and hunting state to that of shepherds,—
the connecting link, as our author well expresses it, between the condition of hunters and
agriculturists; the latter having discovered in certain soils and their natural productions, the
means of further comfort. Cultivation of these would then take place, which could not,
however, be pursued without an understanding and acquiescing in the doctrine of ownership,
and the general rights to property. And now, observing how dependent such pursuits were
upon the movements of the heavenly bodies, not to speak of their obvious grandeur, would
not the adoration of these bodies, astro-theology, or Sabeism, be the result both of the
tamers of cattle and the tamers of land?

A third variety of heathenism in the course of development, upon which we have entered,
may easily be conceived to be that of Heroism, or the deification of men after death. When
in the progress of civilization, of which man is susceptible, independent of a knowledge of
true religion,—a progress which the necessities of life may in certain cases be supposed to
originate,—communities were formed, special and general rights recognised, and the depen-
dence more or less of one upon another perceived, individuals, who had distinguished them-
selves most signally as founders of cities, as lawgivers, warriors, or saints, nay even impos-
tors, would, after their deaths, be deified, and their tombs or temples visited as if the recep-
tacles of virtues and influences of which the worshippers might obtain the benefit and the
intercession.

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We have spoken of a progress in civilization as being natural to man, or at least not incon-
sistent with the range of his capacities and necessities. But it may be asked how nations in
various parts of the world have from century to century continued in a state of uniform
barbarism ? How is it that we find the East, the cradle of the arts, sciences, and letters, an
exception rather than a rule to the inhabitants of the remote regions of Africa, to the abor-
igines of Australia, to the Red men of the American continent? Now these interrogatories
lead us to say, that we wish Mr. Duncan had directed his mind to such contradictions
between the heathenism of ancient and modern times, and also to the inquiry how far the
nations of the East, how far Egypt and Hindustan, may have been influenced by the religion
and the writings of the descendants of Abraham and Jacob. But this is returning to nearly the
same suggestion, and criticism introduced above, and therefore without more cavilling we go
on to present something like an analysis of the work as it is, and to cite a few of its more
striking parts.

We think Mr. Duncan has been very happy in his views in regard to the religious sentiment
which he holds to be universally natural to man, whatever be his condition, whether rude or
civilized. The desire to avoid misery and to obtain happiness, the conviction which every
man has felt of being incapable of attaining all he desires, unless aided by some superior
power, are matters of experience not more uniform and pervading; or, in other words,
these feelings and experiences are coincident with, inseparable from, some species of
religious sentiment and religious worship. There is, in fact, an identity in the case. This
view, says our author,—

“Militates against the usually received opinion of the philosophers, that ‘fear first
created the gods,’ for it is here contended that man is not religious because he is timid,
but because he is man; in other words, that the religious sentiment is part and parcel of
humanity, inseparable from its very nature and essential to its very existence. It is an
indestructible principle, and so long as the nature of man remains unchanged, he must
necessarily be a religious animal. The experience of history proves the position. Various
systems of belief have existed and have perished, but man has never divested himself of
the religious sentiment in its essence. It has merely changed the outward form. He has
never felt himself wholly independent of the external and invisible world; he has never
fancied his own unaided powers sufficient to secure happiness; but, on the contrary, he
has always been conscious of his own insufficiency, and has never ceased to entertain a
feeling, however vague, crude, or indistinct that feeling may have been, of his entire
dependence on some unknown and superior intelligence. Now it is this consciousness of
individual weakness, common to universal humanity, that creates the religious senti-
ment; and as this consciousness has always existed, and ever must exist, so long as man
preserved his present nature, religion may be said to be indestructible in its essence,
however It may vary in its development.

“Man, then, must be considered as an essentially religious animal, among the first and
eternal laws of whose nature may be perceived a desire for happiness and a dread of
misery, accompanied by a lively and restless sense of hope and fear. These feelings have
influenced every condition of society from primitive barbarism to final civilization;
they lie at the root of all systems of heathenism, and form, as it were, a common centre,
towards which they all radiate. That the modifications of heathenism are various and
dissimilar in their development is true, but these relate to the superstructure, and not to the
base, of the edifice. Sacerdotal corporations never created the religious sentiment, but, on the
contrary, the religious sentiment created sacerdotal corporations. The cosmogonies and
theogonies of heathenism; the sacred fables; the doctrines, mysteries, and ceremonies,
were certainly the inventions of the priesthood; but these must not be confounded with
the religious sentiment in the abstract, which, in its essence, is an independent princi-

100
ple, co-existent with our very being, and so necessary an ingredient in humanity, that,
without it, man would not be man. The priesthood could no more have originated the
religious sentiment, than created the blood which circulates through our veins; their
power was limited to the control and direction of it in its development. To accomplish
their object, they rendered the religious sentiment subservient to those first laws of our
nature which prompt us to seek happiness and avoid misery, while at the same time they
kept alive the principles of hope and fear. In order to derive the greatest and most per-
manent advantage from this policy, they laid it down as a fundamental rule, that no
direct communication could ever take place between man and the gods. The inter-
cession and intermediate agency of the priesthood was declared to be indispensable,
without which no blessing could be obtained, and no curse be averted.”

Life and death, the destinies of man, the connections and relations between the present and
the future, are subjects which come home to the bosom of every one, and induce him, as
soon as in the course of enlargement of mind, and intensity of reflection, he has become
habituated to think of time, duration, and space, to speculate about the limits of those things,
but to speculate without satisfaction. And now it is that a priesthood finds occupation :—

“This desire of escaping out of the boundaries of finity and limited duration, and attaining to
the knowledge of infinity and eternity, and thus solving the grand problem of life and death,
obtained for the priesthood the exclusive privilege of mediating between the creature and the
Creator. The germ of this feeling may be detected even in that early stage of society, when
the juggler and magician pretended to control the occult powers of nature by sacrifices and
incantations. Man was easily persuaded that what he could not obtain for himself, another
could secure for him. He anxiously desired a mediator between himself and the invisible
powers, and that very desire created a priesthood.

“It may be impossible to fix at any specific date the origin of sacerdotal corporations,
but there is the highest degree of probability that they are co-eval with the agricultural
era, when the first notions of astronomy were formed. Sabeism, or astro-theology, is
among all the varieties of heathenism the most natural to man, who, unaided by the
light of revelation, must necessarily have formed his idea of religion on some system of
materialism. Now, there is no object in nature so calculated to excite astonishment,
admiration, and reverential awe, as the magnificent spec- [551-552] tacle of the starry
heavens, producing on the one hand the most exalted idea of the Governor of the
universe, and on the other hand the most humiliating conviction of human insignificance.
This contrast must have forced itself on the minds of men in all ages and in all countries,
and the obvious conclusion deduced from it must have precisely accorded with the
religious sentiment. Hence astronomy became a sacred science, and formed the chief
study of the ancient priesthood. Their early knowledge was applied to the purposes of
agriculture, and the first calendars were merely manuals of husbandry. In progress of time,
astrology became blended with astronomy. Then it was taught that the destinies of
individuals and the fate of nations depended on the stars. The three kingdoms of nature were
subjected to their influence.

Cosmogonies were invented; theogonies were framed; sacred fables were composed;
rites and ceremonies were instituted; and the whole of them were intended to illustrate
the varied phenomena of nature. Such was the scope, character, and tendency of
ancient heathenism, a system originally based on astronomy, disfigured in its progress
by astrology, teaching its doctrines in the symbolical form of solar allegories, and
maintaining its discipline by mysteries and initiations descriptive and explanatory of
the physical government of the universe.”

101
Several chapters are devoted to a learned, able, and ingenious disquisition, interpretation,
and minute illustration of the systems of heathen religious sentiment originally based on
astronomy, and the fables that thence arose. The planets and the celestial bodies having been
the subjects of observation and constantly accruing discoveries, led to a complete series of
personifications, poetic fiction, and diversified adoration, the chief divinity being the Sun.
An extract will show how some of these fables originated:—

“As the planets were supposed to exercise a most important influence on the destinies of
mankind, the priesthood, after having blended astrology with astronomy, allotted different
ages of human life to the special care of particular planets. From the moment of birth to the
age of five years, the Moon had the charge of every infant; hence she was honoured under
the name of Lucina, the goddess of midwifery. The next ten years were given to Mercury,
the god of literature and science. Venus, the goddess of love, presided over the following
eight years. The Sun ruled the middle period of life, he being the centre of the celestial
bodies. Mars governed those who had attained to the plenitude of physical strength. Jupiter
directed those, who had arrived at the age when reason and judgment are matured. The last
period of life was allotted to Saturn.

“Certain animals and minerals were also specially affected to particular planets. The bull
was assigned to the Moon; the serpent, to Mercury; the dove, to Venus; the lion, to the Sun;
the wolf, to Mars; the eagle, to Jupiter; and the ass, to Saturn. Among minerals, silver was
appropriated to the Moon; quicksilver, to Mercury; copper, to Venus; gold. to the Sun; iron,
to Mars; pewter, to Jupiter; and lead, to Saturn. This distribution of the minerals among the
planets belongs to that peril*! of society, when alchemy became an engine of sacerdotal
imposture.

“The next important element in the astro-theological machinery of Sabeism, was the
zodiac. The zodiac is a circular belt in the heavens, about eighteen degrees broad, and
divided into twelve equal parts, each of thirty degrees. It extends totally round the
heavens, and includes the orbits of all the planets, as well as that of the Moon. Each
section of the duodecimal division is marked by a peculiar configuration of asterisms,
called a sign, the ancient names of which are still preserved, and are too familiar to
require enumeration. Within the belt of the zodiac all the planets revolve, the Sun occu-
pying the centre. This part of the heaven, therefore, appeared to the ancients to be the
residence of the celestial deities. Herein it was supposed that all the phenomena of
nature were arranged, the seasons regulated, and the great work of vegetation directed.
In this circle, the march of the chief divinity exhibited an accurate measure of time, and
the signs, distributed in the twelve divisions of the zodiac, were characteristic of the
different epochs of the year. In fact, this section of the heavens was viewed as the grand
laboratory of nature, from whence all good and evil proceeded.”

Our author has brought together a great deal of astronomical knowledge and details to bear
upon such subjects as these have beep embellished by the ancient classics, and upon
religions of profane antiquity; fully proving that their fables were astronomical allegories,
illustrative of the celestial phenomena, and that an understanding of the various theories
under Sabeism is essential to a study of the monuments, legends, classical allusions,
decorations, and theologies of Greece and Rome. For,

“Sabeism had its infancy, its manhood, and its old age. In its primitive character, it was a
rude system of astronomy made subservient to the purposes of agriculture, and the earliest
calendars were manuals of husbandry, and perhaps of meteorology. As wealth and civili-
zation increased, religious corporations were permanently established. It was in this ad-
vanced state of society, that the theories of the Decans and Paranatellons were invented.

102
 Then the doctrine of the active and passive causes of nature was taught: a belief in the
existence of two rival deities was inculcated, each struggling for supreme dominion; the
celestial hierarchy was equally distributed under the banners of the two great compete-
tors, one part being attached to the principle of light and good, the other part being
united to the principle of darkness and evil; the influences attributed to the four ele-
ments, fire, air, water, and earth, were respectively arranged, as allies or opponents of
the two belligerent powers; birds, beasts, insects, and fishes, were invested with similar
antagonist functions; in short, all animate and inanimate nature was allegorized, and
the various phenomena of creation were embodied and personified in solar fables.39

The doctrine of mere materialism at last succumbed under the growing intelligence of
mankind; the world became a huge animal, endowed with vitality; it next received an
universal intelligence; at last philosophy triumphed, and established the glorious belief
in the doctrine of an universal soul, pre-existent, immortal, and accountable in a future
state of reward and punishment.”

Such is a condensed outline of classical heathenism. But an exposition of some of what are
called the Minor Fables of the

VOL. I. (1839.) NO. iv. « Q

Greeks and Romans will more clearly illustrate their nature. Take the twelve signs of the
Zodiac, with their astronomical solutions, Aries and Leo, as examples. Of the former he
says,—

“This animal is the ram, on which Phryxus and Helle crossed the Hellespont. Helle was
drowned, and the straits were called after her name. Her companion saved himself, and
reached the court of Aetes, king of Colchis. Phryxus sacrificed his ram to Jupiter Ammon,
and hung up the fleece, which was of pure gold, in the temple of the god. Jupiter was so well
pleased with this costly offering, that he placed the image of the slaughtered victim in the
heavens. In the statues of Jupiter Ammon, the head was always decorated with the horns of a
ram.

39
Cf. Jonathan Duncan, The Religions of Profane Antiquity (London, 1839), p. 186:

Light has always formed one of the primary objects of heathen adoration. The glorious spectacle of
animated nature would lose all its interest if man were deprived of vision, and light ex-
tinguished; for that which is unseen and unknown becomes, for all practical purposes, as valueless
as if it were non-existent. Light is a source of positive happiness; without it, man could barely exist;
and since all religious opinion is based on the ideas of pleasure and pain, and the corresponding
sensations of hope and fear, it is not to be wondered if the heathen reverenced light. Darkness,
on the contrary, by replunging nature, as it were, into a state of nothingness, and depriving man
of the pleasurable emotions conveyed through the organ of sight, was ever held in abhorrence,
as a source of misery and fear. The two opposite conditions in which man thus found himself
placed, occasioned by the enjoyment or the banishment of light, induced him to imagine the existence
of two antagonist principles in nature, to whose dominion he was alternately subject. Light multiplied
his enjoyments, and darkness diminished them. The former, accordingly, became his friend, and the
latter his enemy. The words ‘light’ and ‘good,’ and ‘darkness’ and ‘evil,’ conveyed similar ideas, and
became, in sacred language, synonymous terms. But as good and evil were not supposed to flow from
one and the same source, no more than light and darkness were supposed to have a common origin,
two distinct and independent principles were established, totally different in their nature, of opposite
characters, pursuing a conflicting line of action, and creating antagonistic effects. Such was the origin
of this famous dogma, recognized by all the heathens, and incorporated with all the sacred fables,
cosmogonies, and mysteries of antiquity. (emphasis added)

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“Another fable associates this animal with Bacchus. When this hero invaded Africa, his
army nearly perished from thirst in the sandy deserts. In this emergency, some of his soldiers
saw a ram, which fled at their approach. They pursued it to some distance, when it suddenly
disappeared, but, to their great joy, they discovered an abundant spring of water on the very
spot at which the ram escaped. Bacchus refreshed his army, and then erected a temple in
honour of Jupiter Ammon, in which he placed a statue of the god, on the brows of which he
placed the horns of a ram. As this animal served as a guide and leader to his troops, Bacchus
fixed his image at the head of the zodiac, that the sidereal ram might be the conductor of the
celestial army.

“Another tradition relates that Bacchus, having obtained military possession of Egypt and
the adjacent country, was visited by one Ammon, who brought with him, as presents for
Bacchus, innumerable flocks and herds: that the grateful conqueror rewarded this devotion
by conferring on Ammon the sovereignty of Thebes, in Egypt, and in order to perpetuate the
remembrance of his donation, commanded all who made statues of Ammon to decorate the
head with the horns of the ram.

“Another fable makes the ram the offspring of Neptune and Theophania, daughter of Altheis.
The god of the sea, being enamoured of this nymph, carried her off to the island Crummissa,
he being disguised in the form of a ram, and his paramour being metamorphosed into an
ewe. From this adventure sprang Aries Chrysovellus, the ram with the golden fleece, which
was afterwards taken from the temple of Mars by Jason.

“Among the twelve great deities, Minerva had her throne, Apollo his exaltation, and Mars
his house, in Aries. The bead of this celestial image looks towards the east; the feet set first;
and, on rising, the head ascends under the constellation of the triangle, while the feet almost
touch the head of the constellation Cetus, or the whale. There are eighteen principal stars in
the effigies of this sign, but the most conspicuous are placed in the horns.”
Of Leo,—

“This animal is celebrated in the first labour of Hercules, as the Nemean lion. It was fabled
to have been reared in the sphere of the Moon, by the order of Juno, from whence it fell
down, and took up its residence near the Nemean caverns in Arcadia. There it lurked in
ambush to seize on Hercules. This hero, armed with the club of his host Moloch us, slew the
beast, and ever afterwards wore his hide, as a mantle, in token of his victory. The image of
the vanquished animal was placed among the constellations by Juno.

“Leo contains a star of the first magnitude, called Regulus, which is one of the four royal
stars. Leo looks towards the west: he is placed above the head of Hydra, and extends himself
over nearly one half of that constellation. The Sun has his house and exaltation, and Jupiter
his throne, in Leo.”

Mr. Duncan pursues in a similar manner an exposition and solution of the twenty-one
Northern Constellations without the Zodiac, and the fifteen Southern; and then comes to
treat of the theory of the Active and Passive causes of Nature; the former including the signs
and constellations already noticed, the latter the four elements, Fire, Air, Water, and Earth :
—

“The heavens were supposed to discharge the functions of a father, and the earth, those
of a mother. Light, heat, and rain descending from above, quickened vegetation and
fertilized the soil. The genial warmth of the Sun infused physical life into the womb of
the earth, which, otherwise, would have remained sterile and unfruitful. Being, from its
very position, subjected to the heavens, which cover and encompass it in all directions,

104
the earth appeared to be the recipient of the fructifying principle, poured down into its
matrix from above, and on this notion the doctrine of the active and passive powers of
nature was founded.”

Again,—

“In this sublunary world, everything was subjected to the dominion of the twelve signs
of the zodiac, and the birth, growth, decay, and death of man, animals, and vegetables,
depended on the influence of this circle of generation. Hence it was supposed, that certain
signs had a greater relation to, and conformity with, certain elements, than others. The four
elements were, accordingly, distributed among the twelve signs, so that each element was
attached to three signs, in the order of fire, earth, air, and water. Taking Leo, the house of the
Sun, as the first of the series, and fixing in it the seat of fire, then earth would fall under
Virgo, or Ceres as she was called, air under Libra, and water under Scorpio. In continuing
and repeating the series, fire takes a second position in Sagittarius, earth in Capricornus, air
in Aquarius, and water in Pisces. A third distribution places fire in Aries, earth in Taurus, air
in Gemini, and water in Cancer.

“In this manner four elemental triangles were formed, the summits of which marked the
seats of the elements in the signs. The triangle of fire had its angular points or summits in
Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius. The triangle of earth, in Taurus, Virgo, and Capricornus. The
triangle of air, in Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius. The triangle of water in Cancer, Scorpio, and
Pisces. This theory was made use of in the sacred legend of Osiris and Isis, for it was when
the Sun was in Scorpio, and the Moon full in Taurus, that the Egyptians lamented Osiris,
husband of Isis, and carried in procession a figure formed of earth and water. Isis, the Moon,
was full in Taurus, the seat of earth, as an element. Osiris, the Sun, was in Scorpio, the scat
of water, as an element. At the time, then, when the Egyptians celebrated this mournful
festival, the Sun and Moon partook of the nature of these two signs, and of the two elements
attached to them; in other words, they partook of the nature of earth and water, and hence the
origin of this image.

“The four elements were also distributed among the seven planets. During the day, the chief
ruler of fire was the Sun, and the second ruler was Jupiter. This order in rank was reversed
during the night. Saturn shared in both the diurnal and nocturnal dominion of fire. The chief
ruler of earth during the day was Venus, and the second ruler was the« Moon. It was the
contrary at night. Mars shared in both the diurnal and nocturnal dominion over earth. Saturn
was chief ruler over air during the day, and Mercury was the second. The reverse took place
at night. Jupiter shared in both the diurnal and nocturnal dominion over air. Venus ruled in
chief over water during the day, and Mars was her second, the contrary taking place at night.
The Moon shared in both the diurnal and nocturnal dominion over water. This distribution of
the elements among the planets, is one of the inventions of judicial astrology.

“The preceding explanation of the active and passive causes of nature conveys the idea
of an operation purely mechanical, in which matter and motion are alone employed, to
the complete exclusion of a divine intelligence. The active portion of this machine acts
imperiously on the passive portion, subdues its natural inertness, organizes it, and
communicates to its separate parts activity and life. The government of the universe,
the distribution of time, of light, of heat and cold, of dryness and moisture, of wind, of
rain, —the varied temperature of the seasons,—their periodical returns,—the
succession of physical good and evil,—the generation and destruction of animal and
vegetable life,—all were ascribed to the power of Uranus exerting his influence on
Gaia. Each planet and star, each sign of the zodiac, and each Decan and Paranatellon, acting
by a purely mechanical force, performed its allotted duty on the passive cause of nature.

105
The heavenly bodies produced every effect on the earth, the air, and the sea. The
calendar of the priest, and the almanack of the agriculturist and navigator, were
founded on this religious opinion. The themes of ancient poetry and the mysteries of
ancient theology, which the pencil of the artist and the chisel of the sculptor
immortalized in the paintings and statues that embellished the gorgeous temples of
heathenism, were merely illustrations of the physical phenomena of the universe, as
deduced from the theory of the active and passive causes of nature.”

But while the theory of causes active and passive prevailed, and of light and darkness,
another difficulty in which all were interested, required to be solved, and which neces-
sarily called forth the most subtle as well as unsatisfactory speculations; we allude to
the existence of moral and physical evil, which still perplexes and baffles human
comprehension and explanation. We shall quote a passage to shew that even the existence
of both principles, the Supreme and Holy One, God, and the Evil Spirit, or Demon, were
connected with astronomical fables :—

“Pythagoras maintained the doctrine of the two principles of good [557-558] and evil. He
called the first unity, light, the right hand, equality, stability, and a straight line. He named
the second, binary, darkness, the left hand, inequality, instability, and a curved line. He
divided everything into the infinite and the finite, good and evil, life and death, day and
night. He attributed whiteness to the good principle, and blackness to the bad principle. In
accordance with this Pythagorean idea, Virgil makes AEneas sacrifice a black sheep to the
stormy winds of winter, and a white one to the propitious zephyrs. Nigram hiemi pecudem,
zephyris felicibus album. All these remarkable contrasts among the physical effects of
nature, were expressed by the heathen priesthood in the most striking language, while the
imagery of the sacred fables, and the figures on the holy monuments, were ingeniously
adapted to illustrate the broad line of demarcation which separated the two principles of light
and darkness.

“The alternate residence of Proserpine, for example, in the realms of darkness and light, for
periods of six months in each, is an allegorical fiction founded on the doctrine of the two
principles. Proserpine was the Moon. When she was invisible to the inhabitants of the earth,
she was supposed to live with Pluto: when she was visible, she was imagined to dwell with
Ceres. This secret formed part of the sacred science taught to the initiated in the mysteries of
Proserpine and Ceres, celebrated at Eleusis. The fable of Adonis, in whose honour mysteries
were instituted in Phoenicia, is of a similar character. His pretended residence in hell during
six months with Proserpine, and with Venus in heaven during the following six months,
expressed the route of the Sun in the superior and inferior hemispheres, of which the former
was affected to the principle of light, and the latter to the principle of darkness. The fable of
Atys, and the mysteries of Cybele, are founded on a kindred origin.”

With the philosophical dogmas that were propagated agreeably to such sportings of the
imagination, as indulged in by the ancients, we need not puzzle ourselves, seeing that our
main design is to give specimens of Mr. Duncan’s scheme and manner of interpreting the
varieties of heathen belief in matters of religion. Before, however, passing from the chapter
in which the ancient doctrine concerning the two principles of good and evil are discussed, it
will be satisfactory to have the solution which our author arrives at on this subject, and
which is the safest one that, with our limited faculties, we can yield to. He regards the two
terms as standing relatively together, and not as conveying separable and positive meanings;
so that we can form no distinct idea of the one abstractedly from the other. Just as in the case
of the terms Beauty and Ugliness; our idea of the former depends upon that of the latter, and
vice versa,— each serving as a term of comparison with the other—”

106
In the sense,” says Mr. Duncan, “ we attach to the words Good and Evil, as conveying
simply and strictly ideas of relation, the existence of the one being absolutely indispensable
to our knowledge of the other, there appears to be no impiety, nor any derogation from the
Divine benevolence, in attributing evil as well as good to the First Cause.” Besides, the
evidences so abundant of the Deity’s consummate wisdom, and the nature, may we not add,
the necessity for man of a state of probationary trial, all go as counterbalancing arguments in
support of the view now adopted.

Our author in his ninth chapter, treats of the Soul of the Universe as understood by the
ancients. The general character of the theory may be gathered from the opening
paragraphs :—

“There is a silent revolution constantly at work in the undercurrents of society, hidden from
vulgar eyes, and unfelt in the secret progress of its operation, but which, after the lapse of
time, forces its way to the surface, and breaking up ancient systems and ancient opinions,
creates new feelings, new habits, and new modes of thinking among mankind. “Wise is the
legislator who can look beneath the surface of affairs, who has prescience to anticipate the
period of change, and judgment to prepare the minds of men for the new order of things! In
this wisdom the ancient priesthood were most eminent, for without destroying the old
idolatry, which would have too rudely shocked popular prejudices, they retained it in its
essence, while they adapted its exterior forms to the increasing intelligence of the age. Stare
super antiquas vias was their prudent policy. Thus steering between the two extremes of
conservative quietism and destructive innovation, they preserved the foundations of the
original building; and while the unsightly parts of the old fabric were removed, modern
embellishments, suited to the genius and spirit of a more enlightened laity, were judiciously
introduced. If, in the early stages of society, we perceive a rude and monstrous superstition,
deifying the inanimate objects of nature, and mistaking effects for causes, we may also
discover, in the religious ideas of advancing civilization, the same raw material of primitive
ignorance, however skilfully concealed under the meretricious decorations of art. We find
the same canvass, though the figures painted on it, are conceived in an improved taste, and
executed with a higher finish.

“This alteration in the heathen system took place, when philosophy had engrafted itself
on superstition, and purified it from its primitive grossness. Then it was that the
doctrine of the soul of the universe was inculcated, and nature, no longer considered as
a mere machine, was believed to be intelligent and animated by an etherial principle.”

In the next chapter we are introduced to the subject of the Worship of Idols. One paragraph
must serve to indicate the author’s method of interpretation here. He says,—

“Nature as a whole, and each of the component parts of nature, formed the objects of
ancient religion. In the earlier stages of society, the world was supposed to be a purely
material machine. As civilization advanced, this opinion was superseded by the doc-
trine which taught that nature was vitally animated by some unknown etherial princi-
ple; and, at length, it was believed that nature, and all its parts, was not only animated,
but endued with intelligence, and the whole universe governed by a divine intellectual
soul. The idols of antiquity, the statues and paintings of the gods, and the animal, plants, and
minerals selected for adoration, formed, as it were, an immense mirror, which reflected the
entire face of nature, and the working of its different phenomena. In this view of the sub-
ject, images occupy but the second rank in the chain of objects of worship, and whoever
desires to seize the real spirit of the system, must detach his thoughts from the mere
idol, and fix them on the original type, and consider the material symbol as the

107
 expression of an intellectual idea, which the priesthood endeavoured to render palpable
to the senses of the vulgar through the medium of statues and paintings.”

The last chapter in the work is upon the Mysteries and Initiations, which at certain stages of
ancient heathenism were resorted to and established for the purpose of upholding religious
opinion; and like most of the other branches in pagan belief and adoration, these were
closely connected with natural phenomena and astronomical observations. Take some
account of the Mysteries of Bona Dea :—

“It has already been remarked on the authority of Cicero, that no man was permitted to
pronounce the name of this goddess, and the origin of her worship was lost in the remoteness
of time. Ovid states, that the adoration of Tauras, the father of Bona Dea, was introduced
into Italy by Evander, who copied it from the Arcadians, and he makes this declaration in
speaking of the festivals celebrated at the kalends of May, the precise time at which the
mysteries of Fatua or Fauna, the good goddess, were observed, at the cosmic rising of the
she-goat Amalthea. It was then that the Romans made offerings on the altars of the Lares,
their tutelary household gods, and the Bona Dea was reverenced as the tutelary goddess of
the whole Roman empire.”

It must be evident from these extracts that Mr. Duncan has furnished a very complete key to
the old systems of heathenism, as developed especially in Greece and Rome. The work, too,
is cheap and of a conveniently portable form. Its contents ought undoubtedly to be made
familiar to the students of the ancient classics; while to antiquarians, historians, moralists,
lawyers, and religionists of every description, it affords abundance of most instructive and
curious matter. To one particular class of philanthropists we pointedly recommend the
volume, merely making use of the author’s suggestions and words as found in his preface,
with which we close:

“The exposition of the Cosmogonies and Theogonies of heathenism may be tendered useful
to the missionary cause, particularly in Eastern Countries, where the traditions of remote
ages still exist. A teacher visiting those nations in the hope of converting the aborigines,
ought to be fully acquainted with the general principles on which the prevailing heathenism
is founded, and had this qualification been rigidly enforced, we hesitate not to affirm that
much greater progress would have been made in the dissemination of the Gospel than has
hitherto been effected. Before the Missionary can hope to introduce a new system, he ought
to remove the existing prejudices which militate against its reception, and this he can only
accomplish by knowing the character and the tactics of the enemy he is about to attack.”
(emphasis added)

n. 10. N.B. For the form typically assumed by the sort of ‘myth’ belonging to the civil
theology, cf. Timothy Freke and Peter Gandy, The Jesus Mysteries (London, 1999):40

A modern scholar writes: “A Mystery Religion was thus a divine drama which portrayed
before the wondering eyes of the privileged observers the story of the struggles, sufferings,
and victory of a patron deity, the travail of nature in which life ultimately triumphs over
death, and joy is born of pain. The whole ritual of the Mysteries aimed especially at
quickening the emotional life. No means of exciting the emotions was neglected in the
passion-play, either by way of inducing careful predispositions or of supplying external
stimulus. Tense mental anticipations heightened by a period of abstinence, hushed silences,
imposing processions and elaborate pageantry, music loud and violent or soft and enthrall-

40
(http://www.courses.drew.edu/sp2000/BIBST189.001/Jesusmys.html [5/12/04]) On this subject, see also
C. S. Lewis on the myth of the dying and reviving god; a matter I discuss elsewhere.

108
 ling, delirious dances, the drinking of spirituous liquors, physical macerations, alternations
of dense darkness and dazzling light, the sight of gorgeous ceremonial vestments, the hand-
ling of holy emblems, auto-suggestion and the promptings of the Hierophant – these and
many secrets of emotional exaltation were in vogue.” 38
38
Kerenyi, C. (1967), 202 [= Carl Kerenyi, Eleusis: Archetypal Image of Mother and
Daughter (Princeton, 1967)]
n. 11. For Plato’s practice in regard to this kind of myth, cf. Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the
Philosophers, Life of Plato. Translated by C. D. Yonge (London, 1853), sec. XLIV:

XLIV. In his dialogues he (Plato) used to speak of justice as a kind of law of God, as being
of influence sufficient to excite men to act justly, in order to avoid suffering punishment as
malefactors after death. Owing to which he appeared to some people rather fond of mythical
stories [muthikoteros], as he mingled stories of this kind with his writings, in order by the
uncertainty of all the circumstances that affect men after their death, to induce them to
abstain from evil actions. And these were his opinions.

n. 12. For the two primary responses giving rise to myth, the one affective, the other
intellectual, cf. the following from Max Scheler (1874-1928):41

After man had discovered both the contingency of the world and the curious accident that his
own center of being transcended this world, it was still possible for him to take a twofold
attitude: He could pause in wonder (θaumάzein) and then set his spirit in motion to grasp the
Absolute and to become part of it. That is the origin of metaphysics of any kind. It has
appeared late in history and only among a few peoples. Man could, however, take a different
course: he could also yield to the irresistible urge for safety or protection, not only for
himself, but primarily for the group as a whole. By means of the enormous surplus of fantasy
which was his heritage in contrast to the animal, he could then populate this sphere of being
with imaginary figures in order to seek refuge in their power through cult and ritual. The
purpose was to get some protection and help “to back him up,” since the basic fact of his
estrangement from, and his objectification of, nature—together with his self-consciousness
—threatened to throw him into pure nothingness. The overcoming of this nihilism by means
of such protective measures is what we call religion. Religion is originally a group and
collective phenomenon; only later, with the origin of the state, is it linked with a founder.
Even as the world is originally given to us in a practical context, in the experience of resis-
tance before it becomes an object of knowledge, so these ideas and images in the newly
discovered sphere of being, from which mankind has drawn the strength to maintain itself in
the world, must historically precede all forms of knowledge aiming at the truth as we find
them in metaphysics.

N.B. The foregoing text makes clear that the principle of natural theology lies in the ex-
perience of wonder giving rise to metaphysics and so derives from the rational part of the
soul, whereas the origin of the civil derives from the irrational part.

41
Taken from an Internet article which provides no bibliographic information as to its source.

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Note 15. On the use of myths by states and lawgivers for the sake of expedience:

n. 1. Strabo, Geogr., I. 2. 8 (= The Geography of Strabo, tr. Horace Leonard Jones, LCL,
1924):

In the first place, I remark that the poets were not alone in sanctioning myths, for long before
the poets the states and the lawgivers had sanctioned them as a useful expedient, 42 since they
had an insight into the natural affections of the reasoning animal; for man is eager to learn, 43
and his fondness for tales is a prelude to this quality.44

It is fondness for tales, then, that induces children to give their attention to narratives and
more and more to take part in them. The reason for this is that myth is a new language to
them — a language that tells them, not of things as they are, but of a different set of things. 45
42
Cf. Aristotle, Metaph. XII. 8 (1074b 1-7) (tr. W. D. Ross):

Our forefathers in the most remote ages have handed down to their posterity a tradition, in the form of
a myth [en muthou schemati], that these bodies are gods, and that the divine encloses the whole of
nature. The rest of the tradition has been added later in mythical form [ta de loipa muthikos ede
prosektai] with a view to the [5] persuasion of the multitude and to its legal and utilitarian
expediency; they say these gods are in the form of men or like some of the other animals, and they say
other things consequent on and similar to these which we have mentioned.
43
Cf. ibid. I, 1 (980a 24-28) (tr. Malcolm Heath):

All men by nature desire to know. An indication of this is the [25] delight we take in our senses. For
even apart from their usefulness they are loved for themselves, and above all others the sense of sight;
for not only with a view to action, but even when we are not going to do anything, we prefer seeing
(one might say) to everything else. The reason is that this, most of all the senses, makes us know and
brings to light many differences between things.
Cf. also Poet. ch. 5 on the delight children experience in learning by imitation.
44
On fondness for tales in relation to philosophy, cf. ibid. I. 2 (982b 11- 27) (tr. Malcolm Heath):

That it is not a science of production is clear even from the history of the earliest philosophers. For it
is owing to their wonder that men both now begin and at first began to philosophise; they wondered
originally at the obvious difficulties, then advanced little by little and stated difficulties about the
greater matters, e.g. about the phenomena of the moon and those of the sun and of the stars, and about
the genesis of the universe. And a man who is puzzled and wonders thinks himself ignorant (whence
even the lover of myth is in a sense a lover of wisdom, for the myth is composed of wonders); [20]
therefore since they philosophised order to escape from ignorance, evidently they were pursuing
science in order to know, and not for any utilitarian end.
Cf. also Stefan Stenudd, “Aristotle”, “Cosmos of the Ancients: The Greek Philosophers on Myth and
Cosmology”:

On the other hand, he also speaks very appreciatively about the myths: lovers of stories were in a way
lovers of wisdom, since stories were composed of such wonders that make man start to philosophize.
45
Cf. Aristotle, Rhet., III. 2 (1404b 9-10) (tr. B.A.M.):

For the way in which men <feel> in regard to strangers and fellow-citizens, so also do they feel in
regard to language. And so one should make his language strange [or ‘unfamiliar’, zenon], for men
wonder at things remote, but the wonderful [to thaumaston] is pleasing
Cf. also Aristotle, Poet. ch. 24 (1460a 17-18) (tr. B.A.M.):

But the wonderful [to thaumaston] is pleasing. Its sign is that all men recount a deed by adding to it
[prostithentes] it in order to gratify [sc. their hearers].

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 And what is new is pleasing, and so is what one did not know before; and it is just this that
makes men eager to learn.46 But if you add thereto the marvellous and the portentous, you
thereby increase the pleasure, and pleasure acts as a charm to incite to learning. 47 At the
beginning we must needs make use of such bait for children, 48 but as the child advances in
years we must guide him to the knowledge of facts, when once his intelligence has become
strong and no longer needs to be coaxed. Now every illiterate and uneducated man is, in a
sense, a child, and, like a child, he is fond of stories; and for that matter, so is the half-
educated man, for his reasoning faculty has not been fully developed, and, besides, the
mental habits of his childhood persist in him.49
Now since the portentous is not only pleasing, but fear-inspiring as well, we can employ
both kinds of myth for children, and for grown-up people too. In the case of children we
employ the pleasing myths to spur them on, and the fear-inspiring myths to deter them; for
46
Cf. Aristotle, Rhet., III. 10 (1114b 9-13) (tr. W. Rhys Roberts):

We will begin by remarking that we all naturally find it agreeable to get hold of new ideas easily:
words express ideas, and therefore those words are the most agreeable that enable us to get hold of
new ideas. Now strange words simply puzzle us; ordinary words convey only what we know already;
it is from metaphor that we can best get hold of something fresh.

Cf. ibid., III. 3 (1406a, 14-15) (tr. B.A.M.):

[Likewise, in rhetorical prose,] “…one should use some [epithets], for doing so departs [ exallattei]
from the customary [eiothos] and makes the language unfamiliar [zeniken].
47
Cf. ibid., I. 11 (1371a 31-33) (tr. B.A.M.):

And since learning [manthanein] and wondering [thaumazein] are pleasing, such things as works of
imitation must also be pleasing; for instance, the arts of painting and sculpture and the poetic art, and
everything well imitated, even if what is imitated itself is not pleasing; for it is not such a thing that
causes pleasure, but there is a syllogizing [sc. drawing inferences] that this is that, and thus it happens
that one learns something. And reversals [i.e. sudden turns of fortune] and hair’s-breadth escapes from
danger [are pleasing]; for all such things are to be wondered at [thaumasta].
48
Cf. John Rau, “Theosophical Philosophy and Mythology”:

The translator of the Loeb Editions of Julian’s writings*, C. W. Wright, says that this Emperor
“regarded the myths as allegories to be interpreted by the philosopher and theosophist. They are
riddles to be solved and the paradoxical element in them is designed to turn our minds to the hidden
truth”. Julian himself says, when addressing Cynic Philosophers, that “myths are like toys which help
children through teething”.

* The Works of the Emperor Julian, 3 vols. Loeb Classical Library, originally published 1913 & 1923
– reprinted 1993, 1996, 1998 – Harvard University Press, Cambridge.
49
Cf. Aristotle, Metaph., II. 3 (994b 31—995a 5) (tr. W. D. Ross):

The effect which lectures produce on a hearer depends on his habits; for we demand the language we
are accustomed to, and that which is different from this seems not in keeping but somewhat [995a]
unintelligible and foreign because of its unwontedness. For it is the customary that is intelligible. The
force of habit is shown by the laws, in which the legendary and childish elements [ta muthode kai
paidariode] prevail over our [5] knowledge about them, owing to habit.

Cf. also the following from Eusebius of Caesarea, Praep. Evang. I. 10 (tr. T. H. Gifford):

‘But the Greeks, surpassing all in genius, appropriated most of the earliest stories, and then variously
decked them out with ornaments of tragic phrase, and adorned them in every way, with the purpose of
charming by the pleasant fables. Hence Hesiod and the celebrated Cyclic poets framed theogonies of
their own, and battles of the giants, and battles of Titans, and castrations; and with these fables, as
they travelled about, they conquered and drove out the truth. [cont.]

111
 instance, Lamia is a myth, and so are the Gorgon, and Ephialtes, and Mormolyce. Most of
those who live in the cities are incited to emulation by the myths that are pleasing, when they
hear the poets narrate mythical deeds of heroism, such as the Labours of Heracles or of
Theseus,50 or hear of honours bestowed by gods, or, indeed, when they see paintings or
primitive images or works of sculpture which suggest any similar happy issue of fortune in
mythology; but they are deterred from evil courses when, either through descriptions or
through typical representations of objects unseen, they learn of divine punishments, terrors,
and threats — or even when they merely believe that men have met with such experiences.
For in dealing with a crowd of women, at least, or with any promiscuous mob, a philosopher
cannot influence them by reason or exhort them to reverence, piety and faith; nay, there is
need of religious fear also, and this cannot be aroused without myths and marvels. For
thunderbolt, aegis, trident, torches, snakes, thyrsus-lances,— arms of the gods — are myths,
and so is the entire ancient theology. But the founders of states gave their sanction to these
things as bugbears wherewith to scare the simple-minded.51
Now since this is the nature of mythology, and since it has come to have its place in the
social and civil scheme of life as well as in the history of actual facts, the ancients clung to
their system of education for children and applied it up to the age of maturity; and by means
of poetry they believed that they could satisfactorily discipline every period of life. But now,
after a long time, the writing of history and the present-day philosophy have come to the
front. Philosophy, however, is for the few, whereas poetry is more useful to the people at
large and can draw full houses — and this is exceptionally true of the poetry of Homer. And
the early historians and physicists were also writers of myths.

n. 2. Julian the Apostate, The Works of the Emperor Julian, With an English Translation
by Wilmer Cave Wright, Ph.D. In Three Volumes. Oration VII: To the Cynic Heracleios, p.
77:

But if I am bound to say something in defence of those who originally invented myths, I
think they wrote them for childish souls: and I liken them to nurses who hang leathern
toys to the hands of children when they are irritated by teething, in order to ease their
suffering: so those mythologists wrote for the feeble soul whose wings are just begin-
ning to sprout, and who, though still incapable of being taught the truth, is yearning for
further knowledge, and they poured in a stream of myths like men who water a thirsty
field, so as to soothe their irritation and pangs.1
1
The whole passage echoes Plato, Phaedrus 251. (emphasis added)

Note 16. On the old wives’ tale or fabula as characteristic of the civil theology:

‘But our ears having grown up in familiarity with their fictions, and being for long ages preoccupied,
guard as a trust the mythology which they received, just as I said at the beginning; and this myth-
ology, being aided by time, has made its hold difficult for us to escape from, so that the truth is
thought to be nonsense, and the spurious narrative truth.’
50
Cf. Greek Epic Fragments From the Seventh to the Fifth Centuries BC. M. L. West (Loeb Classical
Library) (Cambridge, 2003) (excerpt from the Publisher’s blurb):

The heroic epic is represented by poems about Heracles and Theseus, and by two great epic cycles:
the Theban Cycle, which tells of the failed assault on Thebes by the Seven and the subsequent suc-
cessful assault by their sons; and the Trojan Cycle, which includes Cypria, Little Iliad, and The Sack
of Ilion [as well as the Iliad and the Odyssey (B.A.M.)].
51
Cf. the texts cited above on ancient pagan religion as a deliberate imposture introduced for expedience.

112
1. On fabula in St. Paul, cf. The First Epistle of Paul to Timothy 1:1-11 (AV):

1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the commandment of God our Saviour, and Lord Jesus
Christ, which is our hope;

2 Unto Timothy, my own son in the faith: Grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father and
Jesus Christ our Lord.

3 As I besought thee to abide still at Ephesus, when I went into Macedonia, that thou
mightest charge some that they teach no other doctrine,

4 Neither give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which minister questions, rather than
godly edifying which is in faith: so do.

5 Now the end of the commandment is charity out of a pure heart, and of a good conscience,
and of faith unfeigned:

6 From which some having swerved have turned aside unto vain jangling;

7 Desiring to be teachers of the law; understanding neither what they say, nor whereof they
affirm.

8 But we know that the law is good, if a man use it lawfully;

9 Knowing this, that the law is not made for a righteous man, but for the lawless and
disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for unholy and profane, for murderers of fathers
and murderers of mothers, for manslayers,

10 For whoremongers, for them that defile themselves with mankind, for menstealers, for
liars, for perjured persons, and if there be any other thing that is contrary to sound doctrine;

11 According to the glorious gospel of the blessed God, which was committed to my trust.

n. 1. Cornelius a Lapide, Commentaria in I Epistolam ad Timotheum, Cap. I:

[Vers. 4] NEQUE INTENDERENT FABULIS ET GENEALOGIIS INTER-MINATIS

(Graece a)pera/ntoij, quae finem non habent): QUAE QUAESTIONES PRAESTANT
MAGIS, QUAM AEDIFICATIONEM DEI, QUAE EST IN FIDE. — Quaeritur hic,
quas et quorum fabulas ac genealogias, Judaeorum an Gentilium hic perstringat Apostolus?
Chrysostomus, Theophylactus et Oecumenius referunt haec ad fabulas et theogonias Hesiodi
et Gentilium, quarum studiosus fuit Tiberius Caesar, de quo Suetonius, cap. VII, in eius Vita
[in margin: Tiberius Caesar fabularum studiosus.]: “Maxime, inquit, curavit notitam
historiae fabularis, usque ad ineptias et derisum: nam et grammaticos huiusmodi fere
quaestionibus experiebatur: Quae mater Hecubae? Quod Achilli nomen inter virgines
fuisset? Quid Sirenes cantare sint solitae,” etc. De his audi et Senecam, epist. 89: “Quatuor
millia librorum Didymus Grammaticus scripsit; miser erat si tam multa supervacua legisset.
In his libris de patria Homeri quaeritur; in his de Aeneae mater vera; in his libidinosior
Anacreon, an ebriosior vixerit; in his Sappho publica fuerit; et alia quae errant dediscenda, si
scires. Metire aetatem tuam, tam multa non capit.”

Verum melius iidem Chrysostomus, Theophylactus, Oecumenicus, Theodoretus, Am-

brosius et alii censent Paulem loqui de fabulis et genealogiis Judaicis; quales nunc extant in
Talmud et apud Cabalistas: adeoque Judaeorum Rabbini post Christum totam sacram

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 Scripturam fabulis a se confictis contaminarunt, quas ipsi deuterw/seij, id est, traditiones
patrum nuncupant; de Judaeis enim agi patet ex vers. 7, ubi vocat eos “legis doctores,” et
vers. 8, ubi legem (utique Mosis) opponit hisce fabulis. Unde S. Ignatius, epist. ad
Magnesianos: “Ne intendatis, inquit, fabulis aut genealogiis interminatis, et Judaicis
inflationibus:” quia scilicet in his inflantur et superbiunt Judaei. [in marge: Fabulae Judaica]
Talis fabula est, inquit ex S. Augustino Beda hic, quod docent Deum Adamo duas creasse
mulieres, ex quibus texunt genealogies interminatas. Tale est quod fabulantur de bovo et ceto
initio mundi creatis, qui alantur pro Judaeis in tempus Messiae, ut eum eo epulenter; et
bovem hunc tantum esse, ut mille quotidie montes depascatur.

n. 2. The Second Epistle of Paul to Timothy 4:7 (AV):

7 But avoid foolish and old wives’ fables: and exercise thyself unto godliness.

n. 3. Cornelius a Lapide, Commentaria in I Epistolam ad Timotheum, Cap. IV:

[Vers. 7] INEPTA (Bebh//louj, id est profanas) AUTEM ET ANILES FABULAS

DEVITA. —Graece, paraitou=, id est rejice. Chrysostomus intelligit fabulas Judaicas, alii
poeticas et Platonicas (poetae enim et philosophi celebres erant Ephesi). Verum licet in
genere omnes has fabulas intelligat Apostolus, magis tamen respicit ad fabulas haereticorum,
praesertim Simonianorum, qui contextabant longissimas fabulas de rerum creatione, de
pugnis angelorum, de conjugiis deorum, de Deo bono et malo, de creaturis, ac cibis bonis et
malis (de his enim Paulo ante egit), ut videre est apud Epiphanium, Irenaeum et Augustinum,
lib. De Haeres.

n. 4. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on St. Paul’s First Letter to Timothy (Super I ad
Thim.), cp. 4, lect. 2 (tr. B.A.M.):

Then when he says, “But avoid unsuitable and old wives fables,” he shows what is to be
avoided because of unsuitable and useless fables. For a fable [or ‘story’, fabula], according
to the Philosopher, is composed of wonders [composita ex miris, cf. Metaph. I. 2, 982b 19],
and they were invented in the beginning (as the Philosopher says on Poetry) because it was
the intention of men that they would lead to the acquiring of virtues and the avoiding of
vices. Simple men, however, are better led by representations than by arguments. And so in a
wonder well-represented pleasure appears, because reason is pleased in comparison. And
just as a representation in deeds is pleasing, so is a representation in words: and this is a
fable, namely, something called ‘representing’, and by representing moving to something.
For the ancients used to have certain fables accommodated to certain true things, which truth
they used to disguise in fables. So there are two things in a fable, namely, that it contain a
true sense, and that it represent something useful. Again, that it be suitable to that truth. If,
then, a fable be proposed which cannot represent a truth, it is pointless [or ‘inane’, inanis];
but what does not properly represent is foolish [or ‘silly’, ineptae], like the fables of the
Talmud.

2. On aniles fabulas or ‘old-wives tales’:

As we have seen, the Vulgate of I Tim 4:7 reads ineptas autem, et aniles fabulas devita:
exerce autem teipsum ad pietatem (“But avoid foolish and old wives’ fables: and exercise
thyself unto godliness”), whereas St. Thomas’ text read ineptas autem, et inanes rather
than ineptas autem, et aniles; the latter term being the Latin for St. Paul’s graodeis, “old
wives”, on the meaning of which, cf. the following: “Plato in the Gorgias [= 527 a] refer-
red disparagingly to the kind of tale—mythos graos, the old wives’ tale—told by nurses to
114
amuse and frighten children”.52 Cf. also Fritz Graf, Greek Mythology, op. cit., p. 4: “Plato
drew a distinction between “greater” and “lesser” myths. The lesser were told by mothers,
grandmothers, and nurses, the greater by poets (Republic 377c)”. Cf. also Proclus, in his
Commentary on the Timaeus of Plato:

The Egyptian priest compares the venerable and very ancient narrations of Solon to the
fables of children. For the fables of the wise are about things of an eternal nature; but those
of children about temporal things and which are of small consequence. And the former,
indeed, contain intellectual concealed truth; but, the latter, truth of a groveling nature, and
which indicates nothing elevated (1. 127. p. 122, tr. Thomas Taylor).

3. Plato on the old wives’ tale:

n. 1. Plato, Gorgias 527a ff. (tr. B. Jowett):

Perhaps this may appear to you to be only an old wife’s tale, which you will contemn. And
there might be reason in your contemning such tales, if by searching we could find out
anything better or truer: but now you see that you and Polus and Gorgias, who are the three
wisest of the Greeks of our day, are not able to show that we ought to live any life which
does not profit in another world as well as in this.

4. Plato on the greater and lesser myths:

n. 1. Plato, Rep., 377c-378e (tr. Alan Bloom):

“First, as it seems, we must supervise the makers of tales; and if they make a fine tale, it
must be approved, but if it’s not, it must be rejected. We’ll persuade nurses and mothers to
tell the approved tales to their children and to shape their souls with tales more than their
bodies with hands. Many of those they now tell must be thrown out.”
“Which sort?” he said.
“In the greater tales we’ll also see the smaller ones,” I said. “Both the greater and the
smaller must be taken from the same model and have the same power. Don’t you
suppose so?” [d]
“I do,” he said. “But I don’t grasp what you mean by the greater ones.”
“The ones Hesiod and Homer told us, and the other poets too. They surely composed false
tales for human beings and used to tell them and still do tell them.”
“But what sort,” he said, “and what do you mean to blame in them?”
“What ought to be blamed first and foremost,” I said, “especially if the lie a man tells isn’t
a fine one.”
“What’s that?”
“When a man in a speech makes a bad representation of what gods [e] and heroes are like,
just as a painter who paints something that doesn’t resemble the things whose likeness he
wished to paint.” (emphasis added)

5. Proclus on the difference between fables of children and fables of the wise.

n. 1. A. Pert, “Revealing Christianity”. Proclus:53

52
Maria Warner, From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers (London, 1994), “The Old
Wives’ Tale”, p. 309. Cp. Strabo on tales of Lamia, Gorgon, and Mormolyce above.
53
(www.personal.usyd.edu.au/~apert/book.html - 101k [4/15/04])

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 Proclus (c.410-485AD) was one of the last heads of the Platonic Academy in Athens, before
it was shut down by Justinian in 529 AD. In his Commentary on the Republic Proclus
defends Homer from alleged criticism made by Plato.

Proclus points out that there are three types of poetry: 54 the divinely inspired, didactic, and
mimetic or imitative. He argues that Plato criticises imitative poetry because it is designed to
arouse the baser passions. (Lamberton, p. 192; Sheppard, p. 194) Lamberton observes that
“Perhaps the most striking and original point in Proclus’ poetics is this: ‘Symbols are not
imitations of that which they symbolize.’ On the contrary, symbols may be just the opposite
of that which they symbolize. That which is disgraceful may stand for that which is good,
that which is contrary to nature for that which is natural. The highest level of art—the one
Proclus claims is most characteristic of the Iliad and Odyssey—is not mimetic at all.”
(Lamberton, p.190) In [his] Commentary on the Timaeus of Plato Proclus says:

“The Egyptian priest compares the venerable and very ancient narrations of Solon to the
fables of children. For the fables of the wise are about things of an eternal nature; but those
of children about temporal things and which are of small consequence. And the former,
indeed, contain intellectual concealed truth; but, the latter, truth of a groveling nature, and
which indicates nothing elevated.” (1. 127. p.122)

“...since the Egyptians also, who, as Plato says, were the fathers of this relation, obscurely
signified the arcana of nature through fable. So that the development of this narration will be
adapted to him, who speaks in the person of the Egyptians. For as Timaeus himself,
conformably to the philosophy of the Pythagoreans, makes his discussion from numbers and
figures, as interpreting nature through images; thus, also, the Egyptian priest will teach the
truth of things through symbols adapted to himself. To which may be added, that Plato
himself elsewhere accuses those who speak everything from what is at hand, in order, says
he, that they may render their wisdom manifest, even to shoemakers. So that he who delivers
true assertions through enigmas, is not foreign from the mind of Plato.” (Ibid. 1. 130. p.124)

n. 6. To the foregoing, compare Plato’s division of myth:

 greater (concerned with the gods, to be taken seriously) (= fables of the wise)
 lesser (not concerned with the gods; told by nurses to children for the sake of
pleasure) (= fables of children)

6. Plato’s Socratic division of myth according to Proclus.

n. 1. Richard Sorabji, The Philosophy of the Commentators, 200-600 AD: A Sourcebook

(Ithaca, 2005), Volume 3: Logic and Metaphysics, sec. 2. Methodology, p. 54:

(4) Proclus in Remp. 1.81, 11-27.

We are reminded from what has been said that Socrates thought that there were two types of
myth. I mean one is for education, the other for initiation; one provides for ethical virtue, the
other for contact with the divine; the one can benefit the majority of us, the other is suited to
very few; the one is common and familiar to people, the other is forbidden and inappropriate
for those who lack zeal to establish themselves entirely with the divine; the one is con-
comitant with the dispositions of the young, the other is scarcely revealed even with
sacrifices and mystical tradition. Now if this is what Socrates teaches us, we will be bound to

54
For this passage, see further below.

116
 say that he agrees with Homer about the events which Homer narrates in the form of myth,
and in fact rejects and refutes myth-making on the part of Homer only to the extent that it
appears at odds with the dialogue’s present hypothesis and its outline of the education of the
young.

7. Olympiodorus’ division: poetic vs. philosophical myths.

n. 1. Olympiodorus, In Gorg. 46.3 In R. Jackson, K. Lycos and H. Tarrant, Olympiodorus:

Commentary on Plato’s ‘Gorgias’, Philosophia Antiqua 78 (Leiden, 1998), pp. 289-293ff.:

Lecture 46 (523a1)870
46.1 ‘Hearken, then, as they say to a perfectly fine account’….
46.2 These [remarks above] needed to be added, and they have been added by way
of a finishing touch to what has already been said.
Next let us proceed to what lies before us. But because Plato expounds a myth, let us
inquire first how the ancients came to fashion myths at all, second, what the difference is
between philosophical and poetic myths, and third, what the purpose is of the myth now
before us.
Let us begin with the first question and say how they were induced to construct myths.
Note that they employed myths with reference to two things, nature and our soul. With re-
gard to nature [289-290] and the task of the demiurge, one must note that the invisible is
inferred from the visible and the incorporeal from the bodily. 874 For we observe [bodies] to
be well-ordered, and recognize that there is some incorporeal power governing them. Conse-
quently there is a moving power which controls even the heavenly bodies. Since, further, we
observe that our body moves, but not after death, we recognize that there has been some
incorporeal power that moved it. Observe then that we confirm the incorporeal and unseen
from the visible and the bodily.
Now myths too are produced so that we may proceed to the invisible from the apparent.
Take, for example, [our reaction to] hearing of the adultery of the gods, of bindings and dis-
memberments and the castration of Ouranos and the like: we do not pursue the surface
meaning in such matters, but proceed to the invisible and seek the truth. This is how they
employed myth-making with reference to nature.

46.3 Regarding our soul it was as follows: when children, we live in accordance with imagi-
nation, and our imaginative faculty is concerned with shapes and forms and suchlike. So that
we may heed the faculty of imagination, we employ myths, since the imagination enjoys
myths. After all, a myth is nothing other than a false statement imaging the truth. 876 If, then,
myth is an image of truth, and if the soul is also an image of what is before it, it is reasonable
that the soul enjoys myths as image to image. Since we grow up with myths from the tender
conditions of childhood, we cannot help taking them over.877
46.4 These remarks have been directed to answering the first question, how they came upon
the idea of myths. Next we must discuss the difference between philosophical and poetic
myths.878 We say that each of them has an advantage over the other and yet also a dis-
advantage. For example, poetic [myth] has the advantage that its content is such that even
one who happens not to believe it nevertheless proceeds to a concealed truth. For what man
with sense believes that Zeus wanted to lie with Hera on the very ground, without going into
the chamber? 879 So poetic myth has the advantage of saying the sort of things that does not
allow us to stay with the surface meaning but makes us seek a concealed truth. Nor do they
say such things about gods alone but also about heroes. For how could a soldier say to a
king:

‘You wine-sack, with a dog’s eyes’, 880

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and how was it a hero shed tears for a girl’s sake and did not embrace restraint? And Homer
himself said that Anteia was raving like a whore, when he said:

‘Divine Anteia, wife of Proteus, lusted madly for him’881

whereas he said of Bellerophon that he was wise, ‘thinking noble thoughts’. How, then,
could he who says these things now say the opposite about Achilles? Hence he means some-
thing else, and we must seek what is concealed. So they have an advantage in this respect—
for they did not know that there would arise a degenerate [291-292] human society that re-
spects only what is apparent, and does not search at all for what is concealed in the depths of
the myth.882 So poetic myth has an advantage in this respect, but proceeds to the concealed. It
has the disadvantage, however, that it deceives youthful ears.

46.5 That’s why Plato expels Homer from his state because of such myths. He says that the
young cannot listen properly to such myths, so they should not listen to them, not even to
lead them as far as the ‘underlying meaning’, i.e. as far as the allegorical interpretation. For
they are not receptive of allegory, so they should not listen. For the young do not know how
to judge what is and what is not [allegorical], and whatever they grasp is ‘hard to cleanse’. 883
So he recommends that they learn other myths.884

46.6 So much, then, for poetic myths; philosophic myths have the opposite feature, that
even if one stays with the surface meaning, one is not harmed. They postulate punishments
and rivers under the earth: even if we stay just with these, we will not be harmed. So they
have this advantage, that even if we stay with the surface meaning, we are not harmed. But
they have this disadvantage that since their surface meaning is not harmful, we often stay
right there and do not seek the truth.
Myths differ in this way, then. These [philosophical myths] are also constructed so as not
to transmit doctrines indiscriminately. For just as in temples the sacred objects and mysteries
are behind screens, so that the unworthy do not see them indiscriminately, so here too myths
are screens for doctrines, so that they are not uncovered and accessible to anyone who
wants.885
Besides, philosophical myths look to the three [cognitive] activities of the soul. For if our
entire selves were minds alone, with no imaginative faculty, we would not need myths, since
we would always deal with intelligibles. If on the other hand we were entirely without
reason and lived in accordance with imagination and [292-293] this was our only protection,
it would be necessary for us to live all our life as if in a myth. But in fact we have intellect
and opinion and imagination. Hence demonstrations are given for intellect—and Plato says
that if you want to function in accordance with intellect, you have ‘demonstration entrapped
in bonds of adamant’,886 if in accordance with opinion, you have the evidence of persons of
sound opinion, and if in accordance with imagination, you have myths that stimulate it, so
that from all of them you are benefited.887 [remainder of text on myth omitted]

Notes.
874
For the principle of inferring the unseen from the seen compare Proc. In Remp. I.67-69.
875
Hesitatingly reading e\xo/menqa for e)rko/meqa at p. 236-28. The latter is correct at 237.8
and 11, but there is an argument for reading katexo/menqa for katerxo/menqa at p. 359.22.
876
The definition of myth perhaps owes something to Rep. 2 277a: however it is not typical
of Platonism nor philosophy in general, nor late Neoplatonism, though Proc. Theol. 1.4.21,7-
10 may have been influenced by it. Jackson (1995), 278, compares passages in Damascius,
but there is no close parallel. The definition occurs under the entry for “myth” in both the
Suda and Hesychius, is also present in Eustathius Il. I.426, 424.11, and apparently antedates

118
 Ol. since it is present in Theon’s rhetorical Progymnasmata, 59.22, 72.28 Spengel. This
shows how rhetorical literature has influenced the tradition of Grg.-commentary in par-
ticular.
877
For our familiarity with myths from childhood and consequent delight in them see 41.2
Proc. In Remp. I.46 14-27, anon Prol. 15.14-19
878
With these lines introducing the distinction between philosophical and poetic myth W.
compares Proc. In Remp. 1.71-86, 159-63, Amm. Int. 249.11-23, Philop, In de An. 69.30-
70.2, 116,23-26, and anon Prol. 7.18-33, but these parallels prove disappointing. Jackson
(1995), 279 n.8, observes that Ol. is only dealing with what Proclus calls ‘inspired poetry’
when he speaks of poetic myth.
879
This vivid Homeric episode of deception and seduction on Mt Ida (Il. 14.331-50) was a
traditional example of mythic indecorousness, derived ultimately from Socrates’ criticisms at
Rep. 390b. Syrianus wrote a monograph on it and it features prominently in Proclus (In
Remp. 1.133ff.). For them the allegorical meaning of the myth is that Zeus represents the
monad (peras), and Hera the dyad (peiria), and their union stands for the reversion of lower
to higher. The open-air coupling, which Zeus favors, reflects his superior standing, just as
union in the chamber, which Hera favours, reflects her inferiority (135, 6-8, see Sheppard,
1980, 62. ff.).
880
Il. 1.225, cf. Rep. 389e-90a: the soldier complained of is Achilles, addressing Agamem-
non.
881
Il. 6.160 and (below) 6.162: Glaucus reports that Anteia desires Bellerophon, but that
Bellerophon restrained himself wisely.
882
The remark is veiled, and we hesitatingly accept the interpretation of Westerink (1990),
xxvii.
883
Alluding twice to Rep. 378d-e, which is important for justifying Ol.’s reading of Rep. 2-3.
884
Presumably the sort referred to at 41.2.
885
Compare Ol. In Cat. 11.39-12.13 (also El. In Cat. 124.32-125.2, Proc. Theol. 1.4.21.7-
12): Ol. here gives the impression that he means primarily philosophical myths, but the same
idea is applied to poetic myths in In Cat.
886
Grg. 508a-9a: but the total substance of what Plato ‘says’ here is nowhere expressed in
the dialogues, the three-fold distinction between intelligence, opinion, and imagination itself
being unusual; for a similar tripartition of discursive thought ( dia/noia), opinion, and
imagination see Sst. 263d-264b.
887
Note that this theory is applying the doctrine of Phdr. concerning the importance of
matching different types of speech to the different types of soul to be persuaded (271a-277c),
and doing so in accordance with the tripartite division of soul which underlies that work,
Phdr. itself could easily be held to begin with an emphasis on received opinions, pass
through myth, and proceed finally to demonstrations.

8. On the two sorts of myth: those which give pleasure, and those which inspire fear:

n. 1. Strabo, Geogr., I. 2. 8 (= The Geography of Strabo, tr. Horace Leonard Jones, LCL,
Boston, 1917):55

Now since the portentous is not only pleasing, but fear-inspiring as well, 56 we can employ
both kinds of myth for children, and for grown-up people too. In the case of children we
employ the pleasing myths to spur them on, and the fear-inspiring myths to deter them; for
instance, Lamia is a myth, and so are the Gorgon, and Ephialtes, and Mormolyce. Most of
those who live in the cities are incited to emulation by the myths that are pleasing,
when they hear the poets narrate mythical deeds of heroism, such as the Labours of

55
Cf. the more complete excerpt from which this passage is taken, given above.
56
Compare ‘Demetrius’ on allegoria, cited above.

119
 Heracles of Theseus, or hear of honours bestowed by gods, or, indeed, when they see
paintings or primitive images or works of sculpture which suggest any similar happy
issue of fortune in mythology; but they are deterred from evil courses when, either
through descriptions or through typical representations of objects unseen, they learn of
divine punishments, terrors, and threats — or even when they merely believe that men
have met with such experiences. For in dealing with a crowd of women, at least, or with
any promiscuous mob, a philosopher cannot influence them by reason or exhort them to
reverence, piety and faith; nay, there is need of religious fear also, and this cannot be aroused
without myths and marvels. For thunderbolt, aegis, trident, torches, snakes, thyrsus-lances,—
arms of the gods — are myths, and so is the entire ancient theology. (emphasis added)

 ‘pleasing myths’
 ‘fear-inspiring myths’

9. The motivating force of fear and love according to Moses Maimonides and the
Maharal of Prague.

n. 1. Moshe Kline, “The Art of Writing The Oral Tradition: Leo Strauss, The Maharal of
Prague and Rabbi Judah The Prince”:

Following traditional interpretive methods, the Maharal stresses the consistent relation
between attitude and role in the Pairs. Literary analysis corroborates this insight. While a full
analysis of all the literary techniques employed by the editor/author is beyond the scope of
this article, I will give one example now of how such an analysis would lead to conclusions
like those of the Maharal. Each Chief Justice except Nitai the Arbelite indicates that one
should limit one’s speech: “Do not speak too much,” “Say little,” “Watch your words”. This
finding is consistent with the Maharal’s concept of yir’ah, fear or awe, which implies a
negation or limitation:

You must understand that the difference between love and fear is that love causes one to
perform the positive commandments from his love of the Lord and His commandments,
while fear prevents one from sinning. For one who fears another will fear transgressing
against him, hence [one who fears God] is said to be a fearer of sin. This is what
Maimonides writes, in his (commentary on) the first chapter, concerning Antigonos’
saying “and let the fear of heaven be upon you”: “This commandment, concerning fear,
appears in the Torah: ‘Fear the Lord your God;’ and the Sages say, ‘Serve out of love,
serve out of fear;’ and they state further, ‘One who loves will not forget to do what he
should do, and one who fears will not do what he has been warned not to do.’ For fear
plays an important role in prohibitions.” It should thus be clear that the things we should
do depend on love, while those that are forbidden depend on fear. That is why you will
find that the President admonishes us concerning things that should be done and the Chief
Justice concerning things that should not.

10. The motivating force of fear and love according to St. Thomas Aquinas:

n. 1. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Book of Job (tr. Brian Mullady) (© 1996-
2009 Western Dominican Province), Prologue:57

PROLOGUE

57
(http://dhspriory.org/thomas/SSJob.htm [3/28/11])

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 ...This idea58 causes a great deal of harm to mankind. For if divine providence is denied, no
reverence or true fear of God will remain among men. Each man can weigh well how great
will be the propensity for vice and the lack of desire for virtue which follows from this idea.
For nothing so calls men back from evil things and induces them to good so much as the fear
and love of God. For this reason the first and foremost aim of those who had pursued
wisdom inspired by the spirit of God for the instruction of others was to remove this opinion
from the hearts of men. So after the promulgation of the Law and the Prophets, the Book of
Job occupies first place in the order of Holy Scripture, the books composed by the wisdom
of the Holy Spirit for the instruction of men. The whole intention of this book is directed to
this: to show that human affairs are ruled by divine providence using probable arguments.

11. On the several divisions of myth.

n. 1. N.B. Does Proclus’ “Socratic division” of myth correspond to Aristotle’s twofold

division? Perhaps not. Olympiodorus’ division, on the other hand, must be placed under
Aristotle’s second.

n. 2. Aristotle’s division:

1. that the celestial bodies are gods and the divine encloses the whole of nature (=
Proclus’ first division)
2. that the rest of the tradition has been added (= Proclus’ second division) for the
persuasion of the multitude and its utilitarian expedience

But what of Strabo’s division? Clearly his second division corresponds to Aristotle’s
second, but his principle of division is different: pleasing vs. fear-inducing. Or we could
say that Strabo’s ‘heroic epic’ myths are the same as the Trojan Cycle, which leaves the
Mythic Cycle as the remainder of ‘poetic myths’. [N.B. For the Trojan or Heroic and the
Mythic Cycles, see my separate treatments.]

Notice, however, that ‘utilitarian’ myth embraces, for Strabo, the sort of folktale we call
the old wives’ tale, whereas for Olympiodorus it embraces philosopher’s tales of Hades
and the Underworld.

12. The three kinds of poetry according to Proclus.

n. 1. D. A. Russell, Criticism in Antiquity, Appendix [Berkeley and Los Angeles: The Uni-
versity of California Press, 1981], pp. 199-200. On the Republic 1.177 Kroll; trans A. J.
Festugiere, Proclus: Commentaire sur la Republique (1970), 1.197:

Very well, Let us now turn to the discussion of poetry, and consider what kinds of poetry
there are according to Plato, what poetry he was considering when he expounded the
criticisms of it in the Tenth Book of the Republic and, finally, how, even here, Homer is
shown to be exempt from the criticisms which apply to most poets. To make this clear also,
let us begin our lesson with the following observation.
We affirm that there are, to speak in general terms, three lives in the soul.

58
That is, the idea that “after the majority of men asserted the opinion that natural things did not happen by
chance but by providence because of the order which clearly appears in them, a doubt emerged among most
men about the acts of man as to whether human affairs evolved by chance or were governed by some kind of
providence or a higher ordering”.

121
 (i) The best and most perfect is that in which the soul is linked with the gods and lives the
life most closely akin to them and united with them in extreme similarity, belonging not to
herself but to them, rising above her own intellect, and awaking in herself the ineffable
symbol (sunthema) of the unitary existence of the gods, joining like with like, her light to the
light yonder, the most unitary element of her own substance and life to the One that
surpasses all substance and life.
(ii) The life second to this in honor and power, the midmost life, set in the midst of the
soul, is that in which the soul turns to herself, descending from the divinely inspired life, but
makes intellect and knowledge the principles of her activity; she unrolls multitudes of
arguments, contemplates all kinds of changes of the forms, brings together that which thinks
and that which is thought, and makes an image of the intelligible substance by
comprehending the nature of Intelligibles in one single entity.
(iii) The third life is that which moves among the lower powers and is active with them,
employing also visions (phantasiai) and sensations, and entirely filling itself with inferior
realities.
These being the three types of life in souls, let us consider the division of poetry on a
similar principle. Poetry also descends from above with the manifold lives of the soul and is
diversified into first, middle and last kinds of activity. For in poetry also there is one type
which is the highest and is full of divine goods, setting the soul amid the principles that are
the causes of existing things, and bringing together that which fills and that which is filled in
an ineffable unity, laying out the former for illumination immaterially and nonfactually, and
at the same time summoning the latter to share its light,

as channels mingle of unquenchable fire

the work performing

as the Oracle says1 . . .

This madness, in a word, is better than sanity and is limited only by the measure of God:
and just as other kinds of madness bring men to other gods, so this one fills the inspired soul
with due measure: and therefore it adorns its last activities with metre and rhythm. And so,
just as we say that prophetic madness exists in relation to truth and the madness of love in
relation to beauty, so we say that poetic madness is defined by reference to divine measure
and proportion.
The poetry which is inferior to the first inspired kind, and is seen to have a middle place in
the soul, has its being by reference to the actual intelligent and scientific disposition of the
soul. It knows the substance of real things, contemplates noble and good deeds and words,
and brings everything to metrical and rhythmic expression. Many of the works of good poets
may be seen to be of this kind. Wise men admire them. They are full of admonition and good
advice, and laden with intelligent moderation: they enable those who have a good natural
endowment to share wisdom and other virtue, and they afford means of recalling to mind the
periods of the soul and the eternal principles and various powers contained in these.
Third comes the poetry which is mixed with opinions and imaginings, composed by means
of imitation, and wholly ‘mimetic’, in fact as well as in common parlance. Sometimes this
makes use merely of copying (eikasia), sometimes it puts forward an apparent but not real
resemblance, raising small events to grand proportions, amazing its hearers by words and
expressions of this kind, changing the disposition of the soul by changes of harmony and
diversity or rhythm, and displaying the nature of things to the mass of mankind not as they
are but as they may appear. It is a shadow-drawing of reality, not exact knowledge. The goal
it sets is the beguilement (psuchagogia) of the hearers, and it looks especially to the element
of the soul which is emotional and given to joy and sorrow. As we explained, part of this
kind of poetry is of the nature of copying (eikastikon) – this aims at correctness of imitation
– and part, as we said, of the nature of fantasy (phantastikon), providing only an apparent
imitation.

122
 1
Oracles chaldaiques, ed. E. des Places (1971), fr. 66. There is an ambiguity in the line,
which the translation tries to preserve.

13. Proclus, Platonic Theology: Two Translations:

Proclus, Platonic Theology, I. 5, 25, 24-26, 9 (In Proclus, The Theology of Plato, I. 5
Dominic J. O’Meara, Pythagoras Revived, (tr. Thomas Taylor)
Oxford, 1989, p. 146)

But we must show that each of these doctrines is It is necessary however, to evince that each of
in harmony with the first principles of Plato and the dogmas accords with Platonic principles,
with the secret revelations of the theologians. and the mystic traditions of theologists.

For all Greek theology derives from Orphic For all the Grecian theology is the progeny of
mystagogy, the mystic tradition of Orpheus;

Pythagoras first (prw/tou) learning from Agla- Pythagoras first of all learning from Aglao-
ophemus the secrets concerning the gods, phemus the orgies of the Gods,

Plato after him (deute/rou) receiving the com- but Plato in the second place receiving an all-
plete science of the gods from Pythagorean and perfect science of the divinities from the
Orphic writings. Pythagorean and Orphic writings.

For in attributing in the Philebus the doctrine of For in the Philebus referring the theory about
the two kinds of principles to the Pythagoreans, the two species of principles [bound and infin-
he calls them ‘dwellers with the gods’ (16 c 8) ity] to the Pythagoreans, he calls them men
and blessed. dwelling with the Gods, and truly blessed.

Indeed Philolaus the Pythagorean has written
many wonderful things about these <first prin-
ciples>.
Philolaus therefore, the Pythagorean, has left us
in writing many admirable conceptions about
these principles, celebrating their common pro-
gression into beings, and their separate fabri-
cation of things. But in the Timaeus, Plato en-
deavoring to teach us about the sublunary Gods,
and their order, flies to theologists, calls them
the sons of the Gods, and makes them the
fathers of the truth about those divinities.

n. 1. Alexander Wilder, The Eclectic Philosophy, op. cit.:

According to Proclus, the doctrines of Orpheus were the origin of the systems afterward
promulgated. He says: “What Orpheus delivered in hidden allegories, Pythagoras learned
when he was initiated into the Orphic mysteries; and Plato next received a perfect know-
ledge of them from Orphic and Pythagorean writings.”

n. 2. Proclus, Commentary on the First Book of Euclid (tr. Glen Morrow), p. 23:

It [mathematical science] proves that numbers reflect the properties of beings above being
and in the objects studied by the understanding reveals the powers of the intellectual figures.
Thus Plato teaches us many wonderful doctrines about the gods by means of mathematical
forms, and the philosophy of the Pythagoreans clothes its secret theological teaching in such

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 draperies. The same trait is evident throughout the ‘sacred discourse’ in the Bacchae of
Philolaus, and in the whole of Pythagoras’ treatise on the gods.

n. 3. Proclus, Commentary on the Timaeus, III. 161, 3-6:

[According to O’Meara:] “The Sacred Discourse is also referred to as the authority for the
Orphic and Pythagorean source of Greek, i.e. Platonic, theology in the Commentary on the
Timaeus (III 161, 3-6).” (p. 147)

n. 4. Cicero. De Natura Deorum Libri Tres, ed. Austin Stickney (Boston, 1881), Intro-
duction:

Nor did the pupils of Socrates find it necessary to deny the existence of the popular deities,
although Plato held that there was a higher god above them whose creatures and servants
they were; and we do not find that he was attacked for despising the popular religion. His
opinion of the mythological fables may be sufficiently gathered from the fact that he
banishes from his ideal state the poets who originated and circulated them; although he is not
at all opposed in itself to a mythological form of discourse upon divine things; indeed he
often makes use of it to express figuratively what he cannot express literally.

14. A division of logos according to Plato.

logos
true
false (= muthos)

Hence a ‘myth’ or muthos is an instance of ‘false speech’, a pseudos logos.

myth
which tells a lie finely or well (the noble lie/the founding lie)
which does not

The former conforms to the ‘types’ determined as appropriate by the philosopher: see
Proclus. From Plato’s analysis comes the definition which states that myth is “an untrue
account giving an image of the truth”.

5. In sum.

myth

the greater (the kind which Homer, Hesiod, and the other poets tell)
the smaller or lesser (the kind which nurses tell to children)

Cratylus 408b8-d2 on the distinction between logos and muthos: “speech [logos] signifies
all things (pan), and is always turning them round and round, and has two forms, true and
false”. But according to the Republic, the false form of logos is muthos.

6. Strabo’s ‘Aristotelian’ division of ‘myth’:

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 1. that which is pleasing and inspires men to emulation of the virtuous (the marvellous
as such) (e.g. the exploits of Theseus, or the labors of Herakles) (cf. the fabulous or
mythical theology)
2. that which is fear-inducing and so deters men from evil courses (the monstrous or
portentous) (tales of “the Gorgon, and Ephialtes, and Mormolyce”, or such as
involve “thunderbolt, aegis, trident, torches, snakes, thyrsus-lances” and the like)
(cf. the civil or political theology)

Note that both kinds of myth employ dramatic composition.

7. A division of epic according to Harry Thurston Peck:

1. Mythical (Homer) (= ‘heroic epic’ a la West)

2. Didactic (Hesiod) (= ‘theogonies’, and “hymns to the gods” al la Orpheus)

By virtue of its subject matter, the latter would belong to the natural theology, or theology
of the philosophers.

Note: In the accounts from St. Thomas on the causes of idolatry (for which see elsewhere),
the sort of belief characteristic of Aristotle’s first member is identified as “the natural
theology of the philosophers”. Yet the witnesses Thomas cites are NOT those who handed
down their teaching in mythical form. He does not discuss those whom I call “the precur-
sors of the Greeks” such as Thabion, who handed down the Phoenician theology, and
others of the same ilk.

8. A division according to Macrobius:

n. 1. The Johns Hopkins Guide to Literary Theory and Criticism, s.v. “Medieval Theory
and Criticism”:

Macrobius’ influential Commentary on the Dream of Scipio articulates these critical as-
sumptions. The Commentary (based on a section of Cicero’s De re publica, which is extant
only in fragments) begins with a distinction between kinds of fictions: those that are merely
a pleasant pastime (and can thus be relegated to the nursery) and those that serve a higher
purpose by illustrating or expressing serious philosophical ideas. Of this latter kind of fiction
the most important is the “fabulous narration” (narratio fabulosa), which is the proper
provenance of philosophical discourse, as exemplified in Plato’s texts (e.g., the use of myth
in the Republic). The “fabulous narration” appropriate to philosophers will be “an honest
idea of sacred truths hidden under a pious veil of fictions” (sacrarum rerum notio sub pio
figmentorum velamine honestis [1.2.11]). The “pious fiction” works by “clothing” the
philosophical truth in the “dress” of story: plot and character are devised as vehicles of ideas.
This practice is tied to a cosmological principle: Nature (personified in feminine terms)
protects her own secrets from common view by enveloping them in mysterious garments,
thereby revealing her truths only to those of select intelligence. Macrobius’ idea of fabula is
a locus classicus for medieval theories of allegory as both a mode of reading and a style of
writing.

n. 2. Macrobius’ division:

(a) The kinds of fiction:

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  those that are merely a pleasant pastime (and can thus be relegated to the nursery)
 those that serve a higher purpose by illustrating or expressing serious philosophical
ideas

(b) Fictions that serve a higher purpose:

 the “fabulous narration” (narratio fabulosa), which is the proper provenance of

philosophical discourse, as exemplified in Plato’s texts (e.g., the use of myth in the
Republic); the “fabulous narration” appropriate to philosophers being “an honest
idea of sacred truths hidden under a pious veil of fictions” (sacrarum rerum notio
sub pio figmentorum velamine honestis [1.2.11])

9. A division of myth according to a contemporary classicist:

n. 1. Philip Mayerson, Classical Mythology in Literature, Art and Music (Waltham, Mass.:
Xerox College Publishing, 1971), Preface, p. x:

The mythological material itself is treated systematically: chronologically (if that word can
be applied to mythology) and genealogically.

It begins with the creation of the primal powers, their offspring, and the struggles for power
which ultimately lead to the victory of Zeus and the Olympians.

We then proceed one by one through the gods of heaven, the Twelve Olympians.

From heaven we go beneath the earth and examine the topography of the Underworld and
the lore of the gods of death, Hades and others.

Dionysus and Orpheus are given a special place of their own since they bridge the gap
between heaven and earth, between life and death.

Having explored the various divine regions and given the biographies of the gods, we pick
up the tales of the “older” and “younger” heroes, that is, those who preceded the great Trojan
War and those who took part in it.

Like the gods, the heroes are treated genealogically, house by house, or family by family.

Whatever logic there may or may not be in such a treatment, practice has shown that it is an
effective way of understanding a much tangled collection of tales.
Then on to the Trojan War: the major families involved in that earth-shaking event—for so it
appeared to the ancients—and the story of the struggle as Homer, the greatest of all poets,
related it in the Iliad.

Upon the downfall of Troy there follow the tales of the returns of the surviving heroes and
an account of the consequences of being away from home for a decade or two. This
concludes the story of the Greek heroes.

From the material of the Trojan cycle, the Romans wrote an epilogue and fabricated a legend
of their own origins, a story which culminated in Virgil’s epic, The Aeneid.

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N.B. The ‘traditional tales’ which Aristotle takes as the sources of the plots of epic poetry
and tragedy belong to the last member of the foregoing division: the houses of the heroes
belonging to the Trojan cycle.

10. Some divisions pertaining to myth found in Aristotle.

traditional stories comprising

the Mythic cycle = myths proper
the Trojan cycle = tales (‘sagas’ or ‘legends’; hence a story belonging to the Trojan Cycle
would be a traditional muthos)

stories (= the Trojan cycle; also the Epic cycle)

traditional
made up de novo

11. The subject-matter of Greek myth according to Lucian of Samosata:

n. 1. Lucian of Samosata, On Dancing (Orchesis) (= “Of Pantomime”, in Works of Lucian

of Samosata, Vol. 2, tr. by W. H. Fowler and F. G. Fowler):

Faithfully to represent his subject, adequately to express his own conceptions, to make plain
all that might be obscure;—these are the first essentials for the pantomime, to whom no
higher compliment could be paid than Thucydides’s tribute to Pericles, who, he says, ‘could
not only conceive a wise policy, but render it intelligible to his hearers’; the intelligibility, in
the present case, depending on clearness of gesticulation.
1
‘Pantomime’ has been chosen as the most natural translation of orchaesis, which in this
dialogue has reference for the most part to the ballet-dancer (pantomimus) of imperial times.
On the other hand, Lycinus, in order to establish the antiquity and the universality of an art
that for all practical purposes dates only from the Augustan era, and (despite the Greek
artists) is Roman in origin, avails himself of the wider meaning of orchaesis to give us the
historic and prehistoric associations of dance in Greece and elsewhere; and in such passages
it seemed advisable to sacrifice consistency, and to translate orchaesis dance.

For his materials, he must draw continually, as I have said, upon his unfailing memory
of ancient story; and memory must be backed by taste and judgement. He must know the
history of the world, from the time when it first emerged from Chaos down to the days of
Egyptian Cleopatra. These limitations we will concede to the pantomime’s wide field of
knowledge; but within them he must be familiar with every detail:—the mutilation of Uran-
us, the origin of Aphrodite, the battle of Titans, the birth of Zeus, Rhea’s deception, her sub-
stitution of a stone for her child, the binding of Cronus, the partition of the world between
the three brothers.

Again, the revolt of the Giants, Prometheus’s theft of fire, his creation of mankind, and the
punishment that followed; the might of Eros and of Anteros, the wanderings of the island
Delos, the travail of Leto, the Python’s destruction, the evil design of Tityus, the flight of
eagles, whereby the earth’s centre was discovered.

He must know of Deucalion, in whose days the whole world suffered shipwreck, of that
single chest wherein were preserved the remnants of the human race, of the new generation
born of stones; of the rending of Iacchus, the guile of Hera, the fiery death of Semele, the

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double birth of Dionysus; of Athene and Hephaestus and Erichthonius, of the strife for the
possession of Athens, of Halirrhothius and that first trial on the Areopagus, and all the
legendary lore of Attica.

Above all, the wanderings of Demeter, the finding of Persephone, the hospitality of Celeus;
Triptolemus’s plough, Icarius’s vineyard, and the sad end of Erigone; the tale of Boreas and
Orithyia, of Theseus, and of Aegeus; of Medea in Greece, and of her flight thereafter into
Persia, and of Erechtheus’s daughters and Pandion’s, and all that they did and suffered in
Thrace. Acamas, and Phyllis, and that first rape of Helen, and the expedition of Castor and
Pollux against Athens, and the fate of Hippolytus, and the return of the Heraclids,—all these
may fairly be included in the Athenian mythology, from the vast bulk of which I select only
these few examples.

Then in Megara we have Nisus, his daughter Scylla, and his purple lock; the invasion of
Minos, and his ingratitude towards his benefactress.

Then we come to Cithaeron, and the story of the Thebans, and of the race of Labdacus; the
settlement of Cadmus on the spot where the cow rested, the dragon’s teeth from which the
Thebans sprang up, the transformation of Cadmus into a serpent, the building of the walls of
Thebes to the sound of Amphion’s lyre, the subsequent madness of the builder, the boast of
Niobe his wife, her silent grief; Pentheus, Actaeon, Oedipus, Heracles; his labours and
slaughter of his children.

Corinth, again, abounds in legends: of Glauce and of Creon; in earlier days, of Bellerophon
and Stheneboea, and of the strife between Posidon and the Sun; and, later, of the frenzy of
Athamas, of Nephele’s children and their flight through the air on the ram’s back, and of the
deification of Ino and Melicertes.

Next comes the story of Pelops’s line, of all that befell in Mycenae, and before Mycenae
was; of Inachus and Io and Argus her guardian; of Atreus and Thyestes and Aerope, of the
golden ram and the marriage of Pelopeia, the murder of Agamemnon and the punishment of
Clytemnestra; and before their days, the expedition of the Seven against Thebes, the
reception of the fugitives Tydeus and Polynices by their father-in-law Adrastus; the oracle
that foretold their fate, the unburied slain, the death of Antigone, and that of Menoeceus.

Nor is any story more essential to the pantomime’s purpose than that of Hypsipyle and
Archemorus in Nemea; and, in older days, the imprisonment of Danae, the begetting of
Perseus, his enterprise against the Gorgons; and connected therewith is the Ethiopian
narrative of Cassiopea, and Cepheus, and Andromeda, all of whom the belief of later
generations has placed among the stars.

To these must be added the ancient legend of Aegyptus and Danaus, and of that guilty
wedding-night.

Lacedaemon, too, supplies him with many similar subjects: Hyacinth, and his rival lovers,
Zephyr and Apollo, and the quoit that slew him, the flower that sprang up from his blood,
and the inscription of woe thereon; the raising of Tyndareus from the dead, and the
consequent wrath of Zeus against Asclepius; again, the reception of Paris by Menelaus, and
the rape of Helen, the sequel to his award of the golden apple. For the Spartan mythology
must be held to include that of Troy, in all its abundance and variety. Of all who fell at Troy,
not one but supplies a subject for the stage; and all—from the rape of Helen to the return of
the Greeks—must ever be borne in mind: the wanderings of Aeneas, the love of Dido; and
side by side with this the story of Orestes, and his daring deeds in Scythia. And there are

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earlier episodes which will not be out of place; they are all connected with the tale of Troy:
such are the seclusion of Achilles in Scyrus, the madness of Odysseus, the solitude of
Philoctetes, with the whole story of Odysseus’s wanderings, of Circe and Telegonus, of
Aeolus, controller of the winds, down to the vengeance wreaked upon the suitors of
Penelope; and, earlier, Odysseus’s plot against Palamedes, the resentment of Nauplius, the
frenzy of the one Ajax, the destruction of the other on the rocks.

Elis, too, affords many subjects for the intending pantomime: Oenomaus, Myrtilus, Cronus,
Zeus, and that first Olympian contest. Arcadia, no less rich in legendary lore, gives him the
flight of Daphne, the transformation of Callisto into a bear, the drunken riot of the Centaurs,
the birth of Pan, the love of Alpheus, and his submarine wanderings.

Extending our view, we find that Crete, too, may be laid under contribution: Europa’s bull,
Pasiphae’s, the Labyrinth, Ariadne, Phaedra, Androgeos; Daedalus and Icarus; Glaucus, and
the prophecy of Polyides; and Talos, the island’s brazen sentinel. It is the same with Aetolia:
there you will find Althaea, Meleager, Atalanta, and the fatal brand; the strife of Achelous
with Heracles, the birth of the Sirens, the origin of the Echinades, those islands on which
Alcmaeon dwelt after his frenzy was past; and, following these, the story of Nessus, and of
Deianira’s jealousy, which brought Heracles to the pyre upon Oeta. Thrace, too, has much
that is indispensable to the pantomime: of the head of murdered Orpheus, that sang while it
floated down the stream upon his lyre; of Haemus and of Rhodope; and of the chastisement
of Lycurgus.

Thessalian story, richer still, tells of Pelias and Jason; of Alcestis; and of the Argo with her
talking keel and her crew of fifty youths; of what befell them in Lemnos; of Aeetes, Medea’s
dream, the rending of Absyrtus, the eventful flight from Colchis; and, in later days, of
Protesilaus and Laodamia.

Cross once more to Asia, and Samos awaits you, with the fall of Polycrates, and his
daughter’s flight into Persia; and the ancient story of Tantalus’s folly, and of the feast that he
gave the Gods; of butchered Pelops, and his ivory shoulder.

In Italy, we have the Eridanus, Phaethon, and his poplar-sisters, who wept tears of amber for
his loss.

The pantomime must be familiar, too, with the story of the Hesperides, and the dragon that
guarded the golden fruit; with burdened Atlas, and Geryon, and the driving of the oxen from
Erythea; and every tale of metamorphosis, of women turned into trees or birds or beasts, or
(like Caeneus and Tiresias) into men. From Phoenicia he must learn of Myrrha and Adonis,
who divides Assyria betwixt grief and joy; and in more modern times of all that Antipater 1
and Seleucus suffered for the love of Stratonice.

Not Antipater, but Antiochus, is meant.

The Egyptian mythology is another matter: it cannot be omitted, but on account of its
mysterious character it calls for a more symbolical exposition;—the legend of Epaphus, for
instance, and that of Osiris, and the conversion of the Gods into animals; and, in particular,
their love adventures, including those of Zeus himself, with his various transformations.

Hades still remains to be added, with all its tragic tale of guilt and the punishment of guilt,
and the loyal friendship that brought Theseus thither with Pirithous. In a word, all that
Homer and Hesiod and our best poets, especially the tragedians, have sung,—all must be
known to the pantomime. From the vast, nay infinite, mass of mythology, I have made this

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trifling selection of the more prominent legends; leaving the rest for poets to celebrate, for
pantomimes to exhibit, and for your imagination to supply from the hints already given; and
all this the artist must have stored up in his memory, ready to be produced when occasion
demands. (emphasis added)

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Note 17. St. Thomas Aquinas’ explanation of St. Paul’s remark on fabula, with inter-
pretive comments:

n. 1. The Second Epistle of Paul to Timothy 4:7 (AV):

7 But avoid foolish and old wives’ fables: and exercise thyself unto godliness.

n. 2. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on St. Paul’s First Letter to Timothy (Super I ad
Thim.), cp. 4, lect. 2 (tr. B.A.M.):

Then when he says, “But avoid unsuitable and old wives fables,” he shows what is to be
avoided because of unsuitable and useless fables. For a fable [or ‘story’, fabula], according
to the Philosopher, is composed of wonders [composita ex miris, cf. Metaph. I. 2, 982b 19],
and they were invented in the beginning (as the Philosopher says on Poetry) because it was
the intention of men that they would lead to the acquiring of virtues and the avoiding of
vices. Simple men, however, are better led by representations than by arguments. And so in a
wonder well-represented pleasure appears, because reason is pleased in comparison. And
just as a representation in deeds is pleasing, so is a representation in words: and this is a
fable, namely, something called ‘representing’, and by representing moving to something.
For the ancients used to have certain fables accommodated to certain true things, which truth
they used to disguise in fables. So there are two things in a fable, namely, that it contain a
true sense, and that it represent something useful. Again, that it be suitable to that truth. If,
then, a fable be proposed which cannot represent a truth, it is pointless [or ‘inane’, inanis];
but what does not properly represent is foolish [or ‘silly’, ineptae], like the fables of the
Talmud.

1. ‘Aristotle’s Poetry (Poetria)’:

As we see, St. Thomas takes as the starting point of his definition Aristotle’s remark that a
fable “is composed of wonders”, which comes from the Metaphysics; yet in support of his
next statement he refers to Aristotle’s “Poetry”. But what is Aristotle’s Poetria? As is well
known, Aristotle’s Poetics was not translated into Latin by William of Moerbeke until
1278, five years after St. Thomas’ death. The work to which St. Thomas refers is Aver-
roes’ Determinatio in Aristotelis Poetria, in the Latin translation of Hermannus
Alemannus, published in 1256. For the understanding of fabula St. Thomas found in this
work, cf. the following from the Determinatio:59

Sunt fabule que referuntur per assimilationem et Fables are those things which are related by
representationem seu imitationem; likening and representation or imitation;

et dico ‘fabulam’ compositionem rerum quarum
intenditur representatio aut secundum hoc quod
sunt semetipsis, aut secundum quod assuetum
est in poeticis fingere eas, quamvis sit fictio
mendosa.
and I call a ‘fable’ the composition of the things
done the representation of which is intended
either as they are in themselves, or as it is the
custom to feign them in poetic forms of speech
[sermones], although the fiction be untrue.

Et propter hoc dictum est quoniam sermones And for this reason it has been said that poetic
poetici fabule sunt. forms of speech are fables.

59
Cf. Aristoteles Latinus XXXIII (ed. alt.), De Arte Poetica Cum Averrois Expositione. ed. Laurentius Minio-
Paluello (2nd ed. Brussels & Paris, 1968), comment on Poetics ch. 6, 1450a 4-5. ( tr. B.A.M.).

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Now it is obvious that Averroes’ comment to the effect that a fable may be a ‘fiction’
which is ‘untrue’ presupposes the ‘Platonic’ understanding of myth as being an untrue
story giving a picture of a truth. Needless to say, such a meaning of muthos is hardly at
issue in Poetics Chapter 6, but St. Thomas had no way of knowing this. Consequently, he
was led by the authority of Averroes to believe that Aristotle’s remarks on muthos in the
Metaphysics were equally applicable to its treatment in the Poetics.

2. That a myth is composed of wonders:

As for Aristotle’s remark that “a myth is composed of wonders”, let us look at St.
Thomas’ commentary on the passage in question (In I Meta., lect. 3, n. 4, tr. B.A.M.):

It remains, however, that doubt and wonder arise from ignorance. For when we see certain
manifest effects whose cause is hidden from us, then we wonder at their cause. And because
wonder was the cause leading to philosophy, it is clear that the philosopher is in some way a
philomyth, that is, a lover of fable, which is the property of the poets. For this reason, the
first who treated the principles of things in the manner of certain fables are called the
theologizing poets, as was Perseus and certain others, who were the Seven Sages. Now the
reason why the philosopher is compared to the poet is this: because both are concerned with
things to be wondered at. For fables, which are the concern of the poets, are put together
from certain wonderful things. And the philosophers themselves are moved to philoso-
phizing by wonder.60 And because wonder arises from ignorance, it is clear that they are
moved to philosophizing to escape ignorance….

Lying behind St. Thomas’ statement that “in a wonder well-represented pleasure
appears” is the following text of Aristotle (cf. Rhet. I. 11, 1371b 4-12, tr. B.A.M.):

And since learning and wondering are pleasing, such things as works of imitation must also
be pleasing; for instance, the arts of painting and sculpture and the poetic art, and everything
well imitated, even if what is imitated itself is not pleasing; for it is not such a thing that
causes pleasure, but there is a syllogizing [sc. drawing inferences] that this is that, and thus it
happens that one learns something. And reversals [sc. sudden turns of fortune] and hair’s-
breadth escapes from danger [are pleasing], for all such things are to be wondered at.

For further elaboration of St. Thomas’ understanding of wonder, cf. Summa Theol.,
Ia-IIae, q. 32, art. 8. (tr. B.A.M):

obj. 1. To the eighth one proceeds as follows. It seems that wonder is not a cause of
pleasure. For to wonder belongs to one ignorant of nature, as Damascene says. But ignorance
is not pleasing, but rather knowledge. Wonder, therefore, is not a cause of pleasure.

obj. 2. Further, wonder is the beginning of wisdom, being, as it were, the road by which
truth is to be inquired into, as is said at the beginning of the Metaphysics. But it is more
pleasing to contemplate what we already know than to inquire into the unknown, as the Phil-
osopher says in the tenth book of the Ethics, since the former involves a difficulty and im-
pediment, but the latter does not; but pleasure is caused by an unimpeded activity, as is said
in the eighth book of the Ethics. Wonder, therefore, is not a cause of pleasure, but rather im-
pedes pleasure.

60
In other words, “lovers of stories were in a way lovers of wisdom, since stories were composed of such
wonders that make man start to philosophize,” as Stephen Stenudd remarks above.

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 obj. 3. Further, each man takes pleasure in the things he is accustomed to, for which reason
the activities of habits acquired by custom are pleasing. But things one is accustomed to are
not wonderful, as Augustine says on John [Tract. XXIV in Joan.]. Wonder, therefore, is con-
trary to the cause of pleasure.

But to the contrary is what the Philosopher says, that wonder is a cause of pleasure. [Rhet.,
I. 11., 1371b 13].

I reply that it must be said that to attain the thing desired is pleasing, as was said above [Ia-
IIae, q. 23, art. 4]. And so the more desire grows for something loved, the more pleasure
grows through its attainment. And also in the very increase of desire there comes to be an
increase of pleasure, insofar as there also comes to be a hope for [attaining] the thing loved;
as was said above that from hope desire itself is pleasing [Ia-IIae, q. 23, art. 3, ad 3].
Wonder, however, is a certain desire for knowing that comes about in a man from this, that
he sees an effect and does not know the cause, or from this, that the cause of such an effect
surpasses his knowledge or capacity. And so wonder is a cause of pleasure insofar as it has a
hope adjoined to it for attaining the knowledge of that which one desires to know. And be-
cause of this all wonderful things are pleasing, such as things that are out of the ordinary,
and all representations of things, even of those which are not pleasing in themselves; for the
soul joys in the comparison of one thing to another, because to compare one thing to another
is the proper and connatural act of the reason, as the Philosopher says. And because of this it
is also more pleasing to be delivered from great danger, because it is wonderful, as is said in
the Rhet. [I. 11., 1371b 4-11].

ad 1. To the first, therefore, it must be said that wonder is not pleasing insofar as it
involves ignorance, but insofar as it involves a desire of learning the cause; and insofar as
the one wondering learns something new, namely, that such a thing is not as he judged it to
be.

ad 2. To the second it must be said that pleasure involves two things, namely, rest in the
good, and the perception of this sort of rest. With respect to the first, therefore, since it is
more perfect to contemplate a known truth than to inquire into the unknown, contemplations
of things known, speaking per se, are more pleasing than inquiries into things unknown.
Still, per accidens with respect to the second, it happens that inquiries are sometimes more
pleasing insofar as they proceed from a greater desire; but a desire is more excited by a per-
ception of ignorance. For this reason, man is chiefly pleased by those things which he
discovers or learns de novo.

ad 3. To the third it must be said that those things to which one is accustomed are desirable
to do [or for doing], insofar as they are, so to speak, connatural. Nevertheless, those things
which are out of the ordinary can be pleasing, either by reason of knowledge, because
knowledge of them is desired, insofar as they are wonders; or by reason of the activity,
because the mind is more inclined by desire to act intensely in something new, as is said in
the tenth book of the Ethics; for a more perfect activity causes a more perfect pleasure.

In sum, according to St. Thomas, the object of wonder is something that causes a desire for
learning which comes about in a man when he knows an effect but not its cause, or when
the cause of such an effect surpasses his knowledge or his capacity to know it; the exper-
ience giving pleasure first of all because desire itself has a hope adjoined to it of knowing
the cause; second, because it involves the comparison of one thing with another, which is
the proper and connatural act of reason; and third, because the one wondering learns some-
thing new, namely, that such a thing is not as he judged it to be.

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 The foregoing explication of wonder affords an opportunity for understanding the
pleasure attributed by Aristotle to reversals, to hair’s-breadth escapes from danger, and the
like: there is a hope adjoined to it of finding out what happens next, or of seeing how
someone is delivered from great danger, etc. Moreover, when one sees what happens next,
or sees that someone has been delivered from great danger, etc. he also takes pleasure in
comparing such effects to their causes and marvels at the outcome, inasmuch as these
things have happened unexpectedly but on account of each other, as Aristotle explains:61

But since tragedy is an imitation not only of a complete action, but also of things evoking
fear and pity, but they become such to the greatest extent when, contrary to expectation, they
are accomplished [5] through each other [para ten doxan di allela], <it is evident that they
ought to be made to happen in this way>. For then they will have more of the wonderful
[thaumaston] than if <they were brought about> by chance and luck, since even in things
brought about by luck, these seem most wonderful whenever they appear to have been
accomplished as though [10] by design, as, for instance, the statue of Mitys of Argo killed
the man re-sponsible for Mitys’ death, falling upon him while he was looking at it; for such
things seem not to have happened at random. And so such plots [= muthoi] of necessity are
more beautiful”.

In sum, things may be brought about or accomplished (a) through each other (= not
by chance and luck) or (b) by chance and luck (= not through each other). Again, things
may be brought about (a) having been expected (= not contrary to expectation) or (b) con-
trary to expectation (= not having been expected). Further, things brought about by chance
and luck may appear to have been accomplished (a) as though by design (e.g., the statue of
Mitys) or (b) not as having happened by design (such things appearing to have happened at
random).62 Now things happening outside our expectation are surprising, inasmuch as one
“learns something new, namely, that such a thing is not as he judged it to be”, and this is a
principal source of wonder. But it must also be recognized that wonder is aroused not only
from the representation or imitation of something (leading one to reason that ‘this is that’),
but also from the nature of the wonderful thing itself, as St. Albert the Great explains:63

qui autem dubitat et admiratur, ignorans videtur:
est enim admiratio motus ignorantis procedentis
ad inquirendum, ut sciat causam ejus de quo
miratur:
Now the one who doubts and wonders seems to
be ignorant: for wonder is a movement of the
ignorant man who is proceeding to investigate,
that he might know the cause about which he
wonders:

cujus signum est, quia ipse philomithes secun- a sign of which is the fact that the philomyth
dum hunc modum philosophus est: quia fabula himself in this way is a philosopher, because his
sua construitur ab ipso ex mirandis. fable [= muthos] is constructed by him from
things to be wondered at.

dico autem philomiton poetam amantem fingere Now by a philomyth I mean a poet loving to
fabulas. feign [or make up] fables.
miton enim, prima producta, fabula sonat, et For ‘myth’, as first brought forth, means a fable,
philomiton sonat amatorem fabularum si and a philomyth means a lover of fables [as] if

61
Poet. ch. 9, 1452a 2-11 (tr. B.A.M.)
62
Note that things appearing to have happened by design are those which attain an end which would have
been sought by mind—that is, they come under those things which are for the sake of something.
63
Cf. Metaphysics, L I, c. 6. Commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics I. 1, 982b 17-21 ( tr. B.A.M.)

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penultima producatur: [this name] were the next brought forth:

sicut enim in ea parte logicae, quae poetica est
ostendit aristoteles, poeta fingit fabulam ut
excitet ad admirandum, et quod admiratio ulter-
ius excitet ad inquirendum: et sic constet philo-
sophia, sicut est de phaetone, et sicut de deucali-
one monstrat plato:
for as Aristotle shows in that part of logic which
is poetic, the poet makes up fables so that one
be stimulated to wondering, and that wonder
further stimulate one to inquiring; and this is
what philosophy consists in, as Plato demon-
strates with [the fable] about Phaethon, and [the
one] about Deucalion:64

in qua fabula non intenditur nisi excitatio ad
mirandum causas duorum diluviorum aquae et
ignis ex orbitatione stellarum erraticarum pro-
ventiuntium, ut per admirationem causa
quaratur, et sciatur veritas:
in which fable [sc. of Phaethon, not Deucalion]
he intends nothing other than stimulating one to
wondering about the causes of the two jets of
water and fire which come from the wandering
stars moving out of orbit, so that through
wonder the cause might be sought, and the truth
might be known.

et ideo poesis modum dat philosophandi sicut
aliae scientiae logices: sed aliae scientiae vel
partes logices modum dant probandi propositum
a ratione vel argumentatione perfecta vel imper-
fecta:
And therefore poetry gives the mode of philoso-
phizing even as the other logical sciences do,
but the other sciences or parts of logic give the
mode of proving a proposition by reason
through either perfect or imperfect argument-
tation;

poesis autem non, sed modum dat admirandi per
quem excitatur inquirens: licet ergo quoad
mensuram metri poetria sit sub grammatica,
tamen quoad intentionem logicae est poesis
quaedam pars.
not, however, poetry, which rather gives the
mode of wondering through which the inquirer
is stimulated, although with respect to the
measurement of meter, poetry comes under
grammar; nevertheless, with respect to in-
tention, poetry is a certain part of logic.

While one may not agree with everything St. Albert says here concerning “the mode of
philosophizing” given by poetry, his text nevertheless brings out the sort of thing a myth
must be in order for it to evoke wonder.

It will be helpful here to take a closer look at the myth of Phaethon:

Phaethon (Greek: “Shining,” or “Radiant”), in Greek mythology, the son of Helios, the sun
god, and a woman or nymph variously identified as Clymene, Prote, or Rhode. Taunted with
illegitimacy, Phaethon appealed to his father, who swore to prove his paternity by giving
him whatever he wanted. Phaethon asked to be allowed to drive the chariot of the sun
through the heavens for a single day. Helios, bound by his oath, had to let him make the
attempt. Phaethon set off but was entirely unable to control the horses of the sun chariot,
which came too near to the earth and began to scorch it. Nonnus states (38.35 off.): “There
was tumult in the sky shaking the joints of the immovable universe; the very axle bent which
runs through the middle of the revolving heavens. Libyan Atlas could hardly support the
self-rolling firmament of stars, as he rested on his knees with bowed back under this greater
burden.” To prevent further damage, Zeus hurled a thunderbolt at Phaethon, who fell to the
earth at the mouth of the Eridanus (a river later identified as the Po), where, according to
64
Note that Albert is closer to the mark than Thomas here: the latter’s reference to the Seven Sages being
quite incorrect; it being poets such as Musaeus, Linus, Orpheus, Hesiod, and Homer who are at issue.

135
 Apollonius of Rhodes, the stench of his half-burnt corpse made the Argonauts sick for
several days when they came upon it in their travels (4.619-23).
Plato confirms this in his own version of the crisis, given in Timaeus 22 CE. The Egyptian
priest talking with Solon states that the legend of Phaethon “has the air of a fable; but the
truth behind it is a deviation (parallaxis) of the bodies that revolve in heaven around the
earth, and a destruction, occurring at long intervals, of things on earth by a great
conflagration.” Aristotle, furthermore, tells us this has to do with Pythagorean tradition
(Meteorlogica 1.8.345A): “The so-called Pythagoreans give two explanations. Some say that
the Milky Way is the path taken by one of the stars at the time of the legendary fall of
Phaethon; others say that it is the circle in which the sun once moved. And the region is
supposed to have been scorched or affected in some other such way as a result of the passage
of these bodies.” Tradition holds that after the dreadful fall of Phaethon, and when order was
re-established, Zeus catasterized Phaethon, that is, placed him among the stars, as Auriga
(Greek Hëniochos and Erichthonios); and at the same time Eridanus was catasterized.
Nonnos gave us a detailed report (38.424-31): “But rather father Zeus fixed Phaethon in
Olympus, like a charioteer, and bearing that name.” As he holds in the radiant Chariot of the
heavens with shining arm, he has the shape of a Charioteer starting upon his course, as if
even among the stars he longed again for his father’s car. The fire-scorched river also came
up to the vault of the stars with consent of Zeus, and in the starry circle rolls the meandering
stream of burning Eridanus. [Last modified: Mon Nov 30, 1998, Jeremiah Genest]65

Arguably, the myth of Phaethon, as interpreted by Plato, has the character described by
Aristotle, and so furnishes us with an apposite example of the sort of ‘fable’ to which St.
Thomas’ remarks apply.

3. The purpose of fables:

As for St. Thomas’ statement that the purpose of fables is to lead men to virtue, it is
clear from the texts cited above that he (correctly) based this statement on Aristotle’s
remarks at Metaphysics, XII. 8 (1074b 4-5). (tr. W. D. Ross): “The rest of the tradition has
been added later in mythical form [ta de loipa muthikos ede prosektai] with a view to the
persuasion of the multitude and to its legal and utilitarian expediency….” That is, “…
insofar as it was the best [expedient] for delivering the laws, and for their usefulness to
human social life [conversationis humanae], so that from inventions of this sort the
multitude would be persuaded to tend to virtuous acts and turn away from vices”.66

For Averroes’ understanding of this point, cf. his Determinatio, p. 43, comment on
Poetics 2, 1448a 1-11 (tr. B.A.M.):

DIXIT. Et ex quo representatores et assimila-
tores per hoc intendunt instigare ad quasdam
actiones que circa voluntaria consistunt et retra-
here a quibusdam, erunt necessario ea que inten-
dunt per suas representationes aut virtutes aut
vitia;
He said. Since those representing and likening
intend by this to urge [men] to certain actions
which concern matters pertaining to the will,
and to withdraw [them] from certain [others],
those things they intend by their representations
necessarily will be either virtues or vices.

omnis enim actio et omnis mos non versatur nisi

circa alterum istorum, videlicet virtutem aut
vitium.
65
(http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Labyrinth/2398/oocinfo/primer/sun.html [retrieved 5/5/03])
66
In XII Meta., lect. 10, n. 31 (tr. B.A.M.)

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 For every action and every moral habit is
concerned with nothing except one of these two,
namely, virtue or vice.

Cf. also ibid., comment on 1448b 25-7.

Another passage germane to our investigation from the same thinker (albeit one not
known to St. Thomas) is the following:67

Aristoteles, autem, quia vidit, quippe <?>
iuvamen huis artis sit magnae necessitatis, quia
per ea possit <?> movetur <?> vulgus versus
fidem alicuius rei, et ad nos <?> credendus illa
versus actionem aliqua, aut illius omissionem,
numeravit res quibus hominem valet assimilare
rem alicui rei de eo, cuius assimilationem
supponit perfectissimo mos, quo possit fieri in
hac re.
Aristotle came to the opinion that this art was
highly useful because by means of it the souls
of the multitude could be moved to believe in or
not believe in a certain thing, and towards doing
or abandoning a certain thing. 68 For that reason,
he enumerated the matters which enable a man
to devise an imaginative representation for any
particular thing he wishes and to do so in the
most complete manner possible for that thing.

Est itaque; ars Poetica, ars, qua estimat <?> Thus, the poetic art is that which enables a man
hominem quippe <?> assimilet rem alicui rei, to devise an imaginative representation of each
perfectione qua potest <?>. particular thing in the most complete manner
possible for it.

Now the mythical as such is for the sake of pleasure—the pleasure in wonder
aroused by what is unexpected or striking, etc., which is why a myth is said to be con-
structed out of wondrous things. But a myth may be adduced for several reasons:

67
Averroes, Short Commentary on the Poetics: About Poetic Forms of Speech, tr. Charles E. Butterworth,
Averroes’ Three Short Commentaries on Aristotle’s Topics, Rhetoric, and Poetics (Albany 1977), Latin taken
by B.A.M. from the not very legible work Aristotelis opera cum Averrois commentariis. Secundum volumen,
De rhetorica et poetica libri.
68
On this last point, cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, In I Post. An., lect. 1, n. 6 (tr. B.A.M.): “But sometimes by a
mere estimation [sola existimatio] [reason] inclines to some part of a contradiction because of some repre-
sentation, the way in which there comes to be disgust in a man for some food if it be represented to him
under the likeness of something disgusting. And ‘poetic’ [poetica] is ordered is ordered to this: for it belongs
to the poet to lead to something virtuous through some fitting [or ‘suitable’, decentem] representation”. For
the meaning of decentem here, cf. Averroes, Determinatio, p. 43 [continuing the text cited above, on Poetics
2, 1448a 1-11]:

And because, indeed, every comparison and representation is not made except for the purpose of
showing either the fitting [decentis] or the unfitting or shameful [indecentis sive turpis], clearly, then,
there is nothing intended by this except the attainment of the fitting and the repudiation of the
shameful. And since this is necessary, those representing virtues—I mean those who naturally incline
to the things they represent—must be more virtuous and better men, and those representing evil things
worse than they and nearer to evil things.

It should be noted that Averroes thinks that the point Aristotle is making here (namely that, with respect to
virtue and vice, the poetic art imitates men who are better than us, or who are worse than us, or who are like
us) regards the character of the person doing the imitating, presumably because this played a role in the
development of the poetic art, as Aristotle explains in Chapter 4 (cf. 1448b 25 ff.). But Averroes’ confusion
on this interpretive question does not affect the point at issue.

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  for dialectical purposes: to convey a truth natural or divine enigmatically (our
‘enigmatic’ form of myth)

 for political purposes, as in the myths of Hades and the like, the end of which is to
lead men to virtue: in such cases, the pleasure in such representations serves a
moral purpose (what we have called ‘a deliberature imposture’)

Now it must be understood that recognizable allegory or enigma is repugnant to the politi-
cal purpose of the mythical: priests and lawgivers want the people to give credence to such
stories: that they be taken literally is essential to the achievement of their end. On the other
hand, to be ‘accommodated to certain true things’ in the case of the ‘civil’ theology where
the myths belonging to the mysteries conveying the notion that the just would be rewarded
and the unjust punished in the next life, and the like 69 did indeed employ allegory, as
explained above.70

4. The distinction between words and deeds:

Another point requiring clarification is this: On what basis does St. Thomas appeal
to the distinction between words and deeds in order to divide ‘representation’ into its
species? Perhaps he has in mind an argument such as the following: As the Angelic Doctor
explains in another context,71 “Feigning [fictio] pertains to reason; for to feign [fingere] is
to represent, which belongs solely to reason, as the Philosopher says in his Poetry”. But
feigning includes words and deeds, for “[i]t must be said that there is feigning [fictio]
properly when someone shows something by word or deed that is not in the thing in truth.
But this happens in two ways. In one way, when from this intention something is said or
done so that something other than the truth the thing has is shown. In another way, when
something is shown that does not have the truth of the thing in word or deed, even if it not
be said or done on account of this”. 72 In other words, in the first case, one feigns in order to
deceive, but not in the second. For, as he elsewhere explains,

As Augustine says in his book of Questions on the Gospels, not everything we feign is a lie.
But when our feigning is referred to some signification, it is no lie but some figure of the
truth. Otherwise, all the things that are said figuratively by wise and saintly men, or even by
the Lord Himself, are to be reputed lies, since, according to the customary understanding, the
truth does not consist in such sayings. Now just as things said [= words] are feigned without
lying, so also are things done [= deeds] in order to signify something else.73

Cf. also Summa Theol., IIa-IIae q. 111, art. 1, c.: “…[I]t belongs to the virtue of truth to
show oneself outwardly by outward signs as one is”. Now outward signs are not only
words, but also deeds. It should also be added that a reason for feigning other than to
deceive is to give pleasure—namely, the pleasure in representation or imitation. How this
teaching pertains to the present question will be clear from the following text:

69
As Olympiodorus points out, there may be a deeper meaning hidden under the obvious sense, but this does
not affect the point that such things are intended to be taken literally by the multitude.
70
Cf. Demetrius of Phalerum, On Style, nn. 99-102, excerpted above.
71
Qu. Disp. de Malo, qu. 8, art. 3, obj. 10 (tr. B.A.M.). Cf. Averroes’ definition of fabula cited above.
72
In IV Sent., dist. 4, q. 3, art. 2b, ad 1 (tr. B.A.M.)
73
S.Th., IIa-IIae, qu. 111, art. 1. ad 1 (tr. English Dominican Fathers; rev. B.A.M.)

138
 Further, those things which are done in the worship of God ought to have the greatest
propriety. But to do certain deeds in order to represent others seems to be theatrical or
poetical [theatricum, sive poeticum], for formerly in theatres certain deeds of others were
represented by certain things which were performed there. Therefore, it seems that things of
this sort ought not to be done in the worship of God. But the ceremonial precepts are
ordained to the worship of God, as has been said. Therefore, the ceremonial precepts ought
not be figural.74

Hence, a representation may be in words, and this is characteristic of the fables of the poets
such as Homer and Hesiod; or it may be in deeds, and this is the case with the ‘myths’
which were acted in the theatres.

5. On ‘true things’ as well as ‘what does not properly represent’:

As for the “true things” or the “truth” which St. Thomas states as being conveyed
by fable or myth, it is clear from texts already cited regarding the followers of Hesiod that
he understands myth to convey “divine things”, understood as “the first principles of
things” or ‘wisdom’. But for “what does not properly represent”, perhaps the case of
Aristotle’s criticism of the followers of Hesiod is relevant here, as St. Thomas explains:

n. 3. Next, when he says “Who, indeed”, he excludes the solution of the poet theologians.
And first he gives their solution. Second, he objects to the aforesaid position, where <he
says,> “It is clear, that these things are known only to themselves, in saying,” etc. Third, he
excuses himself from a more diligent disproof of this position, where <he says,> “But of
fables,” etc. Concerning the first, one must consider that among the Greeks, or natural
philosophers, there were certain men pursuing wisdom who meddled with the gods
themselves, hiding the truth of divine things under a certain covering of fables, as did
Orpheus, Hesiod, and certain others; as Plato also hid the truth of philosophy under
mathematics, as Simplicius says in his commentary on the Predicaments.

He says, then, that the school of Hesiod, and all who were called theologians, cared to
persuade only themselves and not others because they evidently handed on the truth that they
understood in such wise that it can be known only to themselves. For if the truth be
concealed by fables, one cannot know what truth hides under the fable except from those
who had made up the fable. Those followers of Hesiod, then, named the first principles of
things gods; and they said that these among the number of the gods who have not tasted a
certain sweet food called nectar or manna are made mortal; but those who have tasted it are
made immortal.

n. 4. Something of the truth, however, could lie hidden under this fable, namely, that through
nectar and manna is understood the supreme goodness itself of the first principle. For every
sweetness of liking and of love is referred to goodness; but every good is derived from the
first good. So it could be their understanding that some things are rendered incorruptible
from a near participation in the highest goodness, just as those things which perfectly share
in the divine being. But because certain things stand far off from the first principle, to which
it does not belong to taste manna and nectar, they cannot preserve everlastingness according
to the same number, but according to the same species, as the Philosopher says in the second
book of the De Generatione. But whether they intended to teach this in a hidden manner, or
something else, cannot be fully known from what they said (St. Thomas Aquinas, In II
Meta., lect. 11, nn. 3-4, tr. B.A.M.).

74
Ia-IIae, q. 101, art. 2, obj. 2 (tr. B.A.M.)

139
 Now the problem with the method of interpretation practised by Hesiod and his
followers (the theologoi, or “those who discourse on the gods”), appears to be this, that
they used one mythologem to explain another. But what is needed is a rational, not a
mythological explanation of what is already mythological: e.g. Phaethon falling to earth
signifies parallaxis, the declension of heavenly bodies, causing periodic conflagrations on
the surface of the earth. Still, there could be a rational explanation of both parts of the
Hesiodists’ account, as St. Thomas saw.

6. What is meant by ‘suitable’:

As for the need for a myth or fable to be conveniens or ‘suitable’, as has been
explained above, a fable is called ‘suitable’ as being decentis insofar as it represents virtue
as virtue and vice as vice, such that it leads to the acquiring or virtues and the shunning of
vices; but it is called ‘suitable’ as conveniens insofar as it represents the gods and divine
concerns in a way that accords with their nature, as Plato and Proclus make clear. Hence, if
a fable falls short with respect to the former, it is ‘useless’; if it does so with respect to the
latter, it is ‘foolish’.
On this matter, cf. also the foundational text of Porphyry, descending from
Aristotle,75 as preserved in Scholia B on Homer, Iliad 20.67, handing on the opinion of
Theagenes of Rhegion (fl. 525 B.C.E.):

Stories about the gods deal on the whole with inconvenient and unseemly things. For
Porphyry [3rd cent. C.E] says that the myths about the gods are unseemly. Against such
accusations, some (looking at the diction) respond with the notion that all this is said
allegorically concerning the nature of the elements, as in the case of conflicts among the
gods. They claim that the dry battles with the wet, and the warm with the cold, and the light
with the heavy. Water can extinguish fire, and fire dries up water. Likewise, there is conflict
between all elements out of which the universe was is formed; and in part they destroy each
other, but overall they continue to exist forever. Poets describe battles, calling fire Apollo
and Helios and Hephaestus, water they call Poseidon and Skamander, the moon they call
Artemis, the air Hera, etc. Similarly, they sometimes use names of the gods to describe
mental qualities, calling wisdom Athena, and folly Ares, calling desire Aphrodite, and
reason Hermes. This sort of justification is very ancient. It derives from Theagenes of
Rhegion, who was the first to write concerning Homer.

As we have seen from texts cited earlier, it is common for authors to defend the apparently
‘unseemly’ fables of poets by appealing to an underlying meaning. Cf. Plato’s remarks on
huponoia in his criticism of Homer and Hesiod cited above (Rep., II, 377c ff.), and
Proclus’ comments thereon, especially “The Theology of Plato”, Ch. IV.

7. What is meant by ‘being led by representations’:

As for St. Thomas’ statement that “men are better led by representations than by
arguments”, compare in this regard the following excerpt from Sir Francis Bacon, “The
Wisdom of the Ancients” (Works VI, 695-9):

75
In support of this view, see my paper, “Problems and Solutions in the Poetic Art: Aristotle’s Poetics, Ch.
25”, wherein I discuss solutions ‘from the lexis’, that is, from the language or diction, as well as from what
men say about the gods, were Xenophanes, the first to criticize poetic myth as ‘unseemly’, is mentioned.

140
 Parables have been used in two ways, and (which is strange) for contrary purposes. For they
serve to disguise and veil the meaning, and they serve also to clear and throw light upon it.
To avoid dispute then, let us give up the former of these uses. Let us suppose that these
fables were things without any definite purpose, made only for pleasure. Still there remains
the latter use. No force of wit can deprive us of that. Nor is there any man of ordinary learn-
ing that will object to the reception of it as a thing grave and sober, and free from all vanity;
of prime use to the sciences, and sometimes indispensable: I mean the employment of para-
bles as a method of teaching, whereby inventions that are new and abstruse and remote from
vulgar opinions may find an easier passage to the understanding.

On this account it was that in the old times, when the inventions and conclusions of human
reason (even those that are now trite and vulgar) were as yet new and strange, the world was
full of all kinds of fables, and enigmas, and parables, and similitudes: and these were used
not as a device for shadowing and concealing the meaning, but as a method of making it
understood; the understandings of men being then rude and impatient of all subtleties that
did not address themselves to the sense,—indeed scarcely capable of them. For as hiero-
glyphics came before letters, so parables came before arguments. And even now if any one
wish to let new light on any subject into men’s minds, and that without offense or harshness,
he must still go the same way and call in the aid of similitudes. Upon the whole I conclude
with this: the wisdom of the primitive ages was either great or lucky; great, if they knew
what they were doing and invented the figure to shadow the meaning; lucky, if without
meaning or intending it they fell upon matter which gives occasion to such worthy con-
templations. My own pains, if there be any help in them, I shall think well bestowed either
way: I shall be throwing light either upon antiquity or upon nature itself.

n. 1. Cf. also The Advancement of Learning, Book II, Chap. XIII (On the second principal
part of Learning, namely, Poesy. The Division of Poesy into Narrative, Dramatic, and
Para-bolical. Three Examples of Parabolical Poesy are propounded):

But Parabolical Poesy is of a higher character than the others, and appears to be something
sacred and venerable; especially as religion itself commonly uses its aid as a means of com-
munication between divinity and humanity. But this too is corrupted by the levity and idle-
ness of wits in dealing with allegory. It is of double use and serves for contrary purposes; for
it serves for an infoldment; and it likewise serves for illustration. In the latter case the object
is a certain method of teaching, in the former an artifice for concealment. Now this method
of teaching, used for illustration, was very much in use in the ancient times. For the invent-
tions and conclusions of human reason (even those that are now common and trite) being
then new and strange, the minds of men were hardly subtle enough to conceive them, unless
they were brought nearer to the sense by this kind of resemblances and examples. And hence
the ancient times are full of all kinds of fables, parables, enigmas, and similitudes; as may
appear by the numbers of Pythagoras, the enigmas of the Sphinx, the fables of Aesop, and
the like. The Apophthegms too of the ancient sages commonly explained the matter by sim-
ilitudes. Thus Menenius Agrippa among the Romans (a nation at that time by no means
learned) quelled a sedition by a fable.

In a word, as hieroglyphics were before letters, so parables were before arguments. And
even now, and at all times, the force of parables is and has been excellent; because
arguments cannot be made so perspicuous nor true examples so apt.

But there remains yet another use of Poesy Parabolical, opposite to the former; wherein it
serves (as I said) for an infoldment; for such things, I mean, the dignity whereof requires that
they should be seen as it were through a veil: that is when the secrets and mysteries of
religion, policy, and philosophy are involved in fables or parables. Now whether any mystic

141
 meaning be concealed beneath the fables of the ancient poets is a matter of some doubt. For
my own part I must confess that I am inclined to think that a mystery is involved in no small
number of them. Nor does the fact that they are left commonly to boys and grammarians,
and held in slight repute, make me despise them; but rather, since it is evident that the
writings in which these fables are related are, next to sacred story, the most ancient of human
writings, and the fables themselves still more ancient (for they are related not as being
invented by the writers, but as things believed and received from of old), I take them to be a
kind of breath from the traditions of more ancient nations, which fell into the pipes of the
Greeks.

n. 2. Cf. also George Grote, History of Greece (London, 1851), vol i, ch. xvi, p. 579:

The allegorical interpretation of the myths has been, by several learned investigators,
especially by Creuzer, connected with the hypothesis of an ancient and highly-instructed
body of priests, having their origin either in Egypt or the East, and communicating to the
rude and barbarous Greeks religious, physical, and historical knowledge, under the veil of
symbols.
At a time (we are told) when language was yet in its infancy, visible symbols were the
most vivid means of acting upon the minds of ignorant hearers. The next step was to pass to
symbolical language and expressions; for a plain and literal exposition, even if understood at
all, would at least have been listened to with indifference, as not corresponding with any
mental demand. In such [an] allegorizing way, then, the early priests set forth their doctrines
respecting God, nature, and humanity, —a refined monotheism and theological philosophy,
—and to this purpose the earliest myths were turned.

But another class of myths, more popular and more captivating, grew up under the hands
of the poets—myths purely epical, and descriptive of real or supposed past events. The
allegorical myths, being taken up by the poets, insensibly became confounded in the same
category with the purely narrative myths; the matter symbolized was no longer thought of,
while the symbolizing words came to be construed in their own literal meaning, and the
basis of the early allegory, thus lost among the general public, was only preserved as a secret
among various religious fraternities, composed of members allied together by initiation in
certain mystical ceremonies, and administered by hereditary families of presiding priests. In
the Orphic and Bacchic sects, in the Eleusinian and Samothracian Mysteries, was thus
treasured up the secret doctrine of the old theological and philosophical myths, which had
once constituted the primitive legendary stock of Greece in the hands of the original priest-
hood and in the ages anterior to Homer. Persons who had gone through the preliminary cere-
monies of initiation were permitted at length to hear, though under strict obligation of
secrecy, this ancient religion and cosmogonic doctrine, revealing the destination of man and
the certainty of posthumous rewards and punishments, all disengaged from the corruptions
of poets, as well as from the symbols and allegories under which they still remained buried
in the eyes of the vulgar. The Mysteries of Greece were thus traced up to the earliest ages,
and represented as the only faithful depositaries of that purer theology and physics which
had been originally communicated, though under the unavoidable inconvenience of a
symbolical expression, by an enlightened priesthood, coming from abroad, to the then rude
barbarians of the country.

n. 3. On this common doctrine of the “ancient and highly-instructed body of priests” Grote
cites out of Creuzer, cf. also W.T.S. Thackara, “The Perennial Philosophy’ (Sunrise Maga-
zine) (Theosophical University Press, 1984):76

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 Leibniz, however, laid no claim to inventing the phrase. He said he found it in the writings
of a 16th-century [Catholic] theologian, Augustine Steuch, whom he regarded as one of the
best Christian writers of all time. Steuch described the perennial philosophy as the originally
revealed absolute truth made available to man before his fall, completely forgotten in that
lapse, and only gradually regained in fragmentary form in the subsequent history of human
thought. Orthodox Christianity, in his view, was its purest restoration, and the history of
redemption includes the long quest for this wisdom (“Perennial Philosophy,” Dictionary of
the History of Ideas, Philip P. Wiener, ed., Charles Scribners Sons, 1973, III, 457-63).

n. 4. Cf. also “Perennial Philosophy,” Dictionary of the History of Ideas, Philip P. Wiener,
ed., (New York, 1973), III, 457-63):77

Though the term philosophia perennis is widely associated with the philosopher Leibniz, in
whose writings it appears and whose thought aims at many characteristics essential to it, he
himself found it in Augustinus Steuchius, a theologian of the sixteenth century, librarian of
the Vatican, and Regular Canon of the Congregation of the Sacred Savior, who in 1540 pub-
lished the De philosophia perenni sive veterum philosophorum cum theologia christiana
consensu libri X, a work which quickly passed through several editions, including that in the
Opera omnia in 1591. No evidence has been found that Steuch found the term in earlier
writers, though cognate terms such as ‘perennious fountain of God’s will’ and ‘perennial
wisdom of God’ were not uncommon, and the term has been applied retroactively to the
Scholastics.
Dedicated to the Farnese Pope, Paul III, initiator of the Counter-Reformation, Steuch’s
work is an apology for Christian orthodoxy as a return to an originally revealed absolute
truth made available to man before his fall, completely forgotten in that lapse, and only
gradually regained in fragmentary form in the subsequent history of human thought. Thus
from its first use, the term represented an attempt at a perfect thought system, the unity of
reason and revelation, but present in the history of thought only as an ideal which may be
said to be regulative (in Kant’s sense) and directive of man’s striving for intellectual unity.
The history of the term since Steuch may be said to be fortuitous and infrequent—useful
but far from indispensable in the justification of a certain philosophical tradition. It came to
Leibniz in the next century only as the title of Steuch’s book, and he used it more generally
only in the later years of his life as [Page 458, Volume 3] a term for the type of philosophy
he himself was striving to formulate. In 1687 Simon Foucher, a Paris friend who had revived
the tradition of academic skepticism, called Leibniz’ attention to Steuch’s book in
connection with a discussion of philosophic first principles, saying that Steuch’s design
seemed to be chiefly to adapt the ancients to Christianity, ‘which is indeed very beautiful,
rather than to order the thoughts of philosophy in their places’ (Gerhardt, I, 395). Leibniz
had already known of Steuch, however; in the reading notes of his early Mainz years he had
several times listed him and his book among ‘the Christian writers of all times’ (Academy
ed. VI, i, 532-33; VI, ii, 137, where he quotes Steuch’s statement that God is intelligens
intellectum et intellectionem, ‘understanding, understood, and still understanding,’ i.e., as
act, as object, and as process). But as in the case of other terms which Leibniz read as a
youth and then forgot, only to recall them much later at an opportune time in his own
thinking, the term cannot be found again until 26 August, 1714, when, in a letter to Remond
de Montmort, he used it in describing what was needed to complete his own system, to
which he had referred in earlier correspondence as a hypothesis (Gerhardt, III, 624-25).
What was still needed was an eclectic analysis of the truth and falsehood of all philosophies,
both ancient and modern. In this process ‘one would draw the gold from the dross, the
diamond from its mine, the light from the shadows; and this would be in effect a kind of
perennial philosophy’ (perennis quaedam philosophia). This is the locus classicus for the

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 term in Leibniz, who gives in the same passage a brief sketch of the contributions of the
major schools and also makes a reference to the ‘Orientals, who have beautiful and grand
ideas of the Deity.’

n. 5. Cf. also Laurence Paul Hemming, “John Paul II’s Call for a Renewed Theology of
Being”:78

Rather than on analogy, John Paul II relies on an understanding of philosophy which he

finds also discussed by his predecessor, Pius XII. Citing again Pius XII’s 1950 Encyclical
Letter Humani Generis, he reiterates “the history of human reflection clearly demonstrates
that in and through the progress and variety of cultures certain basic concepts have preserved
both their universal validity for knowledge and the truth of the propositions they express”. 1
This is the basis for the form of a ‘perennial philosophy’ to which he makes allusion re-
peatedly in Fides et Ratio, and which has been repeated in several statements of the Catholic
Church’s recent teaching, especially its moral teaching.
1
John Paul II, Fides et Ratio, §96. “Cogitationis humanae historia utcumque luculenter
comprobat per progressionem varietatemque culturarum quasdam principales notiones
universalem suam adservare cognoscendi vim proindeque veritatem earum affirmationum
quam recludunt.” The notion of a universal, or perennial, philosophy first appears with
Augustinus Steuchus, Bishop of Cisamus, in his De philosophia perenni sive veterum
philosophorum cum theologia christiana consensu libri X, Basle, Francken, 1542 – later
given more general consideration by von Leibniz. The phrase was taken up by the Second
Vatican Council in its 1965 Decree on Priestly Training, Optatam Totius, which Fides et
Ratio cites at §60. John Paul II, Fides et Ratio, §§43, 60, 85, 87, 97.

n. 6. On the source of all myth according to Plato, cf. W. T. S. Thackara, “Plato’s Myths
and the Mystery Tradition”:79

Proclus’ suggestion of an esoteric theosophy unifying the various myths and religious sys-
tems echoes a passage from Plato’s Statesman. In it the main character of the Dialogue, a
“divine philosopher” called the Stranger from Elea, affirms that “all these stories, and ten
thousand others which are still more wonderful, have a common origin.” He attributes this
source to mankind’s instructors who in the Golden Age transmitted the first revelation of
cosmic and human beginnings, as well as the “teachings of the Creator and Father” about the
right conduct of life (269-74).

n. 7. Cf. Plato, Statesman 269b (tr. unknown):

“Well, all these stories and others still more remarkable have their source in one and the
same event, but in the lapse of ages some of them have been lost and others are told in
fragmentary and disconnected fashion. But no one has told the event which is the cause of
them all.”

78
Hemming, Laurence Paul. “John Paul II’s Call for a Renewed Theology of Being: Just What Did He Mean
and How Can We Respond?” Studies in Christian Ethics 21:2 (2008): 194-218.
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Note 18. On the understanding of myth as an untrue story illustrating a truth:

n. 1. Thomas K. Johansen, “Truth, Lies and History in Plato’s Timaeus-Critias”:80

At Republic 382c1-d3 Socrates suggests that the stories we tell about the ancient past
should be taken as useful inventions: ‘also in the “constructions of stories” (en mutho-
logiais) which we were talking about just now, since we do not know the truth about
the ancient events, we liken (aphomoiountes) the falsehood/story (pseudos)1 to the truth
as much as possible, in this way making it useful.’ The passage occurs in a context where
Socrates distinguishes good from bad ‘lies’ or stories (pseudê). The stories we tell about the
past should be as close to the truth as possible. But since we construct such stories precisely
in the absence of historical knowledge, the truth that we liken our stories to cannot itself be
historical. It must be another sort of truth. In the case of the stories about the past that in-
volve the gods the truth is how the gods would behave, given that they are good (379b). The
first line of the passage quoted (‘the construction of ancient events which we were talking
about just now’) refers back to 380a where it was said that if we attribute to the gods the
punishment of Niobe or of the participants of the Trojan War we have to make it clear that
the punishment happened for the benefit of those punished. In other words, the stories have
to represent the actions of the gods in accordance with the truth about them, namely, that
they are good and can therefore only do good things. Given that they are good, a story
that represents the gods as doing evil, or lying or changing in any way must be wrong.
We can say that such a story must be wrong, not because we happen to have any historical
knowledge of what the gods have been up to but because we know what the gods could not
do if they are perfectly good. We can deny, for example, that the castration of Ouranos ever
happened not because of what we know about the past as such but because of what we know
generally to be the truth about divine agency. The purpose of telling stories about the past
actions of the gods is to illustrate this truth. It is not to report any historical knowledge
about particular divine acts, of which we have none.
The question of what sort of stories we should tell about the past actions of human beings,
however, seems to be more difficult than deciding on which stories to tell about gods and
heroes. It is not immediately clear why this should be so, for one might think that a good
human being is one that does the sort of thing that a god would do and avoids doing the sort
of thing a god would not do. Socrates justifies his claim that ‘we can’t evaluate this kind of
writing (that is, writing about human beings) at the moment’ (392a10-11) as follows:

‘“Because what we’d claim, I imagine, is that poets and prose-writers misrepresent people
in extremely important ways, when – as they often do – they portray unjust people as happy
(eudaimones) and just people as unhappy, and write about the rewards of undiscovered in-
justice and how justice is good for someone else, but disadvantageous to oneself. I suppose
we’d proscribe assertions of that kind, and tell them that their poems and stories are to make
the opposite points, don’t you think?” –

“I’m certain we would,” he said.

“Well, if you concede this, then won’t I claim that you’ve conceded the original purpose of
the enquiry?” –

80
(http://www.dur.ac.uk/Classics/histos/1998/johansen.html [retrieved 4/27/03])
1
Cf. Desmond Lee, Plato, The Republic, Book II, 376D-377D (Penguin edition, pp.129-131, 1955): “2. The
Greek word pseudos and its corresponding verb meant not only ‘fiction’—stories, tales—but also ‘what is
not true’ and so, in suitable contexts, ‘lies’: and this ambiguity should be borne in mind”. It is in the light of
this understanding I have made my translation of the above-mentioned definition of ‘myth’ as “an untrue
story giving a picture of a truth”, logos pseudes eikonizon aletheian.—B.A.M.

145
 “Yes, I take your point,” he said. “So we’ll postpone our conclusion that these are the
types of stories that should be told about people until we’ve got to the bottom of justice and
found out how, given its nature, it rewards its possessor whether or not he gives an
impression of justice.” (392a13-c4, transl. Waterfield with substitution of ‘justice’ for
‘morality’). (emphasis added)

n. 2. Robert Guay, “Study Guide Republic Book II”, True and false lies:81

There are a number of arguments that Socrates makes in criticism of poetry. One set of argu-
ments tries to establish that the traditional stories about the gods, for example those by
Homer, are false. The other set of arguments tries to establish that the traditional stories
should not be told, even if they were true. (He also argues that the traditional stories are “not
consistent with one another” (380c), but that is not a property of any particular poem.) Some
stories give “a bad image of what the gods and heroes are like, the way a painter does whose
picture is not at all like the things he’s trying to paint” (337d-e). Just as an image can imitate
its subject-matter accurately or inaccurately, so stories paint accurate and inaccurate pictures
of gods and heroes.
How gods and heroes are depicted is centrally important, of course, because they are the
moral exemplars: the ones that everyone aspires to be like. Socrates argues that it must be
false to depict gods as doing harm: “since a god is good, he is not . . . the cause of everything
that happens to human beings, but only of good ones” (379c). Socrates also argues that it
must be false to depict the gods as “willing to be false, either in word or deed, by presenting
an illusion” (382a). Not only do the good gods not cause harm, they also never tell a lie. 82
Stories can also be defective in terms of the effects that they produce. Poetry becomes dan-
gerous when it convinces someone that “in committing the worst crimes he’s doing nothing
out of the ordinary” [3-4] (378b); by contrast, says Socrates, “we’re to persuade our people
that no citizen has ever hated another and that it’s impious to do so” (378c).
This desired effect of poetry becomes important when it comes to distinguishing between a
true falsehood and an imitation of it in words. A true falsehood is not a kind of statement,
but “ignorance in the soul of someone who has been told a falsehood” (382b). Care for the
soul is introduced as primarily important; what one is told only derivatively so. We know
this to be the case because verbal falsehoods can sometimes be beneficial; they can be a
“useful drug” for curing people’s souls. It may even turn out that lies, of the derivative sense,
are necessary for the establishment of a just city.

n. 3. Cf. also Leo Strauss, “The Problem of Socrates”, Concluding Essay, in The Rebirth of
Classical Political Rationalism: An Introduction to the Thought of Leo Strauss, selected
and introduced by Thomas L. Pangle (Chicago, 1989), pp 170-178:

Let me state from the outset how in my opinion Plato settles the quarrel between
philosophy and poetry. He emphasizes the need for noble delusion; he therewith emphasizes
the need for poetry. Philosophy as philosophy is unable to provide noble delusions.
Philosophy as philosophy is unable to persuade the nonphilosophers or the multitude; it is
unable to charm them. Philosophy needs, then, poetry as its supplement. Philosophy requires
a ministerial poetry. This implies that Plato quarrels only with autonomous poetry. If he is to
convince us, he must show that nothing which is admirable in poetry is lost if poetry is
understood as ministerial.

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82
It should be noted that in Poetics ch. 25, Aristotle defends the poet’s right to tell such stories by appealing
to the rationale that, although it is neither true nor better to say so, “yet ‘so they say’, such as the things men
say about the gods, as in the view of Xenophanes” (cf. 1460b 36—1461a 1, tr. B.A.M.). See supra,

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 In the Republic Plato discusses poetry twice. The first discussion, in the second and third
books, precedes the discussion of philosophy. The discussion is in more than one respect
prephilosophic. The second discussion, in the tenth book, follows the discussion of phil-
osophy. The first discussion takes place between Socrates and Adeimantus, whose charac-
teristic is moderation and sobriety, not to say austerity, rather than courage and erotic desire,
and who has shown a profound dissatisfaction with what the poets teach regarding justice.
The second discussion takes place between Socrates and Glaucon, whose characteristic is
courage and erotic desire rather than sobriety and moderation. The second discussion of
poetry promises to be infinitely more daring than the first.
The prephilosophic discussion of poetry is identical with the discussion of the education of
the nonphilosophic soldiers. The first theme of the discussion is myth, or untrue stories told
to children. The makers of myths are the poets. The poets are entirely unconcerned with
whether their stories are fit to be told [171-172] to children, that is to say, to immature human
beings regardless of their age. The distinction between fit and unfit stories has therefore to
be made by people other than poets, by the political authorities, in the best case by the wise
founders of the best city. The political authorities must be concerned with whether the stories
are conducive to the goodness of men and citizens. They are not concerned, it seems, with
their poetic qualities. The political authorities must supervise and censor the poets. In par-
ticular they must compel the poets to present the gods in such a way that the gods can be
models of human and civic excellence. The presentation itself must be left to the poets. The
task imposed on the poets is formidable. It suffices to think of Aphrodite as a model of civic
excellence, not to say of a housewife. The founders of the city can lay down the outline, or
the general principles, of what Adeimantus calls “theology.” Socrates mentions two such
principles. The gods must be presented as the cause of only good and not of evil. And the
gods must be presented as simple, and never deceiving. Adeimantus has no difficulty
whatever accepting the first proposition, but he is somewhat perplexed by the second
proposition. The reason for this appears later on in the same context. For it appears that the
only noble motive for deceiving is that implied in the function of ruling. If the gods rule
men, how can they avoid the necessity of deceiving men for man’s benefit? But the most
striking rule laid down by Socrates is the prohibition against presenting the terrors of death
and the suffering from the loss of one’s dearest. The poets are not permitted to state in public
what they alone can state adequately when everyone else is made speechless through
suffering, grief, or sorrow. They must write poetry on the principle that a good man, by
virtue of his self-sufficiency, is not made miserable by the loss of his children, his brothers,
or his friends. The poets may present the lamentations of inferior women and still more
inferior men, so that the young generation will learn to despise lamentation. 83

n. 4. Cf. also Kalev Pehme on Leo Strauss, The Problem of Socrates:84

…Strauss continues: “The great question that must be settled concerns the possible
rewards for justice and punishments for injustice, either during life or after death. The final
discussion of poetry introduces the discussion of the rewards for justice and punishments for
injustice.” Notice that during life and after death are silently dropped in this repetition, an
adumbration of what will be said later. The parallel structure breaks down, as, of course,
there is no problem after death. Now we must also note that the issue of rewards and punish-
ments has everything to do with law and that has everything to do with poetry. Law and
poetry are linked in a way that law and rhetoric are not. Rhetoric does not create law; it may
motivate others to support the law; however, poetry is not only expressive of law, but it may
create it.

83
N.B. The Problem of Socrates was originally published in Interpretation 22:3 (Spring 1995): 339-337,
based on a lecture first given on April 17, 1970 at St. John’s College at Annapolis.
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 We saw that in particular in the previous paragraph where Strauss discussed how in the
best city the myths of Hades, demons, gods, etc. are untrue stories. What poetry can do is to
create things that never happened, and this is not a bad thing. For human possibilities and
potentials are not always realized such that they can be used as historical examples or, if
such examples did exist, they are not necessarily a part of human memory, written or oral.
Thus, poetry’s truly great ability to imitate not just what has happened or what is but also
what might be or could be is fundamental to the very creation of the law as well.
The jurisprudence of the gods and man, with respect even to anything that happens after
death, is critical to the understanding of poetry’s immense ability to speak of what has never
happened! It can write of those who are yet to be born as well as those who are dead. It
creates masks that have never been worn by anyone. It is frequently said that poetry is used
to preserve the gravity and import of the laws, i.e., that poetry is used in ministerial service
of the regime as is said in the Republic or in the way Adeimantus wants poetry to be. Yet,
how is the verbal safeguard achieved? It does so by fictionalizing that which is true as well
as what is false!

N.B. Having defined myth as a kind of story conveying truth symbolically, let us next
consider the meaning of ‘symbol’.

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Note 19. The meaning of the word ‘symbol’:

n. 1. Charles Sanders Peirce, “What is a Sign?” (written 1894):85

§6. Symbols. The word symbol has so many meanings that it would be an injury to the lan-
guage to add a new one. I do not think that the signification I attach to it, that of a conven-
tional sign, or one depending upon habit (acquired or inborn), is so much a new meaning as a
return to the original meaning. Etymologically, it should mean a thing thrown together,
just as  is a thing thrown into something, a bolt, and  is a thing
thrown besides, collateral security, and  is a thing thrown underneath, an
antenuptial gift. It is usually said that in the word symbol, the throwing together is to be
understood in the sense of to conjecture; but were that the case, we ought to find that
sometimes, at least, it meant a conjecture, a meaning for which literature may be searched in
vain. But the Greeks used “throw together” () very frequently to signify the
making of a contract or convention. Now, we do find symbol () early and often
used to mean a convention or contract. Aristotle calls a noun a “symbol,” that is, a
conventional sign.4 In Greek,5 a watch-fire is a “symbol,” that is, a signal agreed upon; a
standard or ensign is a “symbol,” a watch-word is a “symbol,” a badge is a “symbol”; a
church creed is called a symbol, because it serves as a badge or shibboleth; a theatre-ticket is
called a “symbol”; any ticket or check entitling one to receive anything is a “symbol.”
Moreover, any expression of sentiment was called a “symbol.” Such were the principal
meanings of the word in the original language. The reader will judge whether they suffice to
establish my claim that I am not seriously wrenching the word in employing it as I propose
to do.

Any ordinary word, as “give,” “bird,” “marriage,” is an example of a symbol. It is applicable

to whatever may be found to realise the idea connected with the word; it does not, in itself,
identify those things. It does not show us a bird, nor enact before our eyes a giving or a
marriage, but supposes that we are able to imagine those things, and have associated the
word with them.

<...>

§8. A symbol, as we have seen, cannot indicate any particular thing; it denotes a kind of
thing. Not only that, but it is itself a kind and not a single thing. You can write down the
word “star”; but that does not make you the creator of the word, nor if you erase it have you
destroyed the word. The word lives in the minds of those who use it. Even if they are all
asleep, it exists in their memory. So we may admit, if there be reason to do so, that generals
are mere words without at all saying, as Ockham supposed,6 that they are really individuals.

Symbols grow. They come into being by development out of other signs, particularly from
likenesses or from mixed signs partaking of the nature of likenesses and symbols. We think
only in signs. These mental signs are of mixed nature; the symbol-parts of them are called
concepts. If a man makes a new symbol, it is by thoughts involving concepts. So it is only
out of symbols that a new symbol can grow. Omne symbolum de symbolo.7 A symbol, once
in being, spreads among the peoples. In use and in experience, its meaning grows. Such
words as force, law, wealth, marriage, bear for us very different meanings from those they
bore to our barbarous ancestors. The symbol may, with Emerson’s sphynx,8 say to man,

Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

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 4. De interpretatione, II.16a.12.
5. Peirce wrote “in Greek” rather than “in Greece” because he is working through the list of
alternative translations provided by Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon under the
entry .
6. Cf. William of Ockham’s Summa totius logicae, part i, ch. 14.
7. “Every symbol follows from a symbol.”
8. Peirce often quotes this verse from the fourteenth stanza of Emerson’s poem “The
Sphinx” (Dial, Jan. 1841). (emphasis added)

In sum, that the word “symbol” itself comes from the Greek for “thrown together”.

n. 2. Michael A. Augros, Unpublished Paper, p. 7:

That a name signifies what is one per se is what distinguishes it from another kind of
artificial sign, the symbol. “Symbol” is also used as a generic word for the two species
“name” and “symbol”, but when “symbol” is used to mean the species of artificial sign
distinguished from “name”, it differs from it as signifying things without any attention to
whether or not they are one per se. As Charles De Koninck notes on page 10 of The Hollow
Universe, St. Thomas, in speaking of symbols of faith which are collections of propositions
of the faith gathered not according to intrinsic order, but according to circumstantial needs of
the time, says “‘symbolum’ importat quamdam collectionem”. The word “symbol” itself
comes from the Greek for “thrown together”. Hence a symbol differs from a name in that a
name is an artificial sign given to things as a result of their being grasped as somehow one
per se, whereas a symbol is an artificial sign given to things without their being so grasped.
Hence it is possible to give a symbol to a heap or list or jumble or random pile of things
which have no per se unity at all, whereas it is impossible to give a proper name to such a
mess. It is also possible, of course, to give a symbol to something which is one per se, e.g.
“Let this circle be called A”, but “A” is only a symbol so long as it is used to designate the
thing without any attendance to the per se unity it has.

n. 3. ibid., p. 7:

...[S]ince science is of the necessary, and what is one by accident (e.g. what is one by being
said of or by belonging to one thing, or by being in one place, or in general what is one not
through itself but through happening to be with the unity of some other thing) is not one of
necessity, ...so neither can there be a science of it, or a definition, or even a name. For
example, although “rational animal” is composed of two names, the one thing named by
these is, as such, a single thing, since something undetermined in “animal” is further
determined by “rational”. Hence, “man”, as such, has unity in and of itself. One of the terms
in man’s definition is perfective of the other and they are found together of necessity; it is
impossible to find a complete rational nature which is not also an animal, since to be rational
is to be a certain kind of animal, it is a determinate way of being an animal. Therefore “man”
is not a mere symbol, but a name, and the thing so named admits of a real definition
(according to genus and differences, or according to causes), and there can be science about
that thing. But the case is different with something like “opinionated, fashionable, overpaid,
nazi”. No two of the things just mentioned belong together of necessity, although all four of
them may happen to belong to some one person, “Hilary”. There is no necessary union
between “opinionated” and “fashionable”; these can be found separately, and being
“opinionated” is not a determinate way of being “fashionable” any more than “fashionable”
determines a way of being “opinionated”. They are not found together by reason of anything
in themselves, although they might happen to be together in some third thing, such as Hilary.
n. 4. Michael A. Augro, Unpublished Paper, n. 6:

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 A name is an artificial sign of a thing which is one of itself, whereas a symbol is an artificial
sign of things which are one through something other than themselves. In the Metaphysics,
Aristotle says things like “white, vagrant, thrice-married plumber” are one through
something other than themselves, in this case the man to whom all these things happen to
belong. Any sign for such a collection or heap of things which are one because they are all in
one subject, or all in one place, or all on one list in somebody’s mind, is a symbol (as
distinguished from a name). What, then, of signs we all would call names, such as musician
and negro? A musician is a musical man, and a negro is a black man. These have no more
unity of their own, it seems, than “white man”. But “musician” does not differ logically from
“musical”, which really names “music”, as in the art (in the genus of habit, and ultimately of
quality), though the ending is changed, since “music” names the quality in the mode of a
substance, in the mode of something absolute, so that it must be renamed “musical” to be
predicable of a substance. One cannot say “Socrates is music”, but “Socrates is musical” or
“Socrates is a musician” which do not differ logically from “Socrates has the art of music”.
Likewise with “negro”, which names a racial quality that can be found only in man, and
which is an inseparable accident from any in whom it is found.

n. 5. Michael A. Augro, Unpublished Paper, n. 10]:

Symbol. SYMBOL. “Symbol means a certain collection”, Summa II-II Q1 A9, end C.

n. 6. Cf. also Albert G. Mackey, M.D., The Symbolism of Freemasonry Illustrating and
Explaining Its Science and Philosophy, its Legends, Myths, and Symbols (New York,
1882), p. 12:

According to the derivation of the word from the Greek, “to symbolize” signifies “to
compare one thing with another.” Hence a symbol is the expression of an idea that has been
derived from the comparison or contrast of some object with a moral conception or attribute.

n. 7. Cf. ibid., pp. 62-64:

There is no science so ancient as that of symbolism, 38 and no mode of instruction has ever
been so general as was the symbolic in former ages. “The first learning in the world,” says
the great antiquary, Dr. Stukely, “consisted chiefly of symbols. The wisdom of the
Chaldeans, Phoenicians, Egyptians, Jews, of Zoroaster, Sanchoniathon, Pherecydes,
Syrus, Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, of all the ancients that is come to our hand, is
symbolic.” And the learned Faber remarks, that “allegory and personification were
peculiarly agreeable to the genius of antiquity, and the simplicity of truth was
continually sacrificed at the shrine of poetical decoration.”

In fact, man’s earliest instruction was by symbols. 39 The objective character of a symbol is
best calculated to be grasped by the infant mind, whether the infancy of that mind be
considered nationally or individually. And hence, in the first ages of the world, in its infancy,
all propositions, theological, political, or scientific, were expressed in the form of symbols.
Thus the first religions were eminently symbolical, because, as that great philosophical
historian, Grote, has remarked, “At a time when language was yet in its infancy, visible
symbols were the most vivid means of acting upon the minds of ignorant hearers.”

Again: children receive their elementary teaching in symbols. “A was an Archer;” what is
this but symbolism? The archer becomes to the infant mind the symbol of the letter A, just
as, in after life, the letter becomes, to the more advanced mind, the symbol of [62-63] a

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certain sound of the human voice.40 The first lesson received by a child in acquiring his
alphabet is thus conveyed by symbolism. Even in the very formation of language, the
medium of communication between man and man, and which must hence have been an
elementary step in the progress of human improvement, it was found necessary to have
recourse to symbols, for words are only and truly certain arbitrary symbols by which and
through which we give an utterance to our ideas. The construction of language was, there-
fore, one of the first products of the science of symbolism.

We must constantly bear in mind this fact, of the primary existence and predominance of
symbolism in the earliest times.41 when we are investigating the nature of the ancient reli-
gions, with which the history of Freemasonry is so intimately connected. The older the
religion, the more the symbolism abounds. Modern religions may convey their dogmas in
abstract propositions; ancient religions always conveyed them in symbols. Thus there is
more symbolism in the Egyptian religion than in the Jewish, more in the Jewish than in the
Christian, more in the Christian than in the Mohammedan, and, lastly, more in the Roman
than in the Protestant.

But symbolism is not only the most ancient and general, but it is also the most practically
useful, of sciences. We have already seen how actively it operates in the early stages of life
and of society. We have seen how the first ideas of men and of nations are impressed upon
their minds by means of symbols. It was thus that the ancient peoples were almost wholly
educated.

“In the simpler stages of society,” says one writer on this subject, “mankind can be
instructed in the abstract knowledge of truths only by symbols and parables. Hence we find
most heathen religions becoming mythic, or explaining their mysteries by allegories, or
instructive incidents. Nay, God himself, knowing the nature of the creatures formed by him,
has condescended, in the earlier revelations that he made of himself, to teach by symbols;
and the greatest of all teachers instructed the multitudes by parables. 42 The great exemplar of
the ancient [63-64] philosophy and the grand archetype of modern philosophy were alike
distinguished by their possessing this faculty in a high degree, and have told us that man was
best instructed by similitudes.”43
38
“Was not all the knowledge Of the Egyptians writ in mystic symbols? Speak not the
Scriptures oft in parables? Are not the choicest fables of the poets, That were the fountains
and first springs of wisdom, Wrapped in perplexed allegories?”
BEN JONSON, Alchemist , act ii. sc. i.
39
The distinguished German mythologist Müller defines a symbol to be “an eternal, visible
sign, with which a spiritual feeling, emotion, or idea is connected.” I am not aware of a more
comprehensive, and at the same time distinctive, definition.
40
And it may be added, that the word becomes a symbol of an idea; and hence, Harris, in his
“Hermes,” defines language to be “a system of articulate voices, the symbols of our ideas,
but of those principally which are general or universal.”— Hermes , book iii. ch. 3.
41
“Symbols,” says Müller, “are evidently coeval with the human race; they result from the
union of the soul with the body in man; nature has implanted the feeling for them in the
human heart.”— Introduction to a Scientific System of Mythology , p. 196, Leitch’s
translation.—R.W. Mackay says, “The earliest instruments of education were symbols, the
most universal symbols of the multitudinously present Deity, being earth or heaven, or some
selected object, such as the sun or moon, a tree or a stone, familiarly seen in either of
them.”— Progress of the Intellect , vol. i p. 134.
42
Between the allegory, or parable, and the symbol, there is, as I have said, no essential
difference. The Greek verb Greek: paraballô, whence comes the word parable , and the verb Greek:
symballô
in the same language, which is the root of the word symbol , both have the

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 synonymous meaning “to compare.” A parable is only a spoken symbol. The definition of a
parable given by Adam Clarke is equally applicable to a symbol, viz.: “A comparison or
similitude, in which one thing is compared with another, especially spiritual things with
natural, by which means these spiritual things are better understood, and make a deeper
impression on the attentive mind.”
43
North British Review, August, 1851. Faber passes a similar encomium. “Hence the
language of symbolism, being so purely a language of ideas, is, in one respect, more perfect
than any ordinary language can be: it possesses the variegated elegance of synonymes
without any of the obscurity which arises from the use of ambiguous terms.”— On the
Prophecies , ii. p. 63. (emphasis added)

n. 8. “Symbolism,” therefore, is found wherever two things are “thrown together” as the
result of a deliberate act of comparison; such an act having grasped an essential likeness
between the sign and its signified; the former being something grasped by the senses; the
latter, by the mind.

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Note 20. Symbolism versus allegory: C. S. Lewis and S. T. Coleridge:

n. 1. C.S. Lewis, The Allegory of Love: A Study in Medieval Tradition (Oxford, 1936, rpt.
New York, 1958), ch. ii, p. 44:

This fundamental equivalence between the immaterial and the material may be used by the
mind in two ways…. On the one hand you can start with an immaterial fact, such as the
passions which you actually experience, and can then invent visibilia to express them. If you
are hesitating between an angry retort and a soft answer, you can express your state of mind
by inventing a person called Ira with a torch and letting her contend with another invented
person called Patientia. This is allegory…. But there is another way of using the equivalence,
which is almost the opposite of allegory, and which I would call sacramentalism or
symbolism. If our passions, being immaterial, can be copied by material inventions, then it is
possible that our material world in its turn is the copy of an invisible world. As the god
Amor and his figurative garden are to the actual passions of men, so perhaps we ourselves
and our ‘real’ world are to something else. The attempt to read that something else through
its sensible imitations, to see the archtype in the copy, is what I mean by symbolism or
sacramentalism.

n. 2. With respect to C.S. Lewis’s statement regarding “the attempt to read that [symbolic]
something else through its sensible imitations”, compare the following from Dr. Jeffrey
Bond, cited above:

Simply put, to read symbolically is to attempt to view the invisible world through the visible,
to see the inner meaning, the soul, as it were, as manifested in the literal text or body. Homer
must be read symbolically because, as I hope to show, he presents us with a universe subject
to superhuman authority, where the material world is shaped by and infused with the trans-
cendent principles of order and generation which underlie all things. (“Political Authority in
Homer’s Odyssey: The Symbolism of the Loom and the Mast”, University of Chicago
Masters Thesis)

n. 3. For a suggestive account of what a symbol is in contradistinction to allegory, cf. Ex-

tracts from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Statesman’s Manual (December 1816). Cited
out of John Spencer Hill, Imagination in Coleridge (London, 1978):

Extract 35-A (On symbol and allegory)

Eheu! paupertina philosophia in paupertinam religionem ducit: 8 — A hunger-bitten and

idea-less philosophy naturally produces a starveling and comfortless religion. It is among the
miseries of the present age that it recognizes no medium between Literal and Metaphorical.
Faith is either to be buried in the dead letter, or its name and honors usurped by a counterfeit
product of the mechanical understanding, which in the blindness of self-complacency
confounds SYMBOLS with ALLEGORIES.9 Now an allegory is but a translation of
abstract notions into a picture-language which is itself nothing but an abstraction from
objects of the senses; the principle being more worthless even than its phantom proxy,
both alike unsubstantial, and the former shapeless to boot. On the other hand, a Sym-
bol (ho estin aei tautêgorikon)10 is characterized by a translucence of the Special in the
Individual or of the General in the Especial or of the Universal in the General. Above
all by the translucence of the Eternal through and in the Temporal. It always partakes
of the Reality it renders intelligible; and while it enunciates the whole, abides itself [152]
as a living part in that Unity, of which it is the representative. 11 The other are but empty
echoes which the fancy arbitrarily associates with apparitions of matter, less beautiful but

154
 not less shadowy than the sloping orchard or hill-side pasture-field seen in the transparent
lake below. Alas! for the flocks that are to be led forth to such pastures! “It shall be even as
when the hungry dreameth, and behold! he eateth; but he waketh and his soul is empty: or as
when the thirsty dreameth, and behold he drinketh; but he awaketh and is faint!” 12

(CC vi 28-31)

8. Eheu! paupertina philosophia, etc.: “Alas! an impoverished philosophy leads toward an

impoverished religion”. STC’s own free translation follows the Latin sentence.
9. In a note to the ninth of the Aphorisms on Spiritual Religion in Aids to Reflection, STC
writes: “Must not of necessity the FIRST MAN [Adam] be a SYMBOL of Mankind, in the
fullest force of the word, Symbol, rightly defined – that is, a sign included in the idea, which
it represents; — an actual part chosen to represent the whole, as a lip with a chin prominent
is a symbol of a man; or a lower form or species used as the representative of a higher in the
same kind: thus Magnetism is the Symbol of Vegetation, and of the vegetative and repro-
ductive powers in animals; the Instinct of the ant-tribe, or the bee, is a symbol of the human
understanding. And this definition of the word is of great practical importance, inasmuch as
the symbolical is hereby distinguished toto genere [in every aspect] from the allegoric and
metaphorical” (AR 173). Cf. also Extract 40-A; and CN iii 4183 and 4498.
10. ho estin aei tautêgorikon: “which is always tautegorical”. Whalley (1974) translates:
“which is always self-declarative” (16); for another version, see CC vi 30, n 3. The word
tautegorical is STC’s coinage; OED uses as a definition STC’s own explanation in Aids to
Reflection: “The base of Symbols and symbolical expressions; the nature of which is always
tautegorical, that is, expressing the same subject but with a difference, in contra-distinction
from metaphors and similitudes, that are always allegorical, that is expressing a different
subject but with a resemblance” (AR 136).
11. On STC’s organicism – the relation of parts to a whole – see Extract 13-A, n 2, and
Extract 28, n.2…. [remainder of note omitted]
12. Isaiah 29:8 (variatim). (emphasis added)

n. 4. David Vallins, “The Feeling of Knowledge: Insight and Delusion in Coleridge”, ELH
64.1 (1997) 157-187:

I. Mystics and Visionaries

The view that knowledge depends on sensation or emotion was among Coleridge’s most
deeply held opinions. Probably his most famous statement of this view occurs in a letter of
1803 to Robert Southey, where having argued against Hartley that “association depends in a
much greater degree on resembling states of Feeling, than on Trains of Idea,” Coleridge
writes that “a metaphysical Solution, that does not instantly tell for something in the Heart, is
grievously to be suspected as apocry[p]hal” (CL, 2:961). Long before this famous rejection
of Hartleian materialism, however, the idea that truth must be “proved upon our pulses” (in
Keats’s equally famous phrase), or that it is discovered at least partly by non-rational means,
was already prominent in Coleridge’s writing. 8 “The searcher after truth must love and be
beloved,” he wrote in the “Conciones ad Populum” of 1795, “for general Benevolence is a
necessary motive to constancy of pursuit” (LPR, 46). As Harding observes, the principle
expressed in this statement “developed into a belief in the interdependence of feeling and
intellect which colored almost every opinion Coleridge offered.” 9 Whether he is describing
the necessity of hope to the creative power of genius, or illustrating “the dependence of ideas
. . . on states of bodily or mental Feeling,” a sense of the vital role of feeling as a source or
condition of knowledge is evident in a vast number of his statements.10
8. The Letters of John Keats, 1814-1821, ed. H. E. Rollins, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Harvard
Univ. Press, 1958), 1:279.

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 9. Anthony Harding, Coleridge and the Idea of Love (London: Cambridge Univ. Press,
1974), 33.
10. For a discussion of hope, see, for example, LL, 1:137 (“Hope [is] the Master Element of
a Commanding Genius”), and CL, 3:150, where Coleridge describes the impossibility of
working without “a quickening and throb in the pulse of Hope.” For commentary on ideas
and feeling, see CN, 2:2638: “The dependence of ideas <consequently of Memory, &c> on
states of bodily or mental Feeling . . . strongly exemplified in the first moments of awaking
from a Dream.”

N.B. In my view, Coleridge’s remark embodies the final cause of the mode of myth
produced by the so-called “natural mystic” (for which see infra): the symbols which most
effectively convey truth are those which “instantly tell for something in the Heart”.

Note 21. A philosophical explanation unfolding the meaning of ‘symbol’:

The reader may agree with me that Coleridge’s account of ‘symbol’ leaves its precise de-
finition in doubt. Perhaps its true nature may gathered by considering the rationale explain-
ing Aristotle’s speaking of matter as a “mother”, as is made evident by the following:

n. 1. Aristotle, Phys. I. 9 (191b36—192a 33) (tr. Hardie & Gaye):

Others,18 indeed, have apprehended the nature in question, but not adequately.

In the first place they allow that a thing may come to be without qualification from not
being, accepting on this point the statement19
18
The Platonists.
19
That if a thing does not come to be from being, it must come to be from not-being.

of Parmenides. Secondly, they think that if the substratum is one [192a] numerically, it must
have also only a single potentiality—which is a very different thing.
Now we distinguish matter and privation, and hold that one of these, namely the matter, is
not-being only in virtue of an attribute which it has, while the privation in its own nature is
not-being; and that the matter is nearly, in a sense is, substance, while the [5] privation in no
sense is. They, on the other hand, identify their Great and Small alike with not being, and
that whether they are taken together as one or separately. Their triad is therefore of quite a
different kind from ours. For they got so far as to see that there must be some [10]
underlying nature, but they make it one—for even if one philosopher 20 makes a dyad of it,
which he calls Great and Small, the effect is the same, for he overlooked the other nature. 21
For the one which persists is a joint cause, with the form, of what comes to be—a
mother, as it were.22 But the negative part of the contrariety may often seem, [15] if you
concentrate your attention on it as an evil agent, not to exist at all.
For admitting with them that there is something divine, good, and desirable [= form], we
hold that there are two other principles, the one contrary to it [= privation], the other such as
of its own nature to desire and yearn for it [= matter]. But the consequence of their view is
that the contrary desires its own extinction. Yet the form cannot desire itself, for it is not [20]
defective; nor can the contrary desire it, for contraries are mutually destructive. The truth is
that what desires the form is matter, as the female desires the male and the ugly the
beautiful—only the ugly or the female not per se but per accidens.
The matter comes to be and ceases to be in one sense, while in [25] another it does not. As
that which contains the privation, it ceases to be in its own nature, for what ceases to be—the
privation—is contained within it. But as potentiality it does not cease to be in its own nature,

156
 but is necessarily outside the sphere of becoming and ceasing to be. For if it came to be,
something must have existed as a primary substratum from which it should come and which
should persist in it; but this is its own special nature, so that it will be before coming to be.
[30] (For my definition of matter is just this—the primary substratum of each thing,
from which it comes to be without qualification, and which persists in the result.) And
if it ceases to be it will pass into that at the last, so it will have ceased to be before ceasing to
be.

20
Plato.
21
The privation.
22
Cf. Tim. 30 D, 51 A. (emphasis added)

n. 2. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics. Books I-II translated by

Richard J. Blackwell, Richard J. Spath & W. Edmund Thirlkel Yale U.P., 1963, Book I,
lect. 15, nn. 134-138:

LECTURE 15 (191 b 35-192 b 5)

MATTER IS DISTINGUISHED FROM PRIVATION. MATTER IS NEITHER
GENERABLE NOR CORRUPTIBLE PER SE

134. Next where he says, ‘For the one which persists ...’ (192 a 13), he proves that his
opinion is true. Concerning this he makes two points. First he states his position, i.e., that it
is necessary to distinguish privation from matter. Secondly, where he says, ‘The matter
comes to be ...’ (192 a 25),1 he shows how matter is corrupted or generated. He treats the
first point in two ways, first by explanation, and secondly by reducing [the opposite opinion]
to the impossible, where he says, ‘...the other such ...’ (192 a 18).

135. He says, therefore, first that this nature which is the subject, i.e., matter, together
with form is a cause of the things which come to be according to nature after the manner
of a mother. For just as a mother is a cause of generation by receiving, so also is matter.

But if one takes the other part of the contrariety, namely, the privation, we can imagine, by
stretching our understanding, that it does not pertain to the constitution of the thing, but
rather to some sort of evil for the thing. For privation is altogether non-being, since it is
nothing other than the negation of a form in a subject, and is outside the whole being. Thus
the argument of Parmenides that whatever is other than being is non-being, has a place in
regard to privation, but not in regard to matter, as the Platonists said.

He shows that privation would pertain to evil as follows. Form is something divine and
very good and desirable. It is divine because every form is a certain participation in the
likeness of the divine being, which is pure act. For each thing, insofar as it is in act, has
form. Form is very good because act is the perfection of potency and is its good; and it
follows as a consequence of this that form is desirable, because every thing desires its
own perfection. Privation, on the other hand, is opposed to form, since it is nothing other
than the removal of form. Hence, since that which is opposed to the good and removes it is
evil, it is clear that privation pertains to evil. Whence it follows that privation is not the
same as matter, which is the cause of a thing as a mother.

136. Next where he says, ‘the other such...’ (192 a 18), he proves the same thing by an
argument which reduces [the opposite position] to the impossible.
Since form is a sort of good and is desirable, matter, which is other than privation and
other than form, naturally seeks and desires form according to its nature. But for those
who do not distinguish matter from privation, this involves the absurdity that a contrary

157
seeks its own corruption, which is absurd. That this is so he shows as follows. If matter seeks
form, it does not seek a form insofar as it is under this form. For in this latter case the matter
does not stand in need of being through this form. (Every appetite exists because of a need,
for an appetite is a desire for what is not possessed.)

In like manner matter does not seek form insofar as it is under the contrary or priva-
tion, for one of the contraries is corruptive of the other, and thus something would seek
its own corruption. It is clear, therefore, that matter, which seeks form, is other in nature
[ratio] from both form and privation. For if matter seeks form according to its proper
nature, as was said, and if it is held that matter and privation are the same in nature
[ratio], it follows that privation seeks form, and thus seeks its own corruption, which is
impossible. Hence it is also impossible that matter and privation be the same in nature
[ratio].

Nevertheless, matter is ‘a this’, i.e., something having privation. Hence, if the feminine
[female] seeks the masculine [male], and if the base seeks the good, this is not because
baseness itself seeks the good, which is its contrary; rather it seeks it accidentally,
because that in which baseness happens to be seeks to be good. And likewise femininity
does not seek masculinity; rather that in which the feminine [female] happens to be seeks
the masculine [male]. And in like manner, privation does not seek to be form; rather
that in which privation happens to be, namely, matter, seeks to be form.

137. But Avicenna opposes this position of the Philosopher in three ways.

First, matter has neither animal appetite (as is obvious in itself) nor natural appetite, whereby
it would seek form. For matter does not have any form or power inclining it to anything, as
for example, the heavy naturally seeks the lowest place insofar as it is inclined by its
heaviness to such a place.

Secondly, he objects that, if matter seeks form, this is so because it lacks every form, or
because it seeks to possess many forms at once, both which are impossible, or because it
dislikes the form which it has and seeks to have another form, and this also is meaningless.
Hence it seems that we must say that matter in no way seeks form.

His third objection is as follows. To say that matter seeks form as the feminine seeks the
masculine is to speak figuratively, i.e., as a poet, not as a philosopher.

138. But it is easy to resolve objections of this sort. For we must note that everything which
seeks something either knows that which it seeks and orders itself to it, or else it tends
toward it by the ordination and direction of someone who knows, as the arrow tends toward
a determinate mark by the direction and ordination of the archer. Therefore, natural appe-
tite is nothing but the ordination of things to their end in accordance with their proper
natures. However a being in act is not only ordered to its end by an active power, but also
by its matter insofar as it is potency. For form is the end of matter. Therefore for matter to
seek form is nothing other than matter being ordered to form as potency to act. And be-
cause matter still remains in potency to another form while it is under some form, there is
always in it an appetite for form. This is not because of a dislike for the form which it has,
nor because it seeks to be the contrary at the same time, but because it is in potency to other
forms while it has some form in act.

Nor does he use a figure of speech here; rather, he uses an example. For it was said above
[L13 #118] that primary matter is knowable by way of proportion, insofar as it is related to
substantial forms as sensible matters are related to accidental forms. And thus in order to

158
 explain primary matter, it is necessary to use an example taken from sensible substances.
Therefore, just as he used the example of unshaped bronze and the example of the non-
musical man to explain matter, so now to explain matter he uses the example of the appe-
tite of the woman for the man and the example of appetite of the base for the good. For
this happens to these things insofar as they have something which is of the nature [ratio]
of matter.

However, it must be noted that Aristotle is here arguing against Plato, who used such
metaphorical expressions, likening matter to a mother and the feminine, and form to the
masculine. And so Aristotle uses Plato’s own metaphors against him. (emphasis added)

n. 3. For more on the appetite of matter for form, cf. Quaestiones Disputatae de Potentia
Dei. On the Power of God by Thomas Aquinas, translated by the English Dominican
Fathers (1952), q. 4, art. 1, obj. 2 “on the other side”; ad 2:

2. Again, that which is not cannot exercise an operation. Now formless matter exercises an
operation, since it is appetent of a form (Phys. iii). Therefore matter can be without a
form, and thus it is not unreasonable to suppose that formless matter preceded the formation
of things in point of duration.
<…>
We must now deal with the arguments on the other side which support Augustine’s view.
<…>
2. Appetence of form is not an act of matter but a certain relationship in matter in re-
spect of a form, in so far as matter has the form potentially, as the Commentator states
(Phys. i, 81). (emphasis added)

n. 4. The comparison of matter with a mother in sum:

According to St. Thomas Aquinas, “matter seeks form according to its proper nature” (In I
Physic., lect. 15, n. 136)); for “appetence of form is not an act of matter but a certain
relationship in matter in respect of a form, in so far as matter has the form potentially” ( De
pot., q. 4, art. 1, ad 2 “on the other side”). Likewise, “the appetite of the woman for the
man and of the base for the good…happens to these things insofar as they have something
which is of the nature [ratio] of matter” (ibid., n. 135. “Therefore for matter to seek form is
nothing other than matter being ordered to form as potency to act” (ibid, n. 138). In accord-
ance with these considerations, he explains that, “just as a mother is a cause of generation
by receiving, so also is matter”: for “this nature which is the subject, i.e. matter, together
with form is a cause of the things which come to be according to nature after the manner of
a mother.” (In I Physic., lect. 15, n. 135) For, as Aristotle elsewhere observes (cf. GA, I. 2,
716a 6-7), “the female principle” is “first and foremost” an origin and cause of generation
as containing “the material of it”, whereas the male principle contains the efficient, or
moving, cause. “Hence, in what is required for the generation of offspring, some things
belong to the father, some things belong to the mother: to give the nature and species to the
offspring belong to the father, and to conceive and bring forth belong to the mother as
patient and recipient.” (SCG IV, c. 11, n. 19)
In sum, a mother (or female principle) and father (or male principle) stand to the
genesis of a living thing (the paradigm being that of a human being), just as matter and the
passive principle stand to form and the active principle in the genesis of all things. Accord-

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ingly, inasmuch as a mother possesses a material principle capable of taking on a certain
form, she stands to it exactly as matter in general stands to form in general. To speak of
matter as a ‘mother’, then, is to use an exemplum, for which reason a mother is an example
of matter, and therefore suggests itself as a fitting symbol of this principle. But matter, just
as form, and the like, are the first principles of things which, as we have seen, myth con-
veys by symbolic means for the purpose of leading to something virtuous.

A myth, then, comes into this consideration in the following way: Just as a mother
may be reduced to the material principle and that which the father contributes to generation
to the formal and efficient, in this respect they come under the nature and notion of these
principles. Now the storyteller, as with the artist in general, by virtue of his peculiar gifts,
is able to intuit such relationships without, however, (necessarily) grasping them by ab-
stract thought; rather, he perceives them concretely, so to speak, in particular things, em-
bodying them in his chosen medium, the underlying principles being certain “transcend-
dental truths” of which many thinkers excerpted in these pages speak. 86 Now stories told
about such things may well fall short of the truth insofar as their authors fail properly to
grasp “the invisible things of God…, even His eternal power and Godhead”, which things
“are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made” (Rom 1:20). In this regard,
we recall St. Thomas’ teaching on the two ways in which a fable or myth may hit the mark
or be at fault:

So there are two things in a fable, namely, that it contain a true sense, and that it represent
something useful. Again, that it be suitable to that truth. If, then, a fable be proposed which
cannot represent a truth, it is pointless [or ‘inane’, inanis]; but what does not properly
represent is foolish [or ‘silly’, ineptae], like the fables of the Talmud. (Commentary on St.
Paul’s First Letter to Timothy (Super I ad Thim.), cp. 4, lect. 2, tr. B.A.M.)

When a storyteller succeeds in these two respects, one then has “true myth”.

N.B. Having treated sufficiently of myth we must return next to the origin of natural
religion, for which reason we must consider more closely the state of mind that forms its
basis, beginning with excerpts from a short work of fiction which we believe to convey
this state in a most illuminating fashion.

86
On this matter, see the relevant excerpts from G.K. Chesterton given below.

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Note 22. At the origin of natural religion: Stephen Crane’s “The Open Boat”:

N.B. On this celebrated short story, cf. the following notice taken from the Internet:

In January 1897, Stephen Crane was shipwrecked and lost at sea on a 10-foot lifeboat for 30
hours. Once rescued, he produced three separate accounts of the same event. “Stephen
Crane’s Own Story,” which functions as a journalistic piece, was published in the New York
Press a few days after he was rescued. “The Open Boat,” written several weeks later, has
been hailed as literature and anthologized as a short story in countless collections of Ameri-
can fiction. The third, little-known work is another short story entitled “Flanagan and His
Short Filibustering Adventure,” which was published a few months after “The Open Boat.”
As one of Crane’s most important works, “The Open Boat” has received a great amount of
critical attention not only for its contribution to the field of literature, but also with regard to
its autobiographical content.

1. Data: The relevant excerpts:

n. 1. Stephen Crane, “The Open Boat” (1897), IV.

“Well,” said the captain, ultimately, “I suppose we’ll have to make a try for ourselves. If
we stay out here too long, we’ll none of us have strength left to swim after the boat
swamps.”
And so the oiler, who was at the oars, turned the boat straight for the shore. There was a
sudden tightening of muscles. There was some thinking.
“If we don’t all get ashore—” said the captain. “If we don’t all get ashore, I suppose you
fellows know where to send news of my finish?”
They then briefly exchanged some addresses and admonitions. As for the reflections of the
men, there was a great deal of rage in them. Perchance they might be formulated thus: “If I
am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned,
why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus
far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have my nose drag-
ged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life? It is preposterous. If this
old ninny-woman, Fate, cannot do better than this, she should be deprived of the man-
agement of men’s fortunes. She is an old hen who knows not her intention. If she has
decided to drown me, why did she not do it in the beginning and save me all this
trouble. The whole affair is absurd. . . . But, no, she cannot mean to drown me. She
dare not drown me. She cannot drown me. Not after all this work.”
Afterward the man might have had an impulse to shake his fist at the clouds: “Just
you drown me, now, and then hear what I call you!” <…>
“IF I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned,
why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far
and contemplate sand and trees?”
During this dismal night, it may be remarked that a man would conclude that it was
really the intention of the seven mad gods to drown him, despite the abominable injus-
tice of it. For it was certainly an abominable injustice to drown a man who had worked
so hard, so hard. The man felt it would be a crime most unnatural. Other people had
drowned at sea since galleys swarmed with painted sails, but still –
When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she
feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him, he at first wishes to throw
bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no tem-
ples. Any visible expression of nature would surely be pelleted with his jeers.

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 Then, if there be no tangible thing to hoot he feels, perhaps, the desire to confront a
personification and indulge in pleas, bowed to one knee, and with hands supplicant,
saying: “Yes, but I love myself.”

A high cold star on a winter’s night is the word he feels that she says to him. Thereafter he
knows the pathos of his situation. (emphasis added)

n. 2. ibid., VII:

The voyagers scanned the shore. A conference was held in the boat. “Well,” said the cap-
tain, “if no help is coming, we might better try a run through the surf right away. If we stay
out here much longer we will be too weak to do anything for ourselves at all.” The others
silently acquiesced in this reasoning. The boat was headed for the beach. The correspondent
wondered if none ever ascended the tall wind-tower, and if then they never looked seaward.
This tower was a giant, standing with its back to the plight of the ants. It represented in a
degree, to the correspondent, the serenity of nature amid the struggles of the individual—
nature in the wind, and nature in the vision of men. She did not seem cruel to him, nor bene-
ficent, nor treacherous, nor wise. But she was indifferent, flatly indifferent. It is, perhaps,
plausible that a man in this situation, impressed with the unconcern of the universe,
should see the innumerable flaws of his life and have them taste wickedly in his mind
and wish for another chance. A distinction between right and wrong seems absurdly
clear to him, then, in this new ignorance of the grave-edge, and he understands that if
he were given another opportunity he would mend his conduct and his words, and be
better and brighter during an introduction, or at a tea. <…>

When it came night, the white waves paced to and fro in the moonlight, and the wind
brought the sound of the great sea’s voice to the men on shore, and they felt that they could
then be interpreters. (emphasis added)

2. Interpretative remarks:

n. 1. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theol., IIa-IIae, q. 85, art 1, c. (tr. English Dominican
Fathers):

Article 1. Whether offering a sacrifice to God is of the law of nature?

I answer that, Natural reason tells man that he is subject to a higher being, on account
of the defects which he perceives in himself, and in which he needs help and direction
from someone above him: and whatever this superior being may be, it is known to all
under the name of God.87 (emphasis added)

n. 2. J. Wilhelm, “Idolatry”, The Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. VII (New York, 1911):
If left to his own resources, man will slowly and imperfectly develop th e obscure notion of a
superior or supreme power on which his well-being depends and whom he can conciliate or
87
Hence “[a]ll religion is based on the recognition of a superhuman Reality of which man is somehow
conscious and towards which he must in some way orientate his life. The existence of the tremendous
transcendent reality that we name GOD is the foundation of all religions in all ages and among all peoples”
(Christopher Dawson, Religion and the Rise of Western Culture 1947–1949. The Gifford Lectures. New
York, 1959). Religion may therefore be defined as “recognition on the part of man of some higher unseen
power as having control of his destiny, and as being entitled to obedience, and worship” ( Oxford English
Dictionary, s.v. Religion). “By religion, then, [we may] understand a propitiation of, and dependency on,
superior powers which are believed to control and direct the course of nature and human life.” (Sir James G.
Frazer, The Golden Bough [1st ed., London, 1890])

162
 offend. In this process intervenes the second cause of idolatry: ignorance. 88 The Supreme
Power is apprehended in the works and workings of nature; in sun and stars, in fertile fields,
in animals, in fancied invisible influences, in powerful men. And there, among the secondary
causes, the “groping after God” may end in the worship of sticks and stones. St. Paul told the
Athenians that God had “winked at the times of this ignorance” during which they erected
altars “To the unknown God”, which implies that He had compassion on their ignorance and
sent them the light of truth to reward their good intention (Acts, xvii, 22-31). As soon as the
benighted heathen has located his unknown god, love and fear, which are but the mani-
festations of the instinct of self-preservation, shape the cultus of the idol into sacrifices or
other congenial religious practices. Ignorance of the First Cause, the need of images for
fixing higher conceptions, the instinct of self-preservation — these are the psychological
causes of idolatry.

n. 3. H. P. Lovecraft, “Supernatural Horror In Literature” (Written 1926-27, Published in

The Recluse in 1927, Revised 1933):

Man’s first instincts and emotions formed his response to the environment in which he found
himself. Definite feelings based on pleasure and pain grew up around the phenomena whose
causes and effects he understood, whilst around those which he did not understand – and the
universe teemed with them in the early days – were naturally woven such personifications,
marvelous interpretations, and sensations of awe and fear as would be hit upon by a race
having few and simple ideas and limited experience. The unknown, being likewise the un-
predictable, became for our primitive forefathers a terrible and omnipotent source of boons
and calamities visited upon mankind for cryptic and wholly extra-terrestrial reasons, and
thus clearly belonging to spheres of existence whereof we know nothing and wherein we
have no part. The phenomenon of dreaming likewise helped to build up the notion of an
unreal or spiritual world….

n. 4. Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Athens: Its Rise and Fall (London, 1837), Book I, Chapter 2,
sec. IX:

The origin of prayer is in the sense of dependence, and in the instinct of self-preservation or
self-interest. The first objects of prayer to the infant man will be those on which by his
localities he believes himself to be most dependant for whatever blessing his mode of life
inclines him the most to covet, or from which may come whatever peril his instinct will
teach him the most to deprecate and fear. It is this obvious truth which destroys all the eru-
dite systems that would refer the different creeds of the heathen to some single origin. Till
the earth be the same in each region—till the same circumstances surround every tribe—dif-
ferent impressions, in nations yet unconverted and uncivilized, produce different deities.
Nature suggests a God, and man invests him with attributes. Nature and man, the same as a
whole, vary in details; the one does not everywhere suggest the same notions—the other
cannot everywhere imagine the same attributes. As with other tribes, so with the Pelasgi or
primitive Greeks, their early gods were the creatures of their own early impressions.

n. 5. Review of Jonathan Duncan, The Religions of Profane Antiquity (London, 1839): In

The Monthly Review, from January to April Inclusive. 1839. Vol. I:
ART. IX.— The Religions of Profane Antiquity; their Mythology, Fables, Hieroglyphics, and
Doctrines. Founded on Astronomical Principles. By JONATHAN DUNCAN, B. A. London:
Rickerby.
88
The first such cause according to Wilhelm being “the need for images for fixing higher conceptions”, after
which comes “ignorance of the First Cause”, followed by “the instinct for self-preservation”; it being my
contention that the last of these lies at the origin of natural religion.

163
<…>

Inclined as we are to take up Mr. Duncan’s “earliest inhabitants” at the point of obscu-
reation to which we have attempted to indicate the manner of arrival, and at those re-
mote ages of barbarism when, as roaming hunters, tribes encountered all the fears and
hopes which the chances of the chase, the variation of the seasons, the unequal supplies
afforded by different fields of enterprize, must ever have been presenting, it is very easy
to believe that the elements and the phenomena in nature, that “whatever banished evil, or
secured good,” would become objects of worship and propitiation. Abstract and intangible
things are not acceptable or comprehensible by minds sunk to the grossest condition, and
therefore the rude symbols also of the powers and influences feared or hoped for would be
set up, and the knee bended before them.

<…>

We think Mr. Duncan has been very happy in his views in regard to the religious sentiment
which he holds to be universally natural to man, whatever be his condition, whether rude or
civilized. The desire to avoid misery and to obtain happiness, the conviction which every
man has felt of being incapable of attaining all he desires, unless aided by some superior
power, are matters of experience not more uniform and pervading; or, in other words,
these feelings and experiences are coincident with, inseparable from, some species of
religious sentiment and religious worship. There is, in fact, an identity in the case. This
view, says our author,—

“Militates against the usually received opinion of the philosophers, that ‘fear first
created the gods,’ for it is here contended that man is not religious because he is timid,
but because he is man; in other words, that the religious sentiment is part and parcel of
humanity, inseparable from its very nature and essential to its very existence. It is an
indestructible principle, and so long as the nature of man remains unchanged, he must
necessarily be a religious animal. The experience of history proves the position. Various
systems of belief have existed and have perished, but man has never divested himself of
the religious sentiment in its essence. It has merely changed the outward form. He has
never felt himself wholly independent of the external and invisible world; he has never
fancied his own unaided powers sufficient to secure happiness; but, on the contrary, he
has always been conscious of his own insufficiency, and has never ceased to entertain a
feeling, however vague, crude, or indistinct that feeling may have been, of his entire de-
pendence on some unknown and superior intelligence. Now it is this consciousness of
individual weakness, common to universal humanity, that creates the religious sentiment;
and as this consciousness has always existed, and ever must exist, so long as man pre-
served his present nature, religion may be said to be indestructible in its essence, however
it may vary in its development.

“Man, then, must be considered as an essentially religious animal, among the first and
eternal laws of whose nature may be perceived a desire for happiness and a dread of
misery, accompanied by a lively and restless sense of hope and fear. These feelings have
influenced every condition of society from primitive barbarism to final civilization; they lie
at the root of all systems of heathenism, and form, as it were, a common centre, towards
which they all radiate.
That the modifications of heathenism are various and dissimilar in their development is true,
but these relate to the superstructure, and not to the base, of the edifice. Sacerdotal corpor-
ations never created the religious sentiment, but, on the contrary, the religious sentiment
created sacerdotal corporations. The cosmogonies and theogonies of heathenism; the sacred

164
 fables; the doctrines, mysteries, and ceremonies, were certainly the inventions of the priest-
hood; but these must not be confounded with the religious sentiment in the abstract, which,
in its essence, is an independent principle, co-existent with our very being, and so necessary
an ingredient in humanity, that, without it, man would not be man. The priesthood could no
more have originated the religious sentiment, than created the blood which circulates
through our veins; their power was limited to the control and direction of it in its devel-
opment. To accomplish their object, they rendered the religious sentiment subservient to
those first laws of our nature which prompt us to seek happiness and avoid misery, while
at the same time they kept alive the principles of hope and fear. In order to derive the
greatest and most permanent advantage from this policy, they laid it down as a funda-
mental rule, that no direct communication could ever take place between man and the
gods. The intercession and intermediate agency of the priesthood was declared to be in-
dispensable, without which no blessing could be obtained, and no curse be averted.”

Life and death, the destinies of man, the connections and relations between the present and
the future, are subjects which come home to the bosom of every one, and induce him, as
soon as in the course of enlargement of mind, and intensity of reflection, he has become hab-
ituated to think of time, duration, and space, to speculate about the limits of those things, but
to speculate without satisfaction. And now it is that a priesthood finds occupation :—

“This desire of escaping out of the boundaries of finity and limited duration, and attaining
to the knowledge of infinity and eternity, and thus solving the grand problem of life and
death, obtained for the priesthood the exclusive privilege of mediating between the crea-
ture and the Creator. The germ of this feeling may be detected even in that early stage of
society, when the juggler and magician pretended to control the occult powers of nature by
sacrifices and incantations. Man was easily persuaded that what he could not obtain for
himself, another could secure for him. He anxiously desired a mediator between himself and
the invisible powers, and that very desire created a priesthood. (emphasis added)

n. 6. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theol., IIIa, q. 60, art. 5, ad 3 (tr . English Dominican
Fathers):

Reply to Objection 3: As Augustine says (Contra Faust. xix), diverse sacraments suit
different times; just as different times are signified by different parts of the verb, viz.
present, past, and future. Consequently, just as under the state of the law of nature man
was moved by inward instinct and without any outward law, to worship God, so also the
sensible things to be employed in the worship of God were determined by inward instinct.
But later on it became necessary for a law to be given (to man) from without: both be-
cause the Law of nature had become obscured by man’s sins; and in order to signify
more expressly the grace of Christ, by which the human race is sanctified. And hence
the need for those things to be determinate, of which men have to make use in the
sacraments. Nor is the way of salvation narrowed thereby: because the things which need to
be used in the sacraments, are either in everyone’s possession or can be had with little
trouble. (emphasis added)

n. 7. For the way in which such experiences give rise to myth, cf. Kerygma and Myth by
Rudolf Bultmann and Five Critics. The Mythological Element in the Message of the New
Testament and the Problem of its Re-interpretation Part I (1953):

Part I: The Task of Demythologizing the New Testament Proclamation

A. The Problem. 2. The Nature of Myth

165
 The real purpose of myth is not to present an objective picture of the world as it is, but
to express man’s understanding of himself in the world in which he lives. Myth should
be interpreted not cosmologically, but anthropologically, or better still, existentially. (Cp.
Gerhardt Krüger, Einsicht und Leidenschaft, esp. p. 17f., 56f.) Myth speaks of the power or
the powers which man supposes he experiences as the ground and limit of his world
and of his own activity and suffering. He describes these powers in terms derived from
the visible world, with its tangible objects and forces, and from human life, with its
feelings, motives, and potentialities. He may, for instance, explain the origin of the world
by speaking of a world egg or a world tree. Similarly he may account for the present state
and order of the world by speaking of a primeval war between the gods. He speaks of the
other world in terms of this world, and of the gods in terms derived from human life. (Myth
is here used in the sense popularized by the ‘History of Religions’ school. Mythology is the
use of imagery to express the other worldly in terms of this world and the divine in terms of
human life, the other side in terms of this side. For instance, divine transcendence is expres-
sed as spatial distance. It is a mode of expression which makes it easy to understand the
cultus as an action in which material means are used to convey immaterial power. Myth is
not used in that modern sense, according to which it is practically equivalent to ideology.)
Myth is an expression of man’s conviction that the origin and purpose of the world in
which he lives are to be sought not within it but beyond it – that is, beyond the realm of
known and tangible reality – and that this realm is perpetually dominated and men-
aced by those mysterious powers which are its source and limit. Myth is also an expres-
sion of man’s awareness that he is not lord of his own being. It expresses his sense of
dependence not only within the visible world, but more especially on those forces which
hold sway beyond the confines of the known. Finally, myth expresses man’s belief that
in this state of dependence he can be delivered from the forces within the visible world.
Thus myth contains elements which demand its own criticism – namely, its imagery with its
apparent claim to objective validity. The real purpose of myth is to speak of a transcend-
dent power which controls the world and man, but that purpose is impeded and obscured by
the terms in which it is expressed. Hence the importance of the New Testament mythology
lies not in its imagery but in the understanding of existence which it enshrines. The real
question is whether this understanding of existence is true. Faith claims that it is, and faith
ought not to be tied down to the imagery of New Testament mythology. (emphasis added)

[London: S.P.C.K., HarperCollins 2000 edition: ISBN 0-06-130080-2, online edition (contains the
essay “The New Testament and Mythology” with critical analyses and Bultmann’s response)]

n. 8. Henri Frankfort, H. A. Frankfort, John A. Wilson, Thorkild Jacobsen, The Intellectual

Adventure of Ancient Man (Chicago & London, 1946. First Phoenix Edition 1977), pp. 6-7:

The world appears to primitive man neither inanimate nor empty but redundant with
life; and life has individuality, in man and beast and plant, and in every phenomenon
which confronts man – the thunderclap, the sudden shadow, the eerie and unknown
clearing in the wood, the stone which suddenly hurts him when he stumbles while on a
hunting trip. Any phenomenon may at any time face him, not as “It,” but as “Thou.” In this
confrontation, “Thou” reveals its individuality, its qualities, its will. “Thou” is not con-
templated with intellectual detachment; it is experienced as life confronting life, involving
every faculty of man in a reciprocal relationship. Thoughts, no less than acts and feelings,
are subordinated to this experience. <…> [6-7]

In telling such a myth, the ancients did not intend to provide entertainment. Neither did
they seek, in a detached way and without ulterior motives, for intelligible explanations of the
natural phenomena. They were recounting events in which they were involved to the ex-
tent of their very existence. They experienced, directly, a conflict of powers, one hostile

166
 to the harvest upon which they depended, the other frightening but beneficial: the
thunderstorm reprieved them in the nick of time by defeating and utterly destroying
the drought. The images had already become traditional at the time when we meet them in
art and literature, but originally they must have been seen in the revelation which the
experience entailed. (emphasis added)

N.B. A more complete version of this passage will be found below.

n. 9. Christopher Dawson, Progress and Religion (New York, 1960 [1929]), pp. 68-69:

From the very dawn of primitive culture men have attempted, in however crude and sym-
bolic a form, to understand the laws of life and to adapt their social activity to their work-
ings. But primitive man does not look upon the external world in the modern way, as a pas-
sive or mechanistic system, a background for human energies, mere matter for the human
mind to mould. He sees it as a living world of mysterious forces, greater than his own, in the
placation and service of which his life consists. And the first need of a people, no less impor-
tant than food or weapons, is the psychical equipment or technique by which man is enabled
to enter [68-69] into communication with these superhuman powers and cause them to be
propitious to him.

N.B. We observe, then, how man’s response to the world and its vicissitudes gives rise to
religion, the definition of which we must next enlarge upon.

167
3. A modern account of religion:

n. 1. Christopher Dawson, “A Definition of Religion”, in Religion and World History: A

Selection from the Works of Christopher Dawson (New York, 1975 [= Chamber’s Encyc-
lopaedia, 1950]), pp. 27-29:

Religion is the word generally used to describe man’s relation to divine or superhuman
powers and the various organised systems of belief and worship in which these relations
have been expressed. The belief in the existence of such relations is a general human con-
viction, common to all peoples and to all stages of culture, for though it has often been main-
tained in the past that various primitive peoples, such as the Kubu of Sumatra, the Andaman
Islanders, or the natives of Tierra del Fuego, were entirely without any form of religion, the
progress of ethnological knowledge has usually shown that these suppositions were ground-
less. It is true that it is often difficult to draw a clear distinction between religion and magic
in primitive cultures, since magic often appears to be an alternative method of dealing with
the same needs and situations with which religion is concerned. The two, however, are not
mutually exclusive. Much that we call magic is simply the more specialised ritual techniques
of primitive religion, while in other cases it represents such techniques which have become
detached from religious beliefs or which have survived from an earlier phase of religion. The
essential criterion of religion is the attitude of worship. When religious rites become
detached from this attitude, they become magical techniques; when magical techniques are
associated with the attitude of worship, they become religious rites. [27-28]
The primary elements of religion are the act of worship and the object of worship. From
the interaction of these two factors there arise the organised systems of thought and behave-
iour which are known as religions. The normal object of religious worship is a God, that is to
say a superhuman being on whom man is dependent and who controls the world or some
particular aspect of nature. But though God is the central and typical religious concept, there
are many other forms of superhuman power which may be the objects of religious worship—
spirits and ghosts, omens and portents, sacred men, sacred animals and sacred things—a
whole world of sacred or supernatural powers with all which religion is concerned. The
various theories which have been constructed during the last two centuries to explain the
nature and origin of religion have concentrated their attention on some particular element in
this complex as the key to the solution of their problem. Thus Max Müller explained religion
from the worship of the powers of nature and the development of Nature Myths. Tylor found
the key in the belief in ghosts and the universal animation of nature by personal spirits.
Durkheim found a sociological explanation in his theory of Totemism and the collective
consciousness; while for Frazer, religion develops out of magic in consequence of the
gradual recognition by primitive man that magical techniques are fallible and inadequate.
Perhaps the broadest and most comprehensive theory is that known as Animism or Dyna-
mism, which explains primitive religion in terms of an undifferentiated magical or super-
natural power, an impersonal quality of divinity or sacredness which may become attached
to particular persons or things and which manifests itself in any kind of abnormal experience
or extraordinary event. Nearly two generations ago, however, Andrew Lang challenged the
basic assumption of all these theories by arguing that the idea [28-29] of a personal deity is
not the final product of a complex religious evolution but that it is simple and primary, and is
actually well represented among the most primitive peoples known to us.

168
Note 23. At the origin of religion and myth:

1. The two principal sources of myth: the wonders of nature and the mysteries of life:

n. 1. H. Halliday Sparling, “Introduction” to The Story of the Volsungs (Volsunga Saga),

with Excerpts from the Poetic Edda, translated by William Morris and Eirikr Magnusson
(London, 1888):

The religion which the settlers took with them into Iceland—the ethnic religion of the
Norsefolk, which fought its last great fight at Sticklestead, where Olaf Haraldsson lost his
life and won the name of Saint—was, like all religions, a compound of myths, those which
had survived from savage days, and those which expressed the various degrees of a growing
knowledge of life and better understanding of nature….
Every folk has from the beginning of time sought to explain the wonders of nature, and
has, after its own fashion, set forth the mysteries of life. The lowest savage, no less than his
more advanced brother, has a philosophy of the universe by which he solves the world-
problem to his own satisfaction, and seeks to reconcile his conduct with his conception of
the nature of things.

n. 2. George Roche, “The Curious Faiths of Anti-Heroism”, from A World Without

Heroes: The Modern Tragedy) [Taken from Imprimis, the monthly journal of Hillsdale
College. December 1987, Vol. 16, No. 12.]:

What we learn from myths is not that there are giants with one eye, or that the cow jumped
over the moon, or even that the Bastille held only seven old men. We learn that men are
poets and mystics moved by the mysteries of life and the divine powers of nature.

n. 3. Christopher Dawson, Progress and Religion (New York, 1960 [1929]), p. 71:

Everywhere we find the belief that there exists behind the outward appearances of things a
mysterious world of spiritual or supernatural forces, which rule the course of nature and the
life of man.

n. 3. The Second Vatican Council, Declaration on the Relation of the Church to Non-
Christian Religions (1964), n. 2:

2. Throughout history even to the present day, there is found among different peoples a
certain awareness of a hidden power, which lies behind the course of nature and the events
of human life. At times there is present even a recognition of a supreme being, or still more
of a Father. This awareness and recognition results in a way of life that is imbued with a
deep religious sense.

n. 3. Kerygma and Myth by Rudolf Bultmann and Five Critics. The Mythological Element
in the Message of the New Testament and the Problem of its Re-interpretation Part I
(1953):

Myth speaks of the power or the powers which man supposes he experiences as the ground
and limit of his world and of his own activity and suffering. He describes these powers in
terms derived from the visible world, with its tangible objects and forces, and from human
life, with its feelings, motives, and potentialities. …He speaks of the other world in terms of
this world, and of the gods in terms derived from human life.

169
n. 4. H. & H. A. Frankfort, “Myth and Reality”, in Henri Frankfort, H. A. Frankfort, John
A. Wilson, Thorkild Jacobsen, The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man (Chicago &
Lon-don, 1946. First Phoenix Edition 1977), p. 6:

The ancients, like the modern savages, saw man always as part of society, and society as
imbedded in nature and dependent upon cosmic forces. For them nature and man did not
stand in opposition and did not, therefore, have to be apprehended by different modes of
cognition. We shall see, in fact, in the course of this book, that natural phenomena were
regularly conceived in terms of human experience and that human experience was conceived
in terms of cosmic events.

n. 5. Entry “Religion”, Systems of Religious and Spiritual Belief, sec. 6. Polytheism. 6.2
FORMS OF POLYTHEISTIC POWERS, GODS, AND DEMONS. 6.2.1 Natural forces
and objects (from JesusI.com):

A widespread phenomenon in religions is the identification of natural forces and objects as

divinities. It is convenient to classify them as celestial, atmospheric, and earthly. This
classification itself is explicitly recognized in Indo-Aryan religion: Surya, the sun god, is
celestial; Indra, associated with storms, rain, and battles, is atmospheric; and Agni, the fire
god, operates primarily at the earthly level. Sky gods, however, tend to take on atmospheric
roles; e.g., Zeus’s use of lightning as his thunderbolt.

n. 6. Entry “Religion”, Systems of Religious and Spiritual Belief, sec. 2. Nature Worship
(from JesusI.com):

Pantheism (a belief system in which God is equated with the forces of the universe)….

n. 7. Christopher Dawson, “A Definition of Religion.” In Religion and World History: A

Selection from the Works of Christopher Dawson, New York, 1975 [= Chamber’s
Encyclopaedia, 1950], p. 28:

Perhaps the broadest and most comprehensive theory is that known as Animism or
Dynamism, which explains primitive religion in terms of an undifferentiated magical or
supernatural power, an impersonal quality of divinity or sacredness which may become
attached to particular persons or things and which manifests itself in any kind of abnormal
experience or extraordinary event.

n. 8. Matthew M. Anger, “From Many Gods to One?”, Polytheism as Religious Devolution

(Seattle Catholic. A Journal of Catholic News and Views 13 Oct 2003):89

Both the primitive monotheist and the Christian view the phenomena of nature as God’s
creatures. On the other hand, where the light of revelation was obscured in whole or in part,
people tended to deify things, such as the Moon and stars (lacking advanced scientific
knowledge to explain the laws of nature). Polytheistic nature-worship is the mistaken
application of a sound principle, an awareness of a mind or will behind the actions of the
world around us.

n. 9. For the source of the preceding observation, cf. Charles F. Aiken, Monotheism, The
Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. X (New York, 1911):

89
(http://www.seattlecatholic.com/article_20031013.html [10/13/03])

170
 What has thus far been said leads to the conclusion that Christian Monotheism and its ante-
cedent forms, Mosaic and primitive Monotheism, are independent in their origin of the Poly-
theistic religions of the world. The various forms of polytheism that now flourish, or that
have existed in the past, are the result of man’s faulty attempts to interpret nature by the light
of unaided reason. Wherever the scientific view of nature has not obtained, the mechanical,
secondary causes that account for such striking phenomena as sun, moon, lightning, tempest,
have invariably been viewed either as living beings, or as inert bodies kept in movement by
invisible, intelligent agents. This personalizing of the striking phenomena of nature was
common among the highest pagan nations of antiquity. It is the common view among pe-
oples of inferior culture today. It is only since modern science has brought all these pheno-
mena within the range of physical law that the tendency to view them as manifestations of
distinct personalities has been thoroughly dispelled. Now such a personalizing of nature’s
forces is compatible with Monotheism so long as these different intelligences fancied to pro-
duce the phenomena are viewed as God’s creatures, and hence not worthy of Divine wor-
ship. But where the light of revelation has been obscured in whole or in part, the tendency to
deify these personalities associated with natural phenomena has asserted itself. In this way
polytheistic nature-worship seems to have arisen. It arose from the mistaken application of a
sound principle, which man everywhere seems naturally to possess, namely, that the great
operations of nature are due to the agency of mind and will.

Professor George Fisher observes: “The polytheistic religions did not err in identifying the
manifold activities of nature with voluntary agency. The spontaneous feelings of mankind in
this particular are not belied by the principles of philosophy. The error of polytheism lies in
the splintering of that will which is immanent in all the operations of nature into a plurality
of personal agents, a throng of divinities, each active and dominant within a province of its
own” (“Grounds of Christian and Theistic Belief”, 1903, p. 29). Polytheistic nature-worship
is to be found among practically all peoples who have lacked the guiding star of Divine
revelation.

n. 10. J. Wilhelm, Superstition, The Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. XIV (New York, 1911):

The source of superstition is, in the first place, subjective. Ignorance of natural causes leads
to the belief that certain striking phenomena express the will or the anger of some invisible
overruling power, and the objects in which such phenomena appear are forthwith deified, as,
e.g. in Nature-worship. Conversely, many superstitious practices are due to an exaggerated
notion or a false interpretation of natural events, so that effects are sought which are beyond
the efficiency of physical causes. Curiosity also with regard to things that are hidden or are
still in the future plays a considerable part, e.g. in the various kinds of divination. But the
chief source of superstition is pointed out in Scripture: “All men are vain, in whom there is
not the knowledge of God: and who by these good things that are seen, could not understand
him that is, neither by attending to the works have acknowledged who was the workman: but
have imagined either the fire, or the wind, or the swift air, or the circle of the stars, or the
great water, or the sun and moon, to be the gods that rule the world” (Wis-dom, xiii, 1-2). It
is to this ignorance of the true God, coupled with an inordinate veneration for human
excellence and the love of artistic representations appealing to the senses, that St. Thomas
ascribes the origin of idolatry. While these are dispositive causes, the consummative cause,
he adds, was the influence of demons who offered themselves as objects of worship to erring
men, giving answers through idols and doing things which to men seemed marvellous (II-
II:94:4).

n. 11. J. Wilhelm, Idolatry, The Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. VII (New York, 1911):

171
 If left to his own resources, man will slowly and imperfectly develop the obscure notion of a
superior or supreme power on which his well-being depends and whom he can conciliate or
offend. In this process intervenes the second cause of idolatry: ignorance. The Supreme
Power is apprehended in the works and workings of nature; in sun and stars, in fertile fields,
in animals, in fancied invisible influences, in powerful men. And there, among the secondary
causes, the “groping after God” may end in the worship of sticks and stones. St. Paul told the
Athenians that God had “winked at the times of this ignorance” during which they erected
altars “To the unknown God”, which implies that He had compassion on their ignorance and
sent them the light of truth to reward their good intention (Acts, xvii, 22-31). As soon as the
benighted heathen has located his unknown god, love and fear, which are but the manifest-
tations of the instinct of self-preservation, shape the cultus of the idol into sacrifices or other
congenial religious practices. Ignorance of the First Cause, the need of images for fixing
higher conceptions, the instinct of self-preservation — these are the psychological causes of
idolatry.90

n. 12. Henri Frankfort, H. A. Frankfort, John A. Wilson, Thorkild Jacobsen, The Intel-
lectual Adventure of Ancient Man (Chicago & London, 1946. First Phoenix Edition 1977),
pp. 6-7:

The world appears to primitive man neither inanimate nor empty but redundant with life; and
life has individuality, in man and beast and plant, and in every phenomenon which confronts
man – the thunderclap, the sudden shadow, the eerie and unknown clearing in the wood, the
stone which suddenly hurts him when he stumbles while on a hunting trip. Any phenomenon
may at any time face him, not as “It,” but as “Thou.” In this confrontation, “Thou” reveals its
individuality, its qualities, its will. “Thou” is not contemplated with intel-lectual detachment;
it is experienced as life confronting life, involving every faculty of man in a reciprocal
relationship. Thoughts, no less than acts and feelings, are subordinated to this experience.
We are here concerned particularly with thought. It is likely that the ancients re-cognized
certain intellectual problems and asked for the “why” and “how,” the “where from” and
“where to.” Even so, we cannot expect in the ancient Near Eastern documents to find
speculation in the predominantly intellectual form with which we are familiar and which pre-
supposes strictly logical procedure even while attempting to transcend it. We have seen that
in the ancient Near East, as in present-day primitive society, thought does not operate auto-
nomously. The whole man confronts a living “Thou” in nature; and the whole man – emo-
tional and imaginative as well as intellectual – gives expression to the experience. All
experience of “Thou” is highly individual; and early man does, in fact, view happenings as
individual events. An account of such events and also their explanation can be conceived
only as action and necessarily take the form of a story. In other words, the ancients told
myths instead of presenting an analysis or conclusions. We would explain, for instance, that
certain atmospheric changes broke a drought and brought about rain. The Babylonians
observed the same facts but experienced them as the intervention of the gigantic bird
Imdugud which came to their rescue. It covered the sky with the black storm clouds of its
wings and devoured the Bull of Heaven, whose hot breath had scorched the crops. [6-7]
In telling such a myth, the ancients did not intend to provide entertainment. Neither did
they seek, in a detached way and without ulterior motives, for intelligible explanations of the
natural phenomena. They were recounting events in which they were involved to the extent
of their very existence. They experienced, directly, a conflict of powers, one hostile to the
harvest upon which they depended, the other frightening but beneficial: the thunderstorm
reprieved them in the nick of time by defeating and utterly destroying the drought. The
images had already become traditional at the time when we meet them in art and literature,

90
For St. Thomas’ account of the fourfold cause of idolatry, as well as his understanding of superstition in
general, see my treatment below.

172
 but originally they must have been seen in the revelation which the experience entailed.
They are products of imagination, but they are not mere fantasy. It is essential that true myth
be distinguished from legend, saga, fable, and fairy tale. All these may retain elements of the
myth. And it may also happen that a baroque or frivolous imagination elaborates myths until
they become mere stories. But true myth presents its images and its imaginary actors, not
with the playfulness of fantasy, but with a compelling authority. It perpetuates the revelation
of a “Thou.”
The imagery of myth is therefore by no means allegory. It is nothing less than a carefully
chosen cloak for abstract thought. The imagery is inseparable from the thought. It represents
the form in which the experience has become conscious.
Myth, then, is to be taken seriously, because it reveals a significant, if unverifiable, truth –
we might say a metaphysical truth. But myth has not the universality and the lucidity of the-
oretical statement. It is concrete, though it claims to be unassailable in its validity. It claims
recognition by the faithful; it does not pretend to justification before the critical. The irra-
tional aspect of myth becomes especially clear when we remember that the ancients were not
content merely to recount their myths as stories conveying information. They dramatized
them, acknowledging in them a special virtue which could be activated by recital.

Supplement. Superstition and religion in the legends of the Bible:

n. 1. Shalom Spiegel, Introduction to Legends of the Bible. By Louis Ginzberg (Phila-

delphia, 1956), p. xvii-xviii:

...It is such freakish and spooky company that Cain joins, when legend puts a horn on his
forehead, a free loan from the ever-green wonderland of folk fantasy or folk superstition
which in all lands and in all ages loves the whimsical and the weird, the odd and the abhor-
rent. It is an echo of household tales from the infancy of the race, when the earth was young
and people still could wonder or worry whether the sun will rise tomorrow. Shadows of that
enchanted world linger on to this day in nursery rhymes and stories of all peoples, thrilling
the hearts of children with memories of ancient marvels and nightmares.
Such is the fairy land of the antediluvian age in which Cain lived. Before the flood, people
had nothing to worry about. There was plenty of food. “A single sowing bore harvest suffi-
cient for the needs of forty years.” The raising of children was not trouble either. “They were
born after a few days pregnancy, and immediately after birth they could walk and talk; they
themselves aided the mother in severing the navel string. Not even demons could do them
harm. Once a new-born babe, running to fetch a light whereby his mother might cut the
navel string, met the chief of demons, and a combat ensued between the two. Suddenly the
crowing of a cock was heard, and the demon made off, crying out to the child, “Go and
report unto thy mother, if it had not been for the crowing of the cock, I had killed thee!”
Whereupon the child retorted, “Go and report unto thy mother, if it had not been for my un-
cut navel string, I had killed thee!”
This is also the way Cain was born: leaving his mother’s womb, at once “the babe stood
upon his feet, ran off, and returned holding in his hands a stalk of straw which he gave to his
mother. For this reason he was named Cain, the Hebrew word for stalk of straw.”
Such carefree life as before the deluge, with hardly a chore in house or farm, and no baby
linen to launder, is the dreamland of womenfolk everywhere and at all times. It still stalks on
in some creations of folk fancy such as the plant-man. <...>

-xxvii-

<...>

173
 Legends of the Bible borrow freely not only from folk tale but also from folk belief. The
primitive mind ascribes conscious life to all natural objects, to nature in general. The child,
and the poet, keep alive this universal and ancient notion that animals, plants and stones are
endowed with will or inhabited by spirits or souls kindred and comprehensible to our own.
This pre-literate animism, characteristic of archaic mentality, may be designedly employed
as a principle of make-believe so pleasing, for example, in the fable.

<...>
-xxiii-

Supplement. Note the following recurrent expressions in the passages excerpted

above:

‘the wonders of nature’

‘the mysteries of life’
‘the divine powers of nature’
‘the course of nature’
‘the events of human life’
‘the course of nature and human life’

Nature and man, the macrocosm and the microcosm, then, are the principal concern of the
‘primitive’ mind in regard to the origin of religion and myth

174
Note 24. A folkloristic explanation of the origination of myth:

n. 1. John Fiske, Myths and Myth-Makers: Old Tales and Superstitions Interpreted by
Comparative Mythology (1887):

What, then, is a myth? The theory of Euhemeros, 91 which was so fashionable a century ago,
in the days of the Abbe Banier, has long since been so utterly abandoned that to refute it now
is but to slay the slain. The peculiarity of this theory was that it cut away all the extraordin-
ary features of a given myth, wherein dwelt its inmost significance, and to the dull and use-
less residuum accorded the dignity of primeval history. In this way the myth was lost with-
out compensation, and the student, in seeking good digestible bread, found but the hard-est
of pebbles. Considered merely as a pretty story, the legend of the golden fruit watched by the
dragon in the garden of the Hesperides is not without its value. But what merit can there be
in the gratuitous statement which, degrading the grand Doric hero to a level with any vulgar
fruit-stealer, makes Herakles break a close with force and arms, and carry off a crop of
oranges which had been guarded by mastiffs? It is still worse when we come to the more
homely folk-lore with which the student of mythology now has to deal. The theories of
Banier, which limped and stumbled awkwardly enough when it was only a question of
Hermes and Minos and Odin, have fallen never to rise again since the problems of Punchkin
and Cinderella and the Blue Belt have begun to demand solution. The conclusion has been
gradually forced upon the student, that the marvellous portion of these old stories is no
illegitimate excrescence, but was rather the pith and centre of the whole,[8] in days when
there was no supernatural, because it had not yet been discovered that there was such a
thing as nature. The religious myths of antiquity and the fireside legends of ancient and
modern times have their common root in the mental habits of primeval humanity. They
are the earliest recorded utterances of men concerning the visible phenomena of the
world into which they were born.
8
“Retrancher le merveilleux d’un mythe, c’est le supprimer.”–Breal, Hercule et Cacus, p.
50.

That prosaic and coldly rational temper with which modern men are wont to regard
natural phenomena was in early times unknown. We have come to regard all events as
taking place regularly, in strict conformity to law: whatever our official theories may
be, we instinctively take this view of things. But our primitive ancestors knew nothing
about laws of nature, nothing about physical forces, nothing about the relations of
cause and effect, nothing about the necessary regularity of things. There was a time in
the history of mankind when these things had never been inquired into, and when no gener-
alizations about them had been framed, tested, or established. There was no conception of an
order of nature, and therefore no distinct conception of a supernatural order of things. There
was no belief in miracles as infractions of natural laws, but there was a belief in the occur-
rence of wonderful events too mighty to have been brought about by ordinary means.
There was an unlimited capacity for believing and fancying, because fancy and belief had
not yet been checked and headed off in various directions by established rules of experience.
Physical science is a very late acquisition of the human mind, but we are already sufficiently
imbued with it to be almost completely disabled from comprehending the thoughts of our
ancestors. “How Finn cosmogonists could have believed the earth and heaven to be
made out of a severed egg, the upper concave shell representing heaven, the yolk being
earth, and the crystal surrounding fluid the circumambient ocean, is to us incompre-
hensible; and yet it remains a fact that they did so regard them. How the Scandinavians
could have supposed the mountains to be the mouldering bones of a mighty Jotun, and

91
Fiske’s critique is hardly fair to this school of interpretation, as my separate treatment shows.

175
the earth to be his festering flesh, we cannot conceive; yet such a theory was solemnly
taught and accepted. How the ancient Indians could regard the rain-clouds as cows
with full udders milked by the winds of heaven is beyond our comprehension, and yet
their Veda contains indisputable testimony to the fact that they were so regarded.” We
have only to read Mr. Baring-Gould’s book of “Curious Myths,” from which I have just
quoted, or to dip into Mr. Thorpe’s treatise on “Northern Mythology,” to realize how vast is
the difference between our stand-point and that from which, in the later Middle Ages, our
immediate forefathers regarded things. The frightful superstition of werewolves is a good
instance. In those days it was firmly believed that men could be, and were in the habit of
being, transformed into wolves. It was believed that women might bring forth snakes or
poodle-dogs. It was believed that if a man had his side pierced in battle, you could cure him
by nursing the sword which inflicted the wound. “As late as 1600 a German writer would
illustrate a thunder-storm destroying a crop of corn by a picture of a dragon devouring the
produce of the field with his flaming tongue and iron teeth.”

Now if such was the condition of the human intellect only three or four centuries ago, what
must it have been in that dark antiquity when not even the crudest generalizations of Greek
or of Oriental science had been reached? The same mighty power of imagination which now,
restrained and guided by scientific principles, leads us to discoveries and inventions, must
then have wildly run riot in mythologic fictions whereby to explain the phenomena of nature.
Knowing nothing whatever of physical forces, of the blind steadiness with which a
given effect invariably follows its cause, the men of primeval antiquity could interpret the
actions of nature only after the analogy of their own actions. The only force they knew
was the force of which they were directly conscious,–the force of will. Accordingly, they
imagined all the outward world to be endowed with volition, and to be directed by it. They
personified everything,–sky, clouds, thunder, sun, moon, ocean, earthquake, whirl-
wind.[9] The comparatively enlightened Athenians of the age of Perikles addressed the
sky as a person, and prayed to it to rain upon their gardens.[10]
9
“No distinction between the animate and inanimate is made in the languages of the
Eskimos, the Choctaws, the Muskoghee, and the Caddo. Only the Iroquois, Cherokee,
and the Algonquin-Lenape have it, so far as is known, and with them it is partial.”
According to the Fijians, “vegetables and stones, nay, even tools and weapons, pots and
canoes, have souls that are immortal, and that, like the souls of men, pass on at last to
Mbulu, the abode of departed spirits.”–Mc’Lennan, The Worship of Animals and Plants,
Fortnightly Review, Vol. XII. p, 416.
10
Marcus Aurelius, V. 7. This theory of ancient mythology is not only beautiful and
plausi-ble, it is, in its essential points, demonstrated. It stands on as firm a foundation as
Grimm’s law in philology, or the undulatory theory in molecular physics. It is philology
which has here enabled us to read the primitive thoughts of mankind. A large number of
the names of Greek gods and heroes have no meaning in the Greek language; but these
names occur also in Sanskrit, with plain physical meanings. In the Veda we find Zeus or
Jupiter (Dyaus-pitar) meaning the sky, and Sarameias or Hermes, meaning the breeze of a
summer morning. We find Athene (Ahana), meaning the light of daybreak; and we are
thus enabled to understand why the Greek described her as sprung from the forehead of
Zeus. There too we find Helena (Sarama), the fickle twilight, whom the Panis, or night-
demons, who serve as the prototypes of the Hellenic Paris, strive to seduce from her
allegiance to the solar monarch. Even Achilleus (Aharyu) again confronts us, with his
captive Briseis (Brisaya’s offspring); and the fierce Kerberos (Carvara) barks on Vedic
ground in strict conformity to the laws of phonetics.[11] Now, when the Hindu talked
about Father Dyaus, or the sleek kine of Siva, he thought of the personified sky and
clouds; he had not outgrown the primitive mental habits of the race. But the Greek, in
whose language these physical meanings were lost, had long before the Homeric epoch

176
 come to regard Zeus and Hermes, Athene, Helena, Paris, and Achilleus, as mere persons,
and in most cases the originals of his myths were completely forgotten. In the Vedas the
Trojan War is carried on in the sky, between the bright deities and the demons of night;
but the Greek poet, influenced perhaps by some dim historical tradition, has located the
contest on the shore of the Hellespont, and in his mind the actors, though superhuman,
are still completely anthropomorphic. Of the true origin of his epic story he knew as little
as Euhemeros, or Lord Bacon, or the Abbe Banier.

And for calling the moon a mass of dead matter, Anaxagoras came near losing his life. To
the ancients the moon was not a lifeless ball of stones and clods: it was the horned huntress,
Artemis, coursing through the upper ether, or bathing herself in the clear lake; or it was
Aphrodite, protectress of lovers, born of the sea-foam in the East near Cyprus. The clouds
were no bodies of vaporized water: they were cows with swelling udders, driven to the
milking by Hermes, the summer wind; or great sheep with moist fleeces, slain by the
unerring arrows of Bellerophon, the sun; or swan-maidens, flitting across the firmament,
Valkyries hovering over the battle-field to receive the souls of falling heroes; or, again, they
were mighty mountains piled one above another, in whose cavernous recesses the divining-
wand of the storm-god Thor revealed hidden treasures. The yellow-haired sun, Phoibos,
drove westerly all day in his flaming chariot; or perhaps, as Meleagros, retired for a while in
disgust from the sight of men; wedded at eventide the violet light (Oinone, Iole), which he
had forsaken in the morning; sank, as Herakles, upon a blazing funeral-pyre, or, like
Agamemnon, perished in a blood-stained bath; or, as the fish-god, Dagon, swam nightly
through the subterranean waters, to appear eastward again at daybreak. Sometimes Phaethon,
his rash, inexperienced son, would take the reins and drive the solar chariot too near the
earth, causing the fruits to perish, and the grass to wither, and the wells to dry up. Some-
times, too, the great all-seeing divinity, in his wrath at the impiety of men, would shoot
down his scorching arrows, causing pestilence to spread over the land. Still other con-
ceptions clustered around the sun. Now it was the wonderful treasure-house, into which no
one could look and live; and again it was Ixion himself, bound on the fiery wheel in
punishment for violence offered to Here, the queen of the blue air.
11
Some of these etymologies are attacked by Mr. Mahaffy in his Prolegomena to Ancient
History, p. 49. After long consideration I am still disposed to follow Max Muller in
adopting them, with the possible exception of Achilleus. With Mr. Mahaffy’s suggestion
(p. 52) that many of the Homeric legends may have clustered around some historical
basis, I fully agree; as will appear, further on, from my paper on “Juventus Mundi.” After
these illustrations, we shall run no risk of being misunderstood when we define a
myth as, in its origin, an explanation, by the uncivilized mind, of some natural
phenomenon; not an allegory, not an esoteric symbol,–for the ingenuity is wasted
which strives to detect in myths the remnants of a refined primeval science,–but an
explanation. Primitive men had no profound science to perpetuate by means of allegory,
nor were they such sorry pedants as to talk in riddles when plain language would serve
their purpose. Their minds, we may be sure, worked like our own, and when they spoke
of the far-darting sun-god, they meant just what they said, save that where we propound a
scientific theorem, they constructed a myth.[footnote omitted] A thing is said to be
explained when it is classified with other things with which we are already acquainted.
That is the only kind of explanation of which the highest science is capable. We explain
the origin, progress, and ending of a thunder-storm, when we classify the phenomena
presented by it along with other more familiar phenomena of vaporization and
condensation. But the primitive man explained the same thing to his own satisfaction
when he had classified it along with the well-known phenomena of human volition, by
constructing a theory of a great black dragon pierced by the unerring arrows of a
heavenly archer. (emphasis added)

177
Note 25. A taxonomy of myth based on the origin of religion in the reason and pas-
sions of men:

n. 1. “Introduction” to De Natura Deorum Libri Tres, ed. Austin Stickney (Boston, 1881):

The philosophy of religion has to deal with the most important questions which can
occupy the human mind. These regard the existence and nature of those unseen powers
which are felt by man to control both his own inner and outer life, and the visible world
about him. There is one answer ever ready for these questions: religion, older than any
philosophy, offers a body of more or less definite conceptions which constitute the popular
faith; and this faith is realized in the public worship and in the whole religious tone of the
people. (emphasis added)

n. 2. Harry Thurston Peck, Harpers Dictionary of Classical Antiquities (New York, 1898),
Mythologia [footnotes here are mine (B.A.M.)]:

It is safe to say that most myths are the result of man’s observations of nature, whose
various forms are personified as powerful beings by the imaginations of primitive men.
These forms were regarded as in part hostile and in part friendly to man. 92 A more
advanced stage of mental development elaborated these crude conceptions, and began to
regard these beings as acting in accordance with fixed moral laws and endowed with human
forms. Thus we have Anthropomorphism.93 Poets and story-tellers brought the gods into
connection with one another by inventing genealogies for them and building up a whole
political system, presided over by Zeus, the father alike of gods and men. 94 Around the
earlier and ruder fancies95 a wonderful maze was now woven, adorned by all the arts of
poetry and prose and embedded in the nation’s literature. (emphasis added)

n. 3. ibid., Religio:

The gods of the Greeks were originally personifications of the powers of nature, limited
in their activity to that province of nature from the phenomena of which they are
derived. As these phenomena were regarded as acts or sufferings of the gods in question, a
cycle of myths was thus developed. In the minds of the people, the special significance of
these myths necessarily vanished in proportion as the original connection of the gods with
the phenomena of nature receded to the background, while greater prominence was given to
the conception of the gods as personal beings holding sway, primarily in their own province
of nature, and then beyond those limits, and no longer exclusively in connection with the
powers of nature.

In the oldest records of the intellectual life of Greece—the Homeric poems—this transition
has already been carried out. The Homeric deities are exclusively occupied with the govern-
ing of mortals, whose whole life is represented as being under their influence; while traces of
the old connection with the phenomena of nature are rarely found, and the old myths had
long since become unintelligible tales, in which the actions of the gods appeared unreason-
able and immoral, since their meaning was no longer clear.

92
Thus we have the ultimate rationale productive of myth. As noted in our treatment of mythologems like the
divine descent of Herakles, the mythical additions to a core of fact, as well as embellishments to epic and
dramatic poetry, presuppose an aboriginal invention of myth presupposed to any sort of ‘addition’.
93
Cp. Aristotle on “the rest of the tradition” that has been handed down in the form of myth.
94
Cp. Herodotus on Homer and Hesiod as instructing the Greeks about their gods (= the fabulous theology).
95
Cp. Chesterton on “the natural mystic”, below.

178
 In regard to religion, as in other matters, the Homeric poems are of the utmost importance;
for if in historical times a certain uniformity prevails in the representation of the deities, this
may be traced in no small degree to the influence of Homer and of other poets (especially
Hesiod) who were under his influence, and who gave distinct form to the vague repre-
sentations of an earlier time. Nevertheless this uniformity only existed in a general way; in
detail there was the greatest confusion, for the Greeks never attained to a uniform religious
system and to fixed religious dogma. They possessed only a contradictory and ambiguous
mythology. The only thing which was comparatively established was the traditional worship;
but in this there was great diversity of place and time. (emphasis added)

n. 4. Folk-lore and Fable. Aesop – Grimm – Anderson. (The Harvard Classics. Edited by
Charles W. Eliot LL.D.). Aesop, retold by Joseph Jacobs. Introductory Note:96

The habit of telling stories is one of the most primitive characteristics of the human race. The
most ancient civilizations, the most barbarous savages, of whom we have any know-ledge
have yielded to investigators clear traces of the possession of this practise. The speci-mens
of their narrative that have been gathered from all the ends of the earth and from the remotest
times of which we have written record show traces of purpose, now religious and didactic,
now patriotic and political; but behind or beside the purpose one can discern the permanent
human delight in the story for its own sake.
The oldest of stories are the myths: not the elaborated and sophisticated tales that one
finds in, say, Greek epic and drama, but the myth pure and simple. This is the answer of
primitive science to the question of the barbaric child, the explanation of the thunder
or the rain, of the origin of man or of fire, of disease or death. The form of such myths
is accounted for by the belief known as “animism,” which assumed personality in every
object and phenomenon, and conceived no distinction in the kind of existence of a man,
a dog, a tree, or a stone. Such myths are still told among, e. g., the American Indians, and
the assumption just mentioned accounts for such features as the transformation of the same
being from a man into a log or a fish, or the marriage of a coyote and a woman. Derived
from this state of belief and showing signs of their origin, are such animal stories as form the
basis of the artistically worked-up tales of “Uncle Remus.”
Thus in primitive myth, the divinities of natural forces are not personifications, for there
was no figure of speech involved; the storm, the ocean, and the plague were to the myth-
makers actually persons. The symbolical element in literary myths is a later development,
possible only as man gradually arrived at the realization of his separateness in kind from
the non-human objects of his senses. With this realization came the attempt to adapt the
myths that had come down from more primitive times to his new way of thinking, and the
long process of making the myths reasonable and credible set in.
But while the higher myths were being thus transformed into the religions of the civilized
man, the ways of thinking that had produced them in their original form survived to some
extent in stories of less dignity, which made no pretensions to be either science or religion
but which were told only because they entertained. Tales of this kind have come down from
mouth to mouth in less sophisticated communities to our own day, and are now being killed
out only by the printing press and the diffusion of the art of reading.
Far earlier written down, but less primitive in kind, are the Æsopic Fables. In these alle-
gorical tales, the form of the old animistic story is used without any belief in the identity of
the personalities of men and animals, but with a conscious double meaning and for the
purpose of teaching a lesson. The fable is a product not of the folk but of the learned; and
though at times it has been handed down by word of mouth, it is really a literary form.
(emphasis added)

96
(http://www.bartelby.com/br/01701.html [10/13/03])

179
n. 5. On the origin of pagan mythology among the Greeks, cf. Edward Bulwer-Lytton,
Athens: Its Rise and Fall (London, 1837), Book I, Chapter 2, sec. IX:

The mythology of the early Greeks may perhaps be derived from the following principal
sources:—First, the worship of natural objects;—and of divinities so formed, the most
unequivocally national will obviously be those most associated with their mode of life and
the influences of their climate. When the savage first intrusts the seed to the bosom of the
earth—when, through a strange and unaccountable process, he beholds what he buried
in one season spring forth the harvest of the next—the EARTH itself, the mysterious
garner, the benign, but sometimes the capricious reproducer of the treasures com-
mitted to its charge—becomes the object of the wonder, the hope, and the fear, which
are the natural origin of adoration and prayer. Again, when he discovers the influence
of the heaven upon the growth of his labour—when, taught by experience, he acknow-
ledges its power to blast or to mellow—then, by the same process of ideas, the
HEAVEN also assumes the character of divinity, and becomes a new agent, whose
wrath is to be propitiated, whose favour is to be won. What common sense thus suggests
to us, our researches confirm, and we find accordingly that the Earth and the Heaven are
the earliest deities of the agricultural Pelasgi. As the Nile to the fields of the Egyptian—
earth and heaven to the culture of the Greek. The effects of the SUN upon human labour and
human enjoyment are so sensible to the simplest under-standing, that we cannot wonder to
find that glorious luminary among the most popular deities of ancient nations. Why search
through the East to account for its worship in Greece? More easy to suppose that the
inhabitants of a land, whom the sun so especially favoured—saw and blessed it, for it was
good, than, amid innumerable contradictions and extravagant assumptions, to decide upon
that remoter shore, whence was transplanted a deity, whose effects were so benignant, whose
worship was so natural, to the Greeks. And in the more plain belief we are also borne out by
the more sound inductions of learning. For it is noticeable that neither the moon nor the stars
—favourite divinities with those who enjoyed the serene nights, or inhabited the broad plains
of the East—were (though probably admitted among the Pelasgic deities) honoured with that
intense and reverent worship which attended them in Asia and in Egypt. To the Pelasgi, not
yet arrived at the intellectual stage of philo-sophical contemplation, the most sensible objects
of influence would be the most earnestly adored. What the stars were to the East, their own
beautiful Aurora, awaking them to the delight of their genial and temperate climate, was to
the early Greeks. Of deities, thus created from external objects, some will rise out (if I
may use the expression) of natural accident and local circumstance. An earthquake will
connect a deity with the earth—an inundation with the river or the sea. The Grecian soil
bears the marks of maritime revolution; many of the tribes were settled along the coast, and
perhaps had already adventured their rafts upon the main. A deity of the sea (without any
necessary revelation from Africa) is, therefore, among the earliest of the Grecian gods. The
attributes of each deity will be formed from the pursuits and occupations of the worshippers
—sanguinary with the warlike—gentle with the peaceful. The pastoral Pelasgi of Arcadia
honoured the pastoral Pan for ages before he was received by their Pelasgic brotherhood of
Attica. And the agricultural Demeter or Ceres will be recognised among many tribes of the
agricultural Pelasgi, which no Egyptian is reputed, even by tradition [footnote omitted], to
have visited.

The origin of prayer is in the sense of dependence, and in the instinct of self-preser-
vation or self-interest. The first objects of prayer to the infant man will be those on
which by his localities he believes himself to be most dependant for whatever blessing
his mode of life inclines him the most to covet, or from which may come whatever peril
his instinct will teach him the most to deprecate and fear. It is this obvious truth which
destroys all the erudite systems that would refer the different creeds of the heathen to
some single origin.

180
Till the earth be the same in each region—till the same circumstances surround every tribe—
different impressions, in nations yet unconverted and uncivilized, produce different deities.
Nature suggests a God, and man invests him with attributes. Nature and man, the same as a
whole, vary in details; the one does not everywhere suggest the same notions—the other
cannot everywhere imagine the same attributes. As with other tribes, so with the Pelasgi or
primitive Greeks, their early gods were the creatures of their own early impressions.

As one source of religion was in external objects, so another is to be found in internal

sensations and emotions. The passions are so powerful in their effects upon individuals and
nations, that we can be little surprised to find those effects attributed to the instigation and
influence of a supernatural being. Love is individualized and personified in nearly all
mythologies; and LOVE therefore ranks among the earliest of the Grecian gods. Fear
or terror, whose influence is often so strange, sudden, and unaccountable—seizing even
the bravest—spreading through numbers with all the speed of an electric sympathy—
and deciding in a moment the destiny of an army or the ruin of a tribe—is another of
those passions, easily supposed the afflatus of some preternatural power, and easily,
therefore, susceptible of personification. And the pride of men, more especially if
habitually courageous and warlike, will gladly yield to the credulities which shelter a
degrading and unwonted infirmity beneath the agency of a superior being. TERROR, there-
fore, received a shape and found an altar probably as early at least as the heroic age. Accor-
ding to Plutarch, Theseus sacrificed to Terror previous to his battle with the Amazons;—an
idle tale, it is true, but proving, perhaps, the antiquity of a tradition. As society advanced
from barbarism arose more intellectual creations—as cities were built, and as in the constant
flux and reflux of martial tribes cities were overthrown, the elements of the social state grew
into personification, to which influence was attributed and reverence paid. Thus were fixed
into divinity and shape, ORDER, PEACE, JUSTICE, and the stern and gloomy ORCOS
[27], witness of the oath, avenger of the perjury.

This, the second source of religion, though more subtle and refined in its creations, had
still its origin in the same human causes as the first, viz., anticipation of good and
apprehension of evil. Of deities so created, many, however, were the inventions of poets—
(poetic metaphor is a fruitful mother of mythological fable)—many also were the graceful
refinements of a subsequent age. But some (and nearly all those I have enumerated) may be
traced to the earliest period to which such researches can ascend. It is obvious that the eldest
would be connected with the passions—the more modern with the intellect.

It seems to me apparent that almost simultaneously with deities of these two classes would
arise the greater and more influential class of personal divinities which gradually expanded
into the heroic dynasty of Olympus. The associations which one tribe, or one generation,
united with the heaven, the earth, or the sun, another might obviously connect, or confuse,
with a spirit or genius inhabiting or influencing the element or physical object which excited
their anxiety or awe: And, this creation effected—so what one tribe or generation might
ascribe to the single personification of a passion, a faculty, or a moral and social principle,
another would just as naturally refer to a personal and more complex deity:—that which in
one instance would form the very nature of a superior being, in the other would form only an
attribute—swell the power and amplify the character of a Jupiter, a Mars, a Venus, or a Pan.
It is in the nature of man, that personal divinities once created and adored, should pre-
sent more vivid and forcible images to his fancy than abstract personifications of phy-
sical objects and moral impressions. Thus, deities of this class would gradually rise into
pre-eminence and popularity above those more vague and incorporeal—and (though I guard
myself from absolutely solving in this manner the enigma of ancient theogonies) the family
of Jupiter could scarcely fail to possess themselves of the shadowy thrones of the ancestral
Earth and the primeval Heaven.

181
 A third source of the Grecian, as of all mythologies, was in the worship of men who had
actually existed, or been supposed to exist. For in this respect errors might creep into the
calendar of heroes, as they did into the calendar of saints (the hero-worship of the moderns),
which has canonized many names to which it is impossible to find the owners. This was
probably the latest, but perhaps in after-times the most influential and popular addition to the
aboriginal faith. The worship of dead men once established, it was natural to a people so
habituated to incorporate and familiarize religious impressions—to imagine that even their
primary gods, first formed from natural impressions (and, still more, those deities they had
borrowed from stranger creeds)—should have walked the earth. And thus among the
multitude in the philosophical ages, even the loftiest of the Olympian dwellers were vaguely
supposed to have known humanity;—their immortality but the apotheosis of the benefactor
or the hero. (emphasis added)

Note that the “personification” involved in the most primitive form of myth-making is
most decidedly not the rhetorical device described by C.S. Lewis 97 and familiar from
medieval allegories like the Roman de la Rose; rather, as Joseph Jacobs has well explained
above, it consists in attributing volition to the powers of nature, such that the divine is
apprehended in its workings.

n. 6. David Hume, The Natural History of Religion (1757), sec. 7:

7. It seems certain, that, according to the natural progress of human thought, the ignorant
multitude must first entertain some groveling and familiar notion of superior powers, before
they stretch their conception to that perfect being, who bestowed order on the whole frame
of nature. We may as reasonably imagine, that men inhabited palaces before huts and cot-
tages, or studied geometry before agriculture; as assert that the Deity appeared to them a
pure spirit, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, before he was apprehended to be a
powerful, though limited being, with human passions and appetites, limbs and organs. The
mind rises gradually, from inferior to superior: By abstracting from what is imperfect, it
forms an idea of perfection: And slowly distinguishing the nobler parts of its own frame
from the grosser, it learns to transfer only the former, much elevated and refined, to its
divinity. Nothing could disturb this natural progress of thought, but some obvious and invin-
cible argument, which might immediately lead the mind into the pure principles of theism,
and make it overlap, at one bound, the vast interval which is interposed between the human
and the divine nature. But though I allow, that the order and frame of the universe, when
accurately examined, affords such an argument; yet I can never think, that this consideration
could have an influence on mankind, when they formed their first rude notions of religion….

If we would, therefore, indulge our curiosity, in enquiring concerning the origin of religion,
we must turn our thoughts toward polytheism, the primitive religion of uninstructed man-
kind…. We may conclude, therefore, that, in all nations, which have embraced polytheism,
the first ideas of religion arose not from a contemplation of the works of nature, but from a
concern with regard to the events of life, and from the incessant hopes and fears, which
actuate the human mind.

n. 6. Baron D’Holbach, Good Sense: or, Natural Ideas Opposed to Supernatural.

(excerpted above)

97
Cf. The Allegory of Love: A Study in Medieval Tradition (Oxford, 1936, rpt. New York, 1958), p. 44
supra.

182
n. 7. N.B. For the Judeo-Christian alternative to polytheism, cf. Athenagoras, A Plea
Regarding Christians by Athenagoras, the Athenian, a Philosopher and a Christian (Early
Christian Fathers, Cyril C. Richardson), n. 9:

9. Were we satisfied with such reasoning, one would think our doctrine was human. But
prophetic voices confirm our arguments. Seeing how learned and well-informed you are, I
suppose that you are not unaware of Moses, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the rest of the prophets.
Under the impulse of the divine Spirit and raised above their own thoughts, they proclaimed
the things with which they were inspired. For the Spirit used them just as a flute player
blows on a flute. What, then, did they say? “The Lord is our God: no other can be compared
with him.”855 Or again, “I am God the first and the last; and apart from me there is no
god.”856 Similarly: “Before me there was no other god, and after me there shall be none. I am
God, and there is none besides me.”857 Then, concerning his greatness: “Heaven is my throne
and earth is my footstool. What kind of house will you build for me, or in what place shall I
rest?”858 But I leave it to you, when you come on their books, to examine their prophecies in
more detail, so that you will have good reason to dispel the false accusations brought against
us.
855
Ex. 20:2, 3.
856
Isa. 44:6.
857
Isa. 43:10, 11.
858
Isa. 66:1.

N.B. Having considered theories of the origin of natural religion, let us return to the form
assumed by the earliest forms of myth.

183
Note 26. That myths are not allegories, but rather imaginative intuitions of trans-
cendental truths (= the symbolic representation of truths by the ‘natural mystic’):

n. 1. G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man (1925), Part I, On the Man Called Christ, ch.
5, “Man and Mythologies”:

It is often said that pagan mythology was a personification of the powers of nature. The
phrase is true in a sense, but it is very unsatisfactory because it implies that the forces are
abstractions and the personification is artificial. Myths are not allegories. Natural powers are
not in this case abstractions. It is not as if there were a God of Gravitation. There may be a
genius of the waterfall; but not of mere falling, even less than of mere water. The imperson-
ation is not of something impersonal. The point is that the personality perfects the water with
significance. Father Christmas is not an allegory of snow and holly; he is not merely the stuff
called snow afterwards artificially given a human form, like a snow man. He is something
that gives a new meaning to the white world and the evergreens, so that snow itself seems to
be warm rather than cold. The test therefore is purely imaginative. But imaginative does not
mean imaginary. It does not follow that it is all what the moderns call subjective, when they
mean false. Every true artist does feel, consciously or unconsciously, that he is touching
transcendental truths; that his images are shadows of things seen through the veil. In other
words, the natural mystic does know that there is something there; something behind the
clouds or within the trees; but he believes that the pursuit of beauty is the way to find it; that
imagination is a sort of incantation that can call it up.

n. 2. On the artist’s perception of beauty at issue here, cf. G. K. Chesterton, Commentary

on The Way of the Cross (1935):

It is necessary to note first that any commentary [on a work of art] may be a matter of
controversy; for there is now a general controversy about whether there should be any
commentary at all. For some, any suggestion of spiritual significance in a picture is
somehow entangled with the idea of treating it as a mere anecdote; or, what is often worse,
as a mere allegory. …But if we ask ourselves what such beauty is, or why it is beautiful, we
soon find that we have not (as we fondly hoped) escaped from thinking or the world of ideas.
That our pleasure is animal or accidental, or even a sight that pleases the eye as a taste may
please the tongue, is inconsistent with the intensity and implicit infinity of the feeling itself.
We may despair of prose and take refuge in verse, as did the poet who wrote:—

What are the names for Beauty? Who shall praise

God’s pledge He can fulfil His creatures’ eyes?
Or what strong words of what creative phrase
Determine Beauty’s title in the skies?

But most of us have an instant inward conviction that it is a title in the skies; that is[,] a
reality, though not expressed in reason or speech; that it is the unfolding of transcendental
truth. It may be disputed how far every artist, including some of the greatest artists of the
past, knew exactly what he meant; in the rather narrow sense of wanting to translate it into
words. It may often be disputed, and that somewhat violently, by the artist himself, whether
the critic has even approximately translated it into words. But even then it is always possible
that the critic has seen another part of the same cosmic pattern; if once we admit that beauty
is real, in being part of the cosmic design.

n. 3. Cf. G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man, op. cit.:

184
 Now we do not comprehend this process in ourselves, far less in our most remote fellow-
creatures. And the danger of these things being classified is that they may seem to be com-
prehended. A really fine work of folklore, like The Golden Bough, will leave too many
readers with the idea, for instance, that this or that story of a giant’s or wizard’s heart in a
casket or a cave only ‘means’ some stupid and static superstition called ‘the external soul.’
But we do not know what these things mean, simply because we do not know what we our-
selves mean when we are moved by them. Suppose somebody in a story says ‘Pluck this
flower and a princess will die in a castle beyond the sea,’ we do not know why something
stirs in the subconsciousness, or why what is impossible seems almost inevitable. Suppose
we read ‘And in the hour when the king extinguished the candle his ships were wrecked far
away on the coast of Hebrides.’ We do not know why the imagination has accepted that
image before the reason can reject it; or why such correspondences seem really to corres-
pond to something in the soul. Very deep things in our nature, some dim sense of the depen-
dence of great things upon small, some dark suggestion that the things nearest to us stretch
far beyond our power, some sacramental feeling of the magic in material substances, and
many more emotions past finding out, are in an idea like that of the external soul. …They
have the sort of sincerity that they always had; the sincerity of art as a symbol that expresses
very real spiritualities under the surface of life. <….> Behind all these things is the fact that
beauty and terror are very real things and related to a real spiritual world; and to touch them
at all, even in doubt or fancy, is to stir the deep things of the soul.

n. 4. George Roche, “The Curious Faiths of Anti-Heroism”, from A World Without

Heroes: The Modern Tragedy [Taken from Imprimis, the monthly journal of Hillsdale
College. December 1987, Vol. 16, No. 12.]:

What we learn from myths is not that there are giants with one eye, or that the cow jumped
over the moon, or even that the Bastille held only seven old men. We learn that men are
poets and mystics moved by the mysteries of life and the divine powers of nature. We
learn that we who are human yearn to share in the mysteries about us, yearn to add
meaning to mystery by personalizing it, yearn to finish the tales. Always our myths
bespeak our wonder that Nature is, precisely, unnatural, a thing touched somehow by
divinity. Should the story tell us, said Chesterton, that when we pluck a certain flower a
princess in a castle across the sea will die, a thing impossible seems almost inevitable; our
imagination accepts it before cold reason can say nay. Scientific literalism may sneer that
this defies the laws of Nature, but cannot explain why our heart leaps and our blood pounds.
In truth, the Nature we are part of is larger and far more beautiful than is seen by the anti-
hero literalist. Pity the sad soul who must regard a tale in “scientific” terms, for this is the
only way it can be completely misunderstood. Adds Chesterton, “. . . he who has no
sympathy with myths has no sympathy with men.” The one thing we can say about myths is
that they are not lies. Myths are men’s stories, a common heritage of all peoples. They have
always been—until the rise of the anti-hero—a reflection of something very deep in our
nature, and a common source, in symbolic language, of the transcendent truths that bind us
in human society. Who, except in a truly natural, wonderless world, would say that a tale is
nonsense and that dreams cannot come true? But if we inhabited such a world, men
themselves would have been wonderless things, unable ever to spin myths. And here we see
what this odd dispute about mythology is really about. Mythology has always had religious
overtones, reflecting the quest of man’s soul for its rightful home. This the anti-hero must
ruthlessly suppress. There is no scrap of room in his lonely cosmos for anything unnatural or
divine. No hint of the miraculous or even the imaginative may intrude. But the anti-hero’s
“scientific” literalism gives us a world far too prosaic for our spirit, our imagination, our
humanness—and we hate it. We are forever un-happy in it. It gives us nothing but
earthbound appetites when we long to soar above our-selves. All our great myth-makers
know better than this, and give us wings for starlit skies. (emphasis added)

185
n. 5. Stratford Caldecott, “Was Chesterton a Theologian?” From The Chesterton Review,
November 1999:

Against the “liberal” theologians and so-called “free-thinkers” he asserted that it is the
dogmas of Christianity – the dogma of free will, for example – that set us free, and the
refusal to believe them that closes “all the doors of the cosmic prison on us with a clang of
eternal iron.” He loved words and dogmas not for their own sake, but for the sake of the one
Truth, the one Word, the one Reality that shines at the heart of all words and gives them
their strength as it gives them their direction. That one Truth, spoken in the language of the
body and the language of history and incarnate in the man Jesus, speaks itself in many other
fragmentary ways. In fact everything (in its deepest reality) is a word, or a letter in a
word, that refers to him. We see this intensively in Holy Scripture: in the pattern of types
and antitypes, of prophecies and fulfilments, that the Church Fathers loved to dwell upon.
For them as for Chesterton, the symbolism of Scripture merely crowned a symbolic char-
acter present in reality itself.
This comes out in many places, but particularly in William Blake (1910), where Chesterton
speaks of Blake’s “realism”: a “rooted spirituality which is the only enduring sanity of
mankind”. In this Blakean realism, the things we see about us are real because they are
symbols; they are real to the extent they contain within them that which makes them
what they are - the monkeyhood of the monkey, the lambness of the lamb, even the motor-
ishness of the motor car. Similarly at the human level, “The personal is not a mere figure for
the impersonal; rather the impersonal is a clumsy term for something more per-sonal than
common personality. God is not a symbol of goodness. Goodness is a symbol of God.” Thus
God for Blake “was not more and more vague and diaphanous as one came near to Him.
God was more and more solid as one came near. When one was far off one might fancy Him
to be impersonal. When one came into personal relation one knew that He was a person.”
God is the most concrete of all realities; not the most abstract. And so, despite the incon-
sistencies and even heresies he notes in Blake (which he sees as a betrayal of the poetry),
Chesterton enlists him on the side of orthodox Christianity. “Realist” mysticism suits Chris-
tianity down to the ground: all it needs to become sacramental is for God to become in-
carnate at its very centre.
Chesterton writes that the truest religion is the most “materialistic”. An incarnational or
sacramental quality runs right through Christianity like a kind of watermark (at least
in its Catholic and Orthodox traditions). Only through the incarnation of God does the
material substance of the world become more than the illusion it must be for all other reli-
gions and philosophies – because, of course, for them it is doomed to come to an end. That is
how Chesterton saw things, and it means that he has seized on the one point that really
makes Christianity unique and unassimilable. (emphasis added)

186
Note 27. On seeing “another part of the same cosmic pattern”: Artists as the
interpreters of the infinite perfections of God:

n. 1. Pope Pius XII, “The Function of Art”, An address by His Holiness to a group of
Italian artists received in audience on April 8, 1952

4. It is needless to explain to you—who feel it within yourselves, often as a noble tor-ment

—one of the essential characteristics of art, which consists in a certain intrinsic ‘affinity’ of
art with religion, which in certain ways renders artists interpreters of the infinite perfections
of God, and particularly of the beauty and harmony of God’s creation.
5. The function of all art lies in fact in breaking through the narrow and tortuous enclosure
of the finite, in which man is immersed while living here below, and in providing a window
to the infinite for his hungry soul.
6. Thus it follows that any effort—and it would be a vain one, indeed—aimed at denying
or suppressing any relation between art and religion must impair art itself. Whatever artistic
beauty one may wish to grasp in the world, in nature and in man, in order to express it in
sound, in color, or in plays for the masses, such beauty cannot prescind from God. Whatever
exists is bound to Him by an essential relationship. Hence, there is not, neither in life nor in
art—be it intended as an expression of the subject or as an interpretation of the object—the
exclusively “human,” the exclusively “natural” or “immanent.”
7. The greater the clarity with which art mirrors the infinite, the divine, the greater will be
its possibility for success in striving toward its ideal and true, artistic accomplishment. Thus,
the more an artist lives religion, the better prepared he will be to speak the language of art, to
understand its harmonies, to communicate its emotions.

In sum:

1. The infinite perfections of God are visible in the beauty and harmony of His creation,
and artists are interpreters of these things.
2. Living here below man is immersed in the narrow and tortuous enclosure of the finite.
The function of art lies in breaking through this finitude and providing a window to the
infinite for the artist’s hungry soul.
3. Whatever exists is bound to God by an essential relationship. Hence the artistic beauty
to be grasped in the world, in nature, and in man—beauty grasped in order to be ex-
pressed in the media of sound and color, or in dramatic works—cannot prescind from
Him.

n. 2. Joseph Conrad, Preface to The Nigger of the Narcissus (1897):

A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in
every line. And art itself may be defined as a single-minded attempt to render the highest
kind of justice to the visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, under-
lying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in its colors, in its light, in its life,
in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and in the facts of life, what of each is fundamental,
what is enduring and essential—their one illuminating and convincing quality—the very
truth of their existence. The artist, then, like the thinker or the scientist, seeks the truth and
makes his appeal.

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Supplement. Symbolism and Mythology:

n. 1. Albert G. Mackey, The Symbolism of Freemasonry’, The Legends of Freemasonry:

The Legends of Freemasonry

The compound character of a speculative science and an operative art, which the masonic in-
stitution assumed at the building of King Solomon’s temple, in consequence of the union, at
that era, of the Pure Freemasonry of the Noachidae 140 with the Spurious Freemasonry of the
Tyrian workmen, has supplied it with two distinct kinds of symbols—the mythical , or
legendary , and the material ; but these are so thoroughly united in object and design, that it
is impossible to appreciate the one without an investigation of the other.

Thus, by way of illustration, it may be observed, that the temple itself has been adopted as a
material symbol of the world (as I have already shown in former articles), while the legen-
dary history of the fate of its builder is a mythical symbol of man’s destiny in the world.
Whatever is visible or tangible to the senses in our types and emblems— such as the imple-
ments of operative masonry, the furniture and ornaments of a lodge, or the ladder of seven
steps—is a material symbol; while whatever derives its existence from tradition, and pre-
sents itself in the form of an allegory or legend, is a mythical symbol. Hiram the Builder,
therefore, and all that refers to the legend of his connection with the temple, and his fate,—-
such as the sprig of acacia, the hill near Mount Moriah, and the lost word,—are to be con-
sidered as belonging to the class of mythical or legendary symbols.

And this division is not arbitrary, but depends on the nature of the types and the aspect in
which they present themselves to our view.

Thus the sprig of acacia, although it is material, visible, and tangible, is, nevertheless, not to
be treated as a material symbol; for, as it derives all its significance from its intimate connec-
tion with the legend of Hiram Abif, which is a mythical symbol, it cannot, without a violent
and inexpedient disruption, be separated from the same class. For the same reason, the small
hill near Mount Moriah, the search of the twelve Fellow Crafts, and the whole train of cir-
cumstances connected with the lost word, are to be viewed simply as mythical or legendary,
and not as material symbols.

These legends of Freemasonry constitute a considerable and a very important part of its
ritual. Without them, the most valuable portions of the masonic as a scientific system would
cease to exist. It is, in fact, in the traditions and legends of Freemasonry, more, even, than in
its material symbols, that we are to find the deep religious instruction which the institution is
intended to inculcate. It must be remembered that Freemasonry has been defined to be “a
system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols.” Symbols, then, alone, do
not constitute the whole of the system: allegory comes in for its share; and this allegory,
which veils the divine truths of masonry, is presented to the neophyte in the various legends
which have been traditionally preserved in the order.

The close connection, at least in design and method of execution, between the institution of
Freemasonry and the ancient Mysteries, which were largely imbued with the mythical
character of the ancient religions, led, undoubtedly, to the introduction of the same mythical
character into the masonic system.

So general, indeed, was the diffusion of the myth or legend among the philosophical,
historical, and religious systems of antiquity, that Heyne remarks, on this subject, that
all the history and philosophy of the ancients proceeded from myths.141

188
The word myth, from the Greek Greek: my~thos, a story , in its original acceptation, signified
simply a statement or narrative of an event, without any necessary implication of truth
or falsehood; but, as the word is now used, it conveys the idea of a personal narrative of
remote date, which, although not necessarily untrue, is certified only by the internal
evidence of the tradition itself.142

Creuzer, in his “Symbolik,” says that myths and symbols were derived, on the one
hand, from the helpless condition and the poor and scanty beginnings of religious
knowledge among the ancient peoples, and on the other, from the benevolent designs of
the priests educated in the East, or of Eastern origin, to form them to a purer and
higher knowledge.

But the observations of that profoundly philosophical historian, Mr. Grote, give so correct a
view of the probable origin of this universality of the mythical element in all the ancient
religions, and are, withal, so appropriate to the subject of masonic legends which I am now
about to discuss, that I cannot justly refrain from a liberal quotation of his remarks.

“The allegorical interpretation of the myths,” he says, “has been, by several learned in-
vestigators, especially by Creuzer, connected with the hypothesis of an ancient and highly-
instructed body of priests, having their origin either in Egypt or the East, and communicating
to the rude and barbarous Greeks religious, physical, and historical knowledge, under the
veil of symbols. At a time (we are told) when language was yet in its infancy, visible sym-
bols were the most vivid means of acting upon the minds of ignorant hearers. The next step
was to pass to symbolical language and expressions; for a plain and literal exposition, even if
understood at all, would at least have been listened to with indifference, as not corres-
ponding with any mental demand. In such allegorizing way, then, the early priests set forth
their doctrines respecting God, nature, and humanity,—a refined monotheism and theo-
logical philosophy,—and to this purpose the earliest myths were turned. But another class of
myths, more popular and more captivating, grew up under the hands of the poets—myths
purely epical, and descriptive of real or supposed past events. The allegorical myths, being
taken up by the poets, insensibly became confounded in the same category with the purely
narrative myths; the matter symbolized was no longer thought of, while the symbolizing
words came to be construed in their own literal meaning, and the basis of the early allegory,
thus lost among the general public, was only preserved as a secret among various religious
fraternities, composed of members allied together by initiation in certain mystical
ceremonies, and administered by hereditary families of presiding priests.

“In the Orphic and Bacchic sects, in the Eleusinian and Samothracian Mysteries, was thus
treasured up the secret doctrine of the old theological and philosophical myths, which had
once constituted the primitive legendary stock of Greece in the hands of the original
priesthood and in the ages anterior to Homer. Persons who had gone through the preliminary
ceremonies of initiation were permitted at length to hear, though under strict obligation of
secrecy, this ancient religion and cosmogonic doctrine, revealing the destination of man and
the certainty of posthumous rewards and punishments, all disengaged from the corruptions
of poets, as well as from the symbols and allegories under which they still remained buried
in the eyes of the vulgar. The Mysteries of Greece were thus traced up to the earliest ages,
and represented as the only faithful depositaries of that purer theology and physics which
had been originally communicated, though under the unavoidable inconvenience of a sym-
bolical expression, by an enlightened priesthood, coming from abroad, to the then rude
barbarians of the country.” 143

189
In this long but interesting extract we find not only a philosophical account of the origin and
design of the ancient myths, but a fair synopsis of all that can be taught in relation to the
symbolical construction of Freemasonry, as one of the depositaries of a mythical theology.

The myths of Masonry, at first perhaps nothing more than the simple traditions of the Pure
Freemasonry of the antediluvian system, having been corrupted and misunderstood in the
separation of the races, were again purified, and adapted to the inculcation of truth, at first by
the disciples of the Spurious Freemasonry, and then, more fully and perfectly, in the devel-
opment of that system which we now practise. And if there be any leaven of error still re-
maining in the interpretation of our masonic myths, we must seek to disengage them from
the corruptions with which they have been invested by ignorance and by misinterpretation.
We must give to them their true significance, and trace them back to those ancient doctrines
and faith whence the ideas which they are intended to embody were derived.

The myths or legends which present themselves to our attention in the course of a complete
study of the symbolic system of Freemasonry may be considered as divided into three
classes:—

1. The historical myth.

2. The philosophical myth.
3. The mythical history.

And these three classes may be defined as follows:—

1. The myth may be engaged in the transmission of a narrative of early deeds and events,
having a foundation in truth, which truth, however, has been greatly distorted and perverted
by the omission or introduction of circumstances and personages, and then it constitutes the
historical myth.

2. Or it may have been invented and adopted as the medium of enunciating a particular
thought, or of inculcating a certain doctrine, when it becomes a philosophical myth.

3. Or, lastly, the truthful elements of actual history may greatly predominate over the
fictitious and invented materials of the myth, and the narrative may be, in the main, made up
of facts, with a slight coloring of imagination, when it forms a mythical history.144

These form the three divisions of the legend or myth (for I am not disposed, on the present
occasion, like some of the German mythological writers, to make a distinction between the
two words145); and to one of these three divisions we must appropriate every legend which
belongs to the mythical symbolism of Freemasonry.

These masonic myths partake, in their general character, of the nature of the myths which
constituted the foundation of the ancient religions, as they have just been described in the
language of Mr. Grote. Of these latter myths, Müller 146 says that “their source is to be found,
for the most part, in oral tradition,” and that the real and the ideal—that is to say, the facts of
history and the inventions of imagination—concurred, by their union and reciprocal fusion,
in producing the myth.

Those are the very principles that govern the construction of the masonic myths or legends.
These, too, owe their existence entirely to oral tradition, and are made up, as I have just
observed, of a due admixture of the real and the ideal—the true and the false—the facts of
history and the inventions of allegory.

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Dr. Oliver remarks that “the first series of historical facts, after the fall of man, must nece-
ssarily have been traditional, and transmitted from father to son by oral communication.” 147
The same system, adopted in all the Mysteries, has been continued in the masonic insti-
tution; and all the esoteric instructions contained in the legends of Freemasonry are for-
bidden to be written, and can be communicated only in the oral intercourse of Freemasons
with each other.148

De Wette, in his Criticism on the Mosaic History, lays down the test by which a myth is to
be distinguished from a strictly historical narrative, as follows, namely: that the myth must
owe its origin to the intention of the inventor not to satisfy the natural thirst for historical
truth by a simple narration of facts, but rather to delight or touch the feelings, or to illustrate
some philosophical or religious truth.

This definition precisely fits the character of the myths of Masonry. Take, for instance, the
legend of the master’s degree, or the myth of Hiram Abif. As “a simple narration of facts,” it
is of no great value—certainly not of value commensurate with the labor that has been
engaged in its transmission. Its invention—by which is meant, not the invention or imagi-
nation of all the incidents of which it is composed, for there are abundant materials of the
true and real in its details, but its invention or composition in the form of a myth by the addi-
tion of some features, the suppression of others, and the general arrangement of the whole
—was not intended to add a single item to the great mass of history, but altogether, as De
Wette says, “to illustrate a philosophical or religious truth,” which truth, it is hardly neces-
sary for me to say, is the doctrine of the immortality of the soul.

It must be evident, from all that has been said respecting the analogy in origin and design
between the masonic and the ancient religious myths, that no one acquainted with the true
science of this subject can, for a moment, contend that all the legends and traditions of the
order are, to the very letter, historical facts. All that can be claimed for them is, that in some
there is simply a substratum of history, the edifice constructed on this foundation being
purely inventive, to serve us a medium for inculcating some religious truth; in others,
nothing more than an idea to which the legend or myth is indebted for its existence, and of
which it is, as a symbol, the exponent; and in others, again, a great deal of truthful narrative,
more or less intermixed with fiction, but the historical always predominating.

Thus there is a legend, contained in some of our old records, which states that Euclid was a
distinguished Mason, and that he introduced Masonry among the Egyptians. 149 Now, it is not
at all necessary to the orthodoxy of a Mason’s creed that he should literally believe that
Euclid, the great geometrician, was really a Freemason, and that the ancient Egyptians were
indebted to him for the establishment of the institution among them. Indeed, the palpable
anachronism in the legend which makes Euclid the contemporary of Abraham necessarily
prohibits any such belief, and shows that the whole story is a sheer invention. The intelligent
Mason, however, will not wholly reject the legend, as ridiculous or absurd; but, with a due
sense of the nature and design of our system of symbolism, will rather accept it as what, in
the classification laid down on a preceding page, would be called “a philosophical myth”—-
an ingenious method of conveying, symbolically, a masonic truth.

Euclid is here very appropriately used as a type of geometry, that science of which he was so
eminent a teacher, and the myth or legend then symbolizes the fact that there was in Egypt a
close connection between that science and the great moral and religious system, which was
among the Egyptians, as well as other ancient nations, what Freemasonry is in the present
day—a secret institution, established for the inculcation of the same principles, and
inculcating them in the same symbolic manner. So interpreted, this legend corresponds to all
the developments of Egyptian history, which teach us how close a connection existed in that

191
country between the religious and scientific systems. Thus Kenrick tells us, that “when we
read of foreigners in Egypt being obliged to submit to painful and tedious ceremonies of
initiation, it was not that they might learn the secret meaning of the rites of Osiris or Isis, but
that they might partake of the knowledge of astronomy, physic, geometry, and theology.” 150

Another illustration will be found in the myth or legend of the Winding Stairs, by which the
Fellow Crafts are said to have ascended to the middle chamber to receive their wages. Now,
this myth, taken in its literal sense, is, in all its parts, opposed to history and probability. As a
myth, it finds its origin in the fact that there was a place in the temple called the “Middle
Chamber,” and that there were “winding stairs” by which it was reached; for we read, in the
First Book of Kings, that “they went up with winding stairs into the middle chamber.” 151 But
we have no historical evidence that the stairs were of the construction, or that the chamber
was used for the purpose, indicated in the mythical narrative, as it is set forth in the ritual of
the second degree. The whole legend is, in fact, an historical myth, in which the mystic
number of the steps, the process of passing to the chamber, and the wages there received, are
inventions added to or ingrafted on the fundamental history contained in the sixth chapter of
Kings, to inculcate important symbolic instruction relative to the principles of the order.
These lessons might, it is true, have been inculcated in a dry, didactic form; but the
allegorical and mythical method adopted tends to make a stronger and deeper impression on
the mind, and at the same time serves more closely to connect the institution of Masonry
with the ancient temple.

Again: the myth which traces the origin of the institution of Freemasonry to the beginning of
the world, making its commencement coeval with the creation,—a myth which is, even at
this day, ignorantly interpreted, by some, as an historical fact, and the reference to which is
still preserved in the date of “anno lucis,” which is affixed to all masonic documents,—is but
a philosophical myth, symbolizing the idea which analogically connects the creation of
physical light in the universe with the birth of masonic or spiritual and intellectual light in
the candidate. The one is the type of the other. When, therefore, Preston says that “from the
commencement of the world we may trace the foundation of Masonry,” and when he goes
on to assert that “ever since symmetry began, and harmony displayed her charms, our order
has had a being,” we are not to suppose that Preston intended to teach that a masonic lodge
was held in the Garden of Eden. Such a supposition would justly subject us to the ridicule of
every intelligent person. The only idea intended to be conveyed is this: that the principles of
Freemasonry, which, indeed, are entirely independent of any special organization which it
may have as a society, are coeval with the existence of the world; that when God said, “Let
there be light,” the material light thus produced was an antitype of that spiritual light that
must burst upon the mind of every candidate when his intellectual world, theretofore
“without form and void,” becomes adorned and peopled with the living thoughts and divine
principles which constitute the great system of Speculative Masonry, and when the spirit of
the institution, brooding over the vast deep of his mental chaos, shall, from intellectual
darkness, bring forth intellectual light.152

In the legends of the Master’s degree and of the Royal Arch there is a commingling of the
historical myth and the mythical history, so that profound judgment is often required to
discriminate these differing elements. As, for example, the legend of the third degree is, in
some of its details, undoubtedly mythical—in others, just as undoubtedly historical. The
difficulty, however, of separating the one from the other, and of distinguishing the fact from
the fiction, has necessarily produced a difference of opinion on the subject among masonic
writers. Hutchinson, and, after him, Oliver, think the whole legend an allegory or
philosophical myth. I am inclined, with Anderson and the earlier writers, to suppose it a
mythical history. In the Royal Arch degree, the legend of the rebuilding of the temple is
clearly historical; but there are so many accompanying circumstances, which are uncertified,

192
except by oral tradition, as to give to the entire narrative the appearance of a mythical
history. The particular legend of the three weary sojourners is undoubtedly a myth, and
perhaps merely a philosophical one, or the enunciation of an idea—namely, the reward of
successful perseverance, through all dangers, in the search for divine truth.

“To form symbols and to interpret symbols,” says the learned Creuzer, “were the main occu-
pation of the ancient priesthood.” Upon the studious Mason the same task of interpretation
devolves. He who desires properly to appreciate the profound wisdom of the institution of
which he is the disciple, must not be content, with uninquiring credulity, to accept all the
traditions that are imparted to him as veritable histories; nor yet, with unphilosophic
incredulity, to reject them in a mass, as fabulous inventions. In these extremes there is equal
error. “The myth,” says Hermann, “is the representation of an idea.” It is for that idea that
the student must search in the myths of Masonry. Beneath every one of them there is
something richer and more spiritual than the mere narrative. 153 This spiritual essence he must
learn to extract from the ore in which, like a precious metal, it lies imbedded. It is this that
constitutes the true value of Freemasonry. Without its symbols, and its myths or legends, and
the ideas and conceptions which lie at the bottom of them, the time, the labor, and the
expense incurred in perpetuating the institution, would be thrown away. Without them, it
would be a “vain and empty show.” Its grips and signs are worth nothing, except for social
purposes, as mere means of recognition. So, too, would be its words, were it not that they
are, for the most part, symbolic. Its social habits and its charities are but incidental points in
its constitution—of themselves good, it is true, but capable of being attained in a simpler
way. Its true value, as a science, consists in its symbolism—in the great lessons of divine
truth which it teaches, and in the admirable manner in which it accomplishes that teaching.
Every one, therefore, who desires to be a skilful Mason, must not suppose that the task is
accomplished by a perfect knowledge of the mere phraseology of the ritual, by a readiness in
opening and closing a lodge, nor by an off-hand capacity to confer degrees. All these are
good in their places, but without the internal meaning they are but mere child’s play. He
must study the myths, the traditions, and the symbols of the order, and learn their true
interpretation; for this alone constitutes the science and the philosophy—the end, aim, and
design of Speculative Masonry.

140
Noachidae, or Noachites, the descendants of Noah. This patriarch having alone preserved
the true name and worship of God amid a race of impious idolaters, the Freemasons claim to
be his descendants, because they preserve that pure religion which distinguished this second
father of the human race from the rest of the world. (See the author’s Lexicon of
Freemasonry .) The Tyrian workmen at the temple of Solomon were the descendants of that
other division of the race who fell off, at Shinar, from the true worship, and repudiated the
principles of Noah. The Tyrians, however, like many other ancient mystics, had recovered
some portion of the lost light, and the complete repossession was finally achieved by their
union with the Jewish masons, who were Noachidae.

141
“A mythis omnis priscorum hominum tum historia tum philosophia procedit.”— Ad
Apollod. Athen. Biblioth. not. f. p. 3.—And Faber says, “Allegory and personification were
peculiarly agreeable to the genius of antiquity; and the simplicity of truth was continually
sacrificed at the shrine of poetical decoration.”— On the Cabiri.

142
See Grote, History of Greece, vol. i. ch. xvi. p. 479, whence this definition has been
substantially derived. The definitions of Creuzer, Hermann, Buttmann, Heyne, Welcker,
Voss, and Müller are none of them Better, and some of them not as good.

143
Hist. of Greece, vol. i. ch. xvi. p. 579. The idea of the existence of an enlightened people,
who lived at a remote era, and came from the East, was a very prevalent notion among the

193
ancient traditions. It is corroborative of this that the Hebrew word kedem , signifies, in
respect to place, the east , and, in respect to time, olden time, ancient days . The phrase in
Isaiah xix. 11, which reads, “I am the son of the wise, the son of ancient kings,” might just as
well have been translated “the son of kings of the East.” In a note to the passage Ezek. xliii.
2, “the glory of the God of Israel came from the way of the East,” Adam Clarke says, “All
knowledge, all religion, and all arts and sciences, have travelled, according to the course of
the sun , FROM EAST TO WEST!” Bazot tells us (in his Manuel du Franc-maçon, p. 154)
that “the veneration which masons entertain for the east confirms an opinion previously
announced, that the religious system of Masonry came from the east, and has reference to the
primitive religion , whose first corruption was the worship of the sun.” And lastly, the
masonic reader will recollect the answer given in the Leland MS. to the question respecting
the origin of Masonry, namely, “It did begin” (I modernize the orthography) “with the first
men in the east, which were before the first men of the west; and coming westerly, it hath
brought herewith all comforts to the wild and comfortless.” Locke’s commentary on this
answer may conclude this note: “It should seem, by this, that masons believe there were men
in the east before Adam, who is called the ‘first man of the west,’ and that arts and sciences
began in the east. Some authors, of great note for learning, have been of the same opinion;
and it is certain that Europe and Africa (which, in respect to Asia, may be called western
countries) were wild and savage long after arts and politeness of manners were in great
perfection in China and the Indies.” The Talmudists make the same allusions to the
superiority of the east. Thus, Rabbi Bechai says, “Adam was created with his face towards
the east that he might behold the light and the rising sun, whence the east was to him the
anterior part of the world.”

144
Strauss makes a division of myths into historical, philosophical, and poetical.— Leben
Jesu. —His poetical myth agrees with my first division, his philosophical with my second,
and his historical with my third. But I object to the word poetical, as a distinctive term,
because all myths have their foundation in the poetic idea.

145
Ulmann, for instance, distinguishes between a myth and a legend—the former containing,
to a great degree, fiction combined with history, and the latter having but a few faint echoes
of mythical history.

146
In his “Prolegomena zu einer wissenshaftlichen Mythologie,” cap. iv. This valuable work
was translated in 1844, by Mr. John Leitch.

147
Historical Landmarks, i. 53.

148
See an article, by the author, on “The Unwritten Landmarks of Freemasonry,” in the first
volume of the Masonic Miscellany, in which this subject is treated at considerable length.

149
As a matter of some interest to the curious reader, I insert the legend as published in the
Gentleman’s Magazine of June, 1815, from, it is said, a parchment roll supposed to have
been written early in the seventeenth century, and which, if so, was in all probability copied
from one of an older date:— “Moreover, when Abraham and Sara his wife went into Egipt,
there he taught the Seaven Scyences to the Egiptians; and he had a worthy Scoller that height
Ewclyde, and he learned right well, and was a master of all the vij Sciences liberall. And in
his dayes it befell that the lord and the estates of the realme had soe many sonns that they
had gotten some by their wifes and some by other ladyes of the realme; for that land is a hott
land and a plentious of generacion. And they had not competent livehode to find with their
children; wherefor they made much care. And then the King of the land made a great
counsell and a parliament, to witt, how they might find their children honestly as gentlemen.

194
 And they could find no manner of good way. And then they did crye through all the realme,
if there were any man that could enforme them, that he should come to them, and he should
be soe rewarded for his travail, that he should hold him pleased. “After that this cry was
made, then came this worthy clarke Ewclyde, and said to the King and to all his great lords:
‘If yee will, take me your children to governe, and to teach them one of the Seaven
Scyences, wherewith they may live honestly as gentlemen should, under a condicion that yee
will grant mee and them a commission that I may have power to rule them after the manner
that the science ought to be ruled.’ And that the Kinge and all his counsell granted to him
anone, and sealed their commission. And then this worthy tooke to him these lords’ sonns,
and taught them the science of Geometric in practice, for to work in stones all manner of
worthy worke that belongeth to buildinge churches, temples, castells, towres, and mannors,
and all other manner of buildings.”

150
Ancient Egypt under the Pharaohs, vol. I p. 393.

151
1 Kings vi. 8.

152
An allusion to this symbolism is retained in one of the well-known mottoes of the order
—“ Lux e tenebris. “

153
“An allegory is that in which, under borrowed characters and allusions, is shadowed some
real action or moral instruction; or, to keep more strictly to its derivation ( Greek: a)/llos, alius ,
and Greek: a)gorey/ô, dico ), it is that in which one thing is related and another thing is understood.
Hence it is apparent that an allegory must have two senses—the literal and mystical; and for
that reason it must convey its instruction under borrowed characters and allusions
throughout.”— The Antiquity, Evidence, and Certainty of Christianity canvassed, or Dr.
Middleton’s Examination of the Bishop of London’s Discourses on Prophecy. By Anselm
Bayly, LL.B., Minor Canon of St. Paul’s. Lond, 1751.

Excursus On Myth: A Series of Notes

(c) 2013; 2019; 2024 Bart A. Mazzetti. All Rights Reserved.

N.B. See also: ‘Something Said’: The Traditional Story of ‘Tale’

195