CUPID AND PSYCHE ( A Hellenic and Roman Mythos)

I

In a far country there was a king and queen who had three daughters: each of the maidens was beautiful; the youngest of them, how. ever, had such shape and lineaments that all words said in praise of beauty seemed but poor and empty when used about hers. Men came to where she dwelt as to a shrine; they would kiss the tips of their right hands at the sight of her, thus paying to this maiden (Psyche she was named) the same homage that was paid to Venus, the immortal Goddess.

Indeed, it began to be said that Venus had forsaken the courts of Heaven, and had come down to earth as a mortal maiden, and dwelt amongst men in the person of the youngest daughter of the king and queen of that far country. Then men sailed no longer to where there were the famous shrines of the Goddess Venus. The shrines in Paphos, and Cnidus, and Cythera were forsaken of worshippers, and men paid their devotions to a mortal maiden, to Psyche. When she went forth from her father's house in the morning the folk strewed flowers along the way, and sacrifices that should have been made to no one but to the immortal Goddess were made to her.

The rumours of such happenings soon reached to Venus herself. She said, "Shall I, judged the fairest amongst the immortal Goddesses by the Shepherd of Ida, shall I have mine honours taken away from me by an earthly girl? Not so. Little joy shall this Psyche have of the loveliness that the vain imaginations of the crowd have bestowed upon her." Thereupon Venus called to her son. She brought him with her to that far country, and she showed him the maiden Psyche as she walked the ways of the city. "I pray thee," she said, "to let thy mother have a vengeance that it is fitting she should have. See to it that this girl becomes the slave of an unworthy love." She embraced

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him and she left him there, and she sailed for whatever shrine of hers had still some worshippers.

Her son was Cupid, that winged boy who goes through men's houses by night, armed with his bow and arrow, troubling their wedded lives. She left him there, gazing on the maiden Psyche. And gazing upon her, Cupid fell deeply in love with the maiden. He had no mind to carry out the command of his mother; he did not want to smite her mind with the madness of an unworthy love; rather he thought upon how he might win for himself the one who was fairer than any being upon earth or even in the heaven above.

And Psyche, adored by all for her beauty, had no joy in the fruit of it. She knew that she was wondered at, but wondered at as the work of the craftsman is wondered at that has in it some likeness of divinity. No man sought her in marriage. Her sisters were wedded, but she came to their age and passed their age and remained unasked for. She sat at home, and in her heart she cursed the beauty that pleased all men while it set her apart from the close thought of all. At last the king, her father, was forced to send and inquire of an oracle what he should do with this daughter of his. An answer came that meant a dreadful doom. "Let the maiden be placed on the top of a certain mountain, adorned as for marriage and for death, Look not for a son-in-law of mortal birth; he who will take her to his side is the serpent whom even the Gods are in dread of, and who makes the bodiless ones on the Styx afraid."

For many days after this doom had been made known there were lamentations in the king's household. Then, at last, knowing that the doom told might not be avoided, the queen brought out the adornments for her daughter's marriage and gathered a company to conduct the maiden to her dread bridal. All was made ready. But the torch lighted for the wedding gathered ashes and made a dark smoke; the joyful sound of the pipe changed into a wail; underneath her yellow wedding-veil the bride trembled and wept. The ceremonies for the marriage having been accomplished with hearts bowed down as at a funeral, Psyche was led from the city and to the place appointed on the mountain-top.

As she went she said to those who were with her, "This is the fruit of my much-talked-of loveliness! Ye weep for me now, but when the

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folk celebrated me with divine honours--then was the time you should have wept for me as for one already dead! The name and titles given me have been my destruction! Lead me on and set my feet upon the appointed place! I am impatient to behold my bridegroom and give myself up to the serpent whom even the Gods are fearful of."

Then she said to her father and mother, "Do not waste what life you have weeping over me." She bade them good-bye. They left her on the mountain-top and went back mournfully to the city. Then night came down upon them there; they shut themselves in their house and gave themselves up to perpetual night.

As for Psyche, she stood upon the mountain-top in fear and trembling. The breeze came, the gentle Zephyrus. Zephyrus lifted Psyche up; he bore her, her bridal vesture floating on either side, down the side of the mountain, and he set her lightly amidst the flowers of the valley below.

Lightly was it all done. Psyche lay on a dewy bed in the valley, resting from the tumult of the days that had gone by. She awoke. She saw a grove with a fountain of water that was as clear as glass in the midst of it, and, by the fountain, a dwelling-place.

Psyche thought that this dwelling-place must be the abode of one of the immortal Gods. Golden pillars held up the roof. Cedar wood and ivory formed the arches. The walls were latticed with silver. Before the house, creatures of the wood and wild-rabbits, and squirrels, and deer sported, and all the birds that Psyche had ever seen or heard sang in the trees. And the very path that led to the house was set in stones that made pictures and stories.

Upon this path she went. She crossed the threshold of the house and went within. Beautiful things were there, and no locks, no chains, no guardian protected them. As she went through the house, drawn on by more and more delight, she heard a voice that said, "Lady and mistress! All that is here is thine! Rest now and relieve thy weariness. We whose voices thou hearest are servants to thee; when thou wilt, a feast fit for a queen will be made ready for thee."

Psyche went to sleep knowing that some divine being had care for her. She awoke and went to the bath; thereafter she sat down to the food that had been made ready for her--a banquet, indeed! Still she saw no one. She heard voices, but those who served her remained

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invisible. When the feast was ended one whom she saw not entered and sang for her--sang to the chords of a harp that was played for her by one unseen. The night came and the lamps were lighted by unseen hands. Then they were quenched by unseen hands, and to Psyche, lying in her bed, the bridegroom came. He departed before the dawn, and she was a wife.

The day was before her, and the attendant minstrels sang to her; she heard their voices and she heard the music they made for her. The night came; the lamps were lighted and quenched, and to Psyche her husband came as before. And as before, he departed before the dawn came. And this went on for many nights. Then to his bride one night the bridegroom said, "O Psyche, my life and my spouse! Fortune is becoming ill-favored towards us! Thou art threatened with a danger that may be mortal. Harken! Thy sisters are about to go seeking for traces of thee. They will come to the mountain-top in their search. But if their cries come to thee in this abode, do not answer, nor go forth at all. If thou dost, it may be that thou shalt bring sorrow and destruction upon us both. But that shall be as thou wilt!"

Psyche promised that she would do all he would have her do. The bridegroom departed, going forth ere the darkness had gone. That day Psyche heard the voices of her sisters as they went calling her name. And in that house empty of all save voices, she thought that she was indeed dead and cut off from her sisters and her parents. She thought upon how they had wept for her, and she wept herself to think that she had no power to console them. In the night the bridegroom returned. Kissing her face, he found it wet with tears.

He blamed her; she wept the more. Then, as dawn came, he said, "Be it as thou wilt. Let thy pain cease, and do as thou dost desire. Yet wilt thou, Psyche, remember the warning I have given thee." All this he said when she told him that she would die unless she might see and speak with her sisters who were seeking for her.

"Yet one thing shall I say to thee," he said. "If they come here to thee give them all the gifts thou wilt; but do not yield thyself to their doubts about me. Thou knowest me, thy husband. Do not yield to the counsel of thy sisters and inquire concerning my bodily form. If thou dost, thou and I may never again embrace each other."

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Then Psyche wept; she said she would die a hundred times rather than forego his dear embraces. In a while he relented, and he spoke less harshly. Then Psyche said, "For the sake of the love I have given thee bid thy servant Zephyrus bring hither my sisters as he brought me." Her husband promised that this would be done. Then, ere the light appeared, he vanished.

II

Her sisters, coming to the place where Psyche was left, sought for traces of her. Finding none they wept, lifting up their voices. Zephyrus came; he raised them up; he bore them down from that mountain-top. He bore them to the lawn that was before the house where Psyche had her abode.

She heard their cries; she came out of her wondrous house and she brought them within it. "Enter now," she said, "and relieve your sorrow in the company of Psyche, your sister." She displayed to them all the treasures of that wondrous house; they heard the voices and they saw how the unseen ones ministered to Psyche. Her sisters were filled with wonder; but soon their wonder gave place to envy. "Who is he?" they asked, "your husband and the lord of all these wondrous things?" "A young man," said Psyche. "I would have you look upon him, but for the most part of the day he hunts upon the mountain." Then, lest the secret should slip from her tongue, she loaded her sisters with gold and gems, and, summoning Zephyrus with words that she had heard her husband utter, she commanded him to bear them to the mountain-top.

They returned to their homes, each of them filled with envy of Psyche's fortune. "Look now," they said to each other, "what has come about! We the elder sisters have been given in marriage to men we did not know and who were of little account. And she, our youngest sister, is possessed of such great riches That she is able to give us these golden things and these gems as if they were mere keepsakes. What a hoard of wealth is in her house! You saw, sisters, the crowns, and glittering gems, and gold trodden under foot! If her husband is noble and handsome enough to match that house, then no woman in the world is as lucky or as happy as that Psyche whom we left upon

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the mountain-top!" And, saying this, they became more and more filled with envy, and with the malice that comes from envy unchecked.

Then one said to the other, "This husband of hers may be of divine nature, and through his mere fondness for her, he may make her a Goddess. Yes, as a Goddess she ever bore herself! How intolerable it would be if all that was thought about her were realized, and she became as one of the Immortals."

And so, filled with their envy and malice, they returned to that golden house and they said to Psyche, "Thou livest in folly, and knowst nothing of a danger that threatens thee. Thou hast never seen thy husband--that we know. But others have seen him, and they know him for a deadly serpent. Remember the words of the oracle, which declared thee destined for a devouring beast. There are those who have seen that beast at nightfall, coming back from his feeding and entering this house. And now thou art to be a mother! The beast only waits for the babe to be born so that he may devour both the babe and thee. Nothing can be done for thee, perhaps, because thou mayst delight in this rich and secret place, and even in a loathsome love. But at least we, thy sisters, have done our part in bidding thee beware!" So they spoke, and Psyche was carried away by their words, and lost the memory of her husband's commands and her own promises. She cried out in anguish, "It may be that those who say these things tell the truth! For in very truth I have never seen the face of my husband, nor know I at all what form and likeness he has. He frightens me from the sight of him, telling me that some great evil should befall if I looked upon his face. O ye who were reared with me, help, if you can, your sister, in the great peril that faces her now!"

Her sisters, filled with malice, answered, "The way to safety we have well considered, and we will show it to thee. Take a sharp knife and hide it in that part of the couch where thou art wont to lie. Place a lighted lamp behind a curtain. And when thou hearest him breathe in sleep, slip from the couch, and, holding the lamp, look upon him. Have in thy hand the knife. Then it is for thee to put forth all thy strength and strike his serpent's head off. Then thou wilt be delivered from the doom which the vain talk about thy beauty brought upon thee, and thou mayst return to thy father's house."

Saying this, her sisters departed hastily. And Psyche, left alone,

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was tossed up and down as on the waves of the sea. The apprehension of a great calamity was upon her: she thought she could avert it by making strong her will for the deed that her sisters had counselled her to carry out. Evening came, and in haste she made ready for the terrible deed. Darkness came; he whom she had known for her bride. groom came to her out of the darkness. In a while she, lying rigidly there, knew by his breath that he was asleep.

She arose, she who before was of no strength at all; she drew forth the knife in the darkness and held it in her right hand. She took up the lighted lamp. And then she saw what lay on the couch. Then indeed she became afraid; her limbs failed under her, and she would have buried the knife in her own bosom. For there lay Love himself, with golden locks, and ruddy cheeks, and white throat. There lay Love with his pinions, yet fresh with dew, spotless upon his shoulders. Smooth he was, and touched with a light that was from Venus, his mother. And at the foot of the couch his bow and arrows were laid.

Then Psyche, with indrawn breath, bent over to kiss his lips. And it chanced that a drop of burning oil from that lamp which she held fell upon his shoulder. At the touch of that burning drop, the God started up. He saw her bending over him; he saw the whole of her faithlessness; putting her hands away he lifted himself from the couch and fled away.

And Psyche, as he rose upon the wing, laid hold on him with her hands, striving to stay his flight. But she could not stay it; he went from her and she sank down upon the ground. As she lay there the dawn came, and she saw through the casement her divine lover where he rested upon a cypress-tree that grew near. She could not cry out to him. He spoke to her in great emotion. "Foolish one," he said, "Venus, my mother, would have devoted thee to a love that was all baseness. Unmindful of her command I would not have that doom befall thee. Mine own flesh I pierced with mine arrow, and I took thee for my love. I brought thee here, I made thee my wife, and all only that I might seem a monster beside thee, and that thou shouldst seek to wound the head wherein lay the eyes that were so full of love for thee. I thought I could put thee on thy guard against those who were ready to make snares for thee. Now all is over. I would but punish thee by my flight hence!"

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Prostrate upon the earth Psyche watched, as far as sight might reach, the flight of her spouse. When the breadth of space had parted him wholly from her, she ran without. Far she wandered from that golden house where she had dwelt with Love. She came to where a river ran. In her despair she cast herself into it. But as it happened, Pan, the rustic God, was on the river-bank, playing upon a reed. Hard by, his flock of goats browsed at will. The shaggy God took Psyche out of the stream. "I am but a herdsman," he said to her, "a herdsman and rustic. But I am wise by reason of my length of days and my long experience of the world. I guess by thy sorrowful eyes and thy continual sighing that thy trouble comes from love. Then, pretty maiden, listen to me, and seek not death again in the stream or elsewhere. Put aside thy woe, and make thy prayers to Cupid. He is a God who is won by service; give him, therefore, thy service."

Psyche was not able to answer anything. She left the God with his goats and went on her way. And now she was resolved to go through the world in search of Cupid, her spouse. And he, even then, was in his mother's house: he lay there in pain from the wound that the burning drop from Psyche's lamp had given him. Heart-sick was he, too. The white bird that floats over the waves and is his mother's, seeing him come back, went across the sea, and, approaching Venus as she bathed, made known to her that her son lay afflicted with some grievous hurt. Thereupon she issued from the sea, and, returning to her golden house, found Cupid there, wounded and afflicted in his mind. Soon she found out the cause of his suffering and became filled with anger. "Well done!" she cried. "To trample on thy mother's precepts and to spare her enemy the cross that she had designed for her-the cross of an unworthy love! Nay, to have united yourself with her, giving me a daughter-in-law who hates me! But I will make her and thee repent of the love that has been between you, and the savour of your marriage bitter!" And saying this, Venus hastened in anger from her house.

Psyche was wandering hither and thither, seeking her husband, her whole heart set upon soothing his anger by the endearments of a wife, or, if he would not accept her as a wife, by the services

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of a handmaiden. One day, seeing a temple on the top of a mountain, she went towards it, hoping to find there some traces of her lord. Within the temple there were ears of wheat in heaps or twisted into chaplets; there were ears of barley also; there were sickles and all the instruments of harvest. And Psyche, saying to herself, "I may not neglect the shrines, nor the holy service of any God or Goddess, but must strive to win by my works the favour of them all." And so saying she put the sickles and the instruments of harvest, the chaplets and the heaps of grain, into their proper places.

And Ceres, the Goddess of the harvest, found her bending over the tasks she had set herself. She knew her for Psyche, the wife of Cupid. "Ah, Psyche," said the Goddess, "Venus, in her anger, is tracking thy footsteps through the world; she is seeking thee to make thee pay the greatest penalty that can be exacted from thee. And here I find thee taking care of the things that are in my care!" Then Psyche fell at the feet of Ceres, and sweeping the floor with her hair, and washing the feet of the Goddess with her tears, she besought her to have mercy on her. "Suffer me to hide myself for a few days amongst the heaps of grain, till my strength, outworn in my long travail, be recovered by a little rest," she cried. But Ceres answered, "Truly thy tears move me, and I fain would help thee. But I dare not incur the ill-will of my kinswoman. Depart from this as quickly as may be." Then Psyche, filled with a new hopelessness, went away from that temple. Soon, as she went through the half-lighted woods in the valley below, she came to where there was another temple. She saw rich offerings and garments of price hung upon the door-posts and to the branches of the trees, and on them, in letters of gold, were wrought the name of the Goddess to whom they were dedicated. So Psyche went within that temple, and with knees bent and hands laid about the altar, she prayed, "O Iuno, sister and spouse of Iuppiter, thou art called the Auspicious! Be auspicious to my desperate for. tune! Willingly dost thou help those in child-birth! Deliver me, therefore--O deliver me from the peril that is upon me!" And as Psyche prayed thus, Iuno, in all the majesty of the spouse of Iuppiter, appeared before her. And the Goddess, being present, answered, "Would that I might incline to thy prayer; but against the will of Venus whom I have ever loved as a daughter, I may not grant what thou dost

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ask of me!" Then Psyche went forth from that temple, and filled with more and more dismay, she said to herself, "Whither now shall I take my way? In what solitude can I hide myself from the all-seeing eye of Venus? It is best that I should go before her, and yield myself up to her as to a mistress, and take from her any punishment that even she can inflict upon me." And saying this, Psyche went towards where Venus had her house. And as she went on she said to herself, "Who knows but I may find him whom my soul seeketh after in the abode of his mother?"

When she came near to the doors of the house of Venus, one of the servants ran out to her, crying, "Hast thou learned at last, wicked maid, that thou hast a mistress?" And seizing Psyche by the hair of her head she dragged her into the presence of the Goddess. And when Venus saw her she laughed, saying, "Thou hast deigned at last to make thy salutations to thy mother-in-law. Now will I see to it that thou makest thyself a dutiful and obedient daughter-in-law."

Saying this she took barley and millet and every kind of grain and seed, and mixed them all together, making a great heap of them. Then she said to Psyche, "Methinks that so plain a maid can only win a lover by the tokens of her industry. Get to work, therefore, and show what thou canst do. Sort this heap of grain, separating the one kind from the other, grain by grain, and see to it that thy task is finished before the evening." Then Venus went from her, and Psyche, appalled by her bidding, was silent and could not put a hand upon the heap. Listlessly she sat beside it and the hours passed. But a little ant came before her; he understood the difficulty of her task and he had pity upon her. He ran hither and thither and summoned the army of the ants. "Have pity," he said to them, "upon the wife of Love, and hasten to help her in her task." Then the host of the insect people gathered together; they sorted the whole heap of grain, separating one kind from the other. And having done this they all departed suddenly.

At nightfall Venus returned; she saw that Psyche's task was finished and she cried out in anger. "The work is not thine; he in whose eyes thou hast found favour surely instructed thee as to how to have it done." She went from Psyche then. But early in the morning she called to her and said, "In the grove yonder, across the torrent, there

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are sheep whose fleeces shine with gold. Fetch me straightway shreds of that precious stuff, having gotten it in whatever way thou mayst."

Then Psyche went forth. She stood beside the torrent thinking that she would seek for rest in the depth of it. But from the river-bed the green reed, lowly mother of music, whispered to her and said, "O psyche! Do not pollute these waters by self-destruction! I will tell thee of a way to get the gold shreds of the fleece of yonder fierce flock. Lie down under yonder plane-tree and rest yourself until the coming of evening and the quiet of the river's sound has soothed the flock. Then go amongst the trees that they have been under and gather the shreds of the fleeces from the trees--the leaves hold the golden shreds."

Psyche, instructed by the simple reed, did all that she was told to do. In the quiet of the evening she went into the grove, and she put into her bosom the soft golden stuff that was held by the leaves. Then she returned to where Venus was. The Goddess smiled bitterly upon her, and she said, "Well do I know whence came the instruction that thou hast profited by; but I am not finished with thee yet. Seest thou the utmost peak of yonder mountain? The dark stream which flows down from it waters the Stygian fields, and swells the flood of Cocytus. Bring me now, in this little cruse, a draught from its innermost source." And saying this, Venus put into Psyche's hands a vessel of wrought crystal.

Psyche went up the mountain, but she sought only for a place in which she could bring her life to an end. She came to where there was a rock steep and slippery. From that rock a river poured forth and fell down into an unseen gulf below. And from the rocks on every side serpents came with long necks and unblinking eyes. The very waters found a voice; they said in stifled voices, "What dost thou here?" "Look around thee!" "Destruction is upon thee!" All sense left her, and she stood like one changed into rock.

But the bird of Iuppiter took flight to her. He spread his wings over her and said, "Simple one! Didst thou think that thou couldst steal one drop of that relentless stream, the river that is terrible even to the Gods! But give me the vessel." And the eagle took the cruse, and filled it at the source, and returned to her quickly from amongst the raised heads of the serpents.

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Then Psyche, receiving the cruse as the gift of life itself, ran back quickly and brought it to Venus. But the angry Goddess was not yet satisfied. "One task more remains for you to do," she said to Psyche. "Take now this tiny casket, and give it to Proserpine. Tell her that Venus would have of her beauty as much as might suffice for one day's use. Tell her this and take back in the casket what the Queen of Hades will give thee. And be not slow in returning."

Then Psyche perceived that she was now being thrust upon death, and that she would have to go, of her own motion, down to Hades and the Shades. Straightway she climbed to the top of a high tower, thinking to herself, "I will cast myself down hence, and so descend more quickly to the Kingdom of the Dead." But the tower spoke to her and said, "Wretched maiden! If the breath quit thy body, then wilt thou indeed go down to Hades, but by no means return to the upper air again. Listen to me. Not far from this place there is a mountain, and in that mountain there is a hole that is a vent for Hades. Through it is a rough way; following it one comes in a straight course to the castle of Orcus. But thou must not go empty-handed. Take in each hand a morsel of barley-bread, soaked in hydromel, and in thy mouth have two pieces of money. When thou art well forward on the way thou wilt overtake a lame ass laden with wood, and a lame driver; he will beg thee to hand to him certain cords to fasten the burden which is falling from the ass: heed him not; pass by him in silence. Thou wilt come to the River of the Dead. Charon, in that leaky bark he hath, will put thee over upon the farther side. Thou shalt deliver to him, for his ferry-charge, one of these two pieces of money. But thou must deliver it in such a way that his hand shall take it from between thy lips. As thou art crossing the stream an old man, rising on the water, will put up his mouldering hands, and pray thee to draw him into the ferry-boat. But beware that thou yield not to unlawful pity.

"When thou art across the stream and upon the level ground, certain grey-haired women, spinning, will cry to thee to lend thy hand to their work. But again beware! Take no part in that spinning! If thou dost thou wilt cast away one of the cakes thou bearest in thine hands. But remember that the loss of either of these cakes will be to thee the loss of the light of day. For a watchdog lies before the

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threshold of the lonely house of Proserpine. Close his mouth with one of thy cakes, so he will let thee pass. Then thou shalt enter into the presence of Proserpine herself. Do thou deliver thy message, and taking what the Queen of the Dead shall give thee, return back again, offering to the watchdog the other cake, and to the ferryman the other piece of money that thou hast in thy mouth. After this manner mayst thou return again to the light of day. And I charge thee not to look into, nor open, the casket thou bearest with the treasure of the beauty of the divine features hidden therein."

So the stories of the tower spoke. Psyche gave heed to all that they said. She entered the lonely house of Proserpine. At the feet of the Goddess of the Dead she sat down humbly; she would not rest upon the couch that was there nor take any of the food that was offered her. She delivered her message and she waited. Then Proserpine filled the casket secretly and shut the lid, and handed it to Psyche. She went from the house; she remembered the sop she had to give the watchdog and the fee she had to give the ferryman. She came back into the light of day. Now even as she hasted into the presence of Venus she said to herself, "I have in my hands the divine loveliness. Should I touch myself with a particle of it I should have a beauty indeed that would please him whom I still seek, him whom I still hope to be beside." Saying this, she raised the lid of the casket. Behold! what was within was sleep only, the sleep that was like the sleep of the dead! That sleep overcame Psyche, and she lay upon the ground and moved not.

But now Cupid, being healed of the wound from the burning oil, and longing for Psyche, his beloved, flew from the chamber in his mother's house. He found Psyche lying in slumber. He shook that slumber from her, and awakened her with the point of his arrow. Then he rose upon the air, and he went vehemently upon his way until he came into the highest court of Heaven. There sat Iuppiter, the Father of Gods and men. When Cupid went to him, Iuppiter took his hand in his, and kissed his face and said to him, "At no time, my son, hast thou regarded me with due honour. With those busy arrows of thine thou hast often upset the harmony that it is mine to bring about. But because thou hast grown up between these hands of mine, will accomplish thy desire." He bade Mercury call the Gods together.

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[paragraph continues] And the Gods being assembled, Iuppiter said to them, "Ye Gods, it seems good to me that this boy should be confined in the bonds of marriage. And he has chosen and embraced a mortal maiden. Let him have the fruit of his love, and possess her for ever."

Thereupon the Father of the Gods bade Mercury produce Psyche amongst them. She was brought into the highest court of Heaven. The Father of the Gods held out to her his ambrosial cup. "Drink of it," he said, "and live for ever. Cupid shall never depart from thee." Then the Gods sat down to the marriage-feast. On the first couch was the bridegroom with his Psyche at his bosom. Bacchus served wine to the rest of the company, but his own serving-boy served it to Iuppiter. The Seasons crimsoned all things with their roses. Apollo sang to his lyre. Pan prattled on his reeds. Venus danced very sweetly to the soft music. And thus, with all due rites, did Psyche, horn a mortal, become the immortal wife of Love. From Cupid and Psyche was born a daughter whom men call Voluptas.

Homer and his works

 The Iliad of Homer, Samuel Butler translator [1898]

 The Odyssey of Homer, 

Odyssey Homer in the original Greek.

 The Homeric Hymns, translated by Hugh G. Evelyn-White [1914]

 The Adventures of Odysseus and the Tale of Troy

By Padraic Colum, Illustrations by Willy Pogany [1918]

A retelling of the story of Odysseus with gorgeous line-art illustrations.

Thanks to Eliza Fegley at sacredspiral.com.

 The Authoress of the Odyssey, by Samuel Butler, [1922]

Men are from the Iliad, Women are from the Odyssey...

 Homeric Fragments, translated by Hugh G. Evelyn-White [1914]. A few scattered notes about other lost works of Homer.

For over three centuries scholars have debated whether an actual person named Homer existed; some have speculated that the name Homer is actually a collective name for a group of bards (the Homeridae) who redacted (edited) a existing cycle of oral epics about 800 B.C.E. Others believe, based on textual evidence, that one person did compose or redact the two major Homeric compositions. In any case, stating an opinion about this question would be a good way to start a bar fight at a conference of classical scholars....

Certainly, there are few details about Homer's life. According to classical sources, Homer lived around 1200 B.C.E.; today dates of the 8th or 7th Century B.C.E. are quoted. Homer is traditionally described as being blind--based on one Archaic Greek fragment--but the visual quality of his work makes this hard to believe; perhaps he became blind later in life.

The Homeric cycle was composed around the same time as the Indian Ramayana, which it resembles thematically. The entire Homeric cycle, of which the Iliad and Odyssey are the only complete surviving works, included dozens of books composed by Homer and others. Some fragments of this cycle are included below.

The Illiad is based on events which probably occurred around 1000 B.C.E. The Mycenean Greeks of this era were contemporaries with a Bronze age city in Asia Minor on the Aegean coast of what today is Turkey. Both these cultures employed megalithic architecture. Heinrich Schliemann, a German archeologist in the early 20th Century, excavated both Mycenae in the Peloponessus region of Greece, and another site in western Turkey which he identified as the actual city of Troy. 'Troy' was destroyed (sometimes by fire) and rebuilt--not once, but multiple times--and resembles closely the description of Troy in the Iliad. Whether the events in the Iliad are literally true in some sense is still unknown. The Odyssey, on the other hand, is pure fiction, and one must strain to correlate its plot with any actual geography or history; it has been called the first science fiction novel.

In any case, these stories remain the most ancient European literature that we have intact; because of their lively pacing and vivid characters they still have strong appeal for modern readers.

Homerica

The following are fragments written by other authors in antiquity on the subject of the Homeric epic and Homer; some of these were spuriously attributed to Homer. These are remnants of a huge epic cycle which encompassed the whole mythological and legendary history of the Greeks, of which the battle for Troy is the centerpiece. The cycle was never completely canonized, and as late as classical Roman times Virgils' Aeneid added yet another epic poem to the collection. It seems that sequels and prequels were just as popular in Ancient Greece as in modern Hollywood...

These are from Hesiod, the Homeric Hymns and Homerica by Hugh G. Evelyn-White, [1914] (Loeb Classics #57). The other portions of this book are presented above on this page, and in the Hesiod section; this etext was scanned as the Online Medieval and Classical Library Release #8 by Douglas B. Killings, and is also available from the Gutenburg Project.

  Fragments of the Epic Cycle. 

 The Cypria (Fragments). Fragments of a prequel to the Iliad by Hegesias or Stasinus, attributed to Homer. 

 Aethiopis (Fragments). Fragments of another epic with Homeric characters. 

 The Little Iliad (Fragments) An abridged Iliad attributed to Lesches of Mitylene. 

 The Sack of Ilium (fragments) by Arctinus of Miletus. 

 The Returns and The Telegony (Fragments) The Returns, by Agias of Troezen was set between the Iliad and Odyssey, it described the homecoming of the other Achaean heros from Troy; The Telegony, by Eugammon of Cyrene, of which we have only a synopsis by Proclus, is a sequel to the Odyssey. 

These are a couple of humorous pieces on Homeric themes. 

 The Battle of Frogs and Mice. A short parody of the Iliad. 

 The Contest of Homer and Hesiod. A bardic battle royale between Homer and Hesiod. 

OF THE ORIGIN OF HOMER AND HESIOD, AND OF THEIR CONTEST

(The Contest of Homer and Hesiod)

translated by Hugh G. Evelyn-White

[1914]

Everyone boasts that the most divine of poets, Homer and Hesiod, are said to be his particular countrymen. Hesiod, indeed, has put a name to his native place and so prevented any rivalry, for he said that his father `settled near Helicon in a wretched hamlet, Ascra, which is miserable in winter, sultry in summer, and good at no season.' But, as for Homer, you might almost say that every city with its inhabitants claims him as her son. Foremost are the men of Smyrna who say that he was the Son of Meles, the river of their town, by a nymph Cretheis, and that he was at first called Melesigenes. He was named Homer later, when he became blind, this being their usual epithet for such people. The Chians, on the other hand, bring forward evidence to show that he was their countrymen, saying that there actually remain some of his descendants among them who are called Homeridae. The Colophonians even show the place where they declare that he began to compose when a schoolmaster, and say that his first work was the "Margites".

As to his parents also, there is on all hands great disagreement.

Hellanicus and Cleanthes say his father was Maeon, but Eugaeon says Meles; Callicles is for Mnesagoras, Democritus of Troezen for Daemon, a merchant-trader. Some, again, say he was the son of Thamyras, but the Egyptians say of Menemachus, a priest- scribe, and there are even those who father him on Telemachus, the son of Odysseus. As for his mother, she is variously called Metis, Cretheis, Themista, and Eugnetho. Others say she was an Ithacan woman sold as a slave by the Phoenicians; other, Calliope the Muse; others again Polycasta, the daughter of Nestor.

Homer himself was called Meles or, according to different accounts, Melesigenes or Altes. Some authorities say he was called Homer, because his father was given as a hostage to the Persians by the men of Cyprus; others, because of his blindness; for amongst the Aeolians the blind are so called. We will set down, however, what we have heard to have been said by the Pythia concerning Homer in the time of the most sacred Emperor Hadrian. When the monarch inquired from what city Homer came, and whose son he was, the priestess delivered a response in hexameters after this fashion:

`Do you ask me of the obscure race and country of the heavenly siren? Ithaca is his country, Telemachus his father, and Epicasta, Nestor's daughter, the mother that bare him, a man by far the wisest of mortal kind.' This we must most implicitly believe, the inquirer and the answerer being who they are -- especially since the poet has so greatly glorified his grandfather in his works.

Now some say that he was earlier than Hesiod, others that he was younger and akin to him. They give his descent thus: Apollo and Aethusa, daughter of Poseidon, had a son Linus, to whom was born Pierus. From Pierus and the nymph Methone sprang Oeager; and from Oeager and Calliope Orpheus; from Orpheus, Dres; and from him, Eucles. The descent is continued through Iadmonides, Philoterpes, Euphemus, Epiphrades and Melanopus who had sons Dius and Apelles. Dius by Pycimede, the daughter of Apollo had two sons Hesiod and Perses; while Apelles begot Maeon who was the father of Homer by a daughter of the River Meles.

According to one account they flourished at the same time and even had a contest of skill at Chalcis in Euboea. For, they say, after Homer had composed the "Margites", he went about from city to city as a minstrel, and coming to Delphi, inquired who he was and of what country? The Pythia answered:

`The Isle of Ios is your mother's country and it shall receive you dead; but beware of the riddle of the young children.' (1)

Hearing this, it is said, he hesitated to go to Ios, and remained in the region where he was. Now about the same time Ganyctor was celebrating the funeral rites of his father Amphidamas, king of Euboea, and invited to the gathering not only all those who were famous for bodily strength and fleetness of foot, but also those who excelled in wit, promising them great rewards. And so, as the story goes, the two went to Chalcis and met by chance. The leading Chalcidians were judges together with Paneides, the brother of the dead king; and it is said that after a wonderful contest between the two poets, Hesiod won in the following manner: he came forward into the midst and put Homer one question after another, which Homer answered. Hesiod, then, began:

`Homer, son of Meles, inspired with wisdom from heaven, come, tell me first what is best for mortal man?'

HOMER: `For men on earth 'tis best never to be born at all; or being born, to pass through the gates of Hades with all speed.'

Hesiod then asked again:

`Come, tell me now this also, godlike Homer: what think you in your heart is most delightsome to men?'

Homer answered:

`When mirth reigns throughout the town, and feasters about the house, sitting in order, listen to a minstrel; when the tables beside them are laden with bread and meat, and a wine-bearer draws sweet drink from the mixing-bowl and fills the cups: this I think in my heart to be most delightsome.'

It is said that when Homer had recited these verses, they were so admired by the Greeks as to be called golden by them, and that even now at public sacrifices all the guests solemnly recite them before feasts and libations. Hesiod, however, was annoyed by Homer's felicity and hurried on to pose him with hard questions. He therefore began with the following lines:

`Come, Muse; sing not to me of things that are, or that shall be, or that were of old; but think of another song.'

Then Homer, wishing to escape from the impasse by an apt answer, replied: --

`Never shall horses with clattering hoofs break chariots, striving for victory about the tomb of Zeus.'

Here again Homer had fairly met Hesiod, and so the latter turned to sentences of doubtful meaning (2): he recited many lines and required Homer to complete the sense of each appropriately. The first of the following verses is Hesiod's and the next Homer's: but sometimes Hesiod puts his question in two lines.

HESIOD: `Then they dined on the flesh of oxen and their horses' necks --'

HOMER: `They unyoked dripping with sweat, when they had had enough of war.'

HESIOD: `And the Phrygians, who of all men are handiest at ships --'

HOMER: `To filch their dinner from pirates on the beach.'

HESIOD: `To shoot forth arrows against the tribes of cursed giants with his hands --'

HOMER: `Heracles unslung his curved bow from his shoulders.'

HESIOD: `This man is the son of a brave father and a weakling --'

HOMER: `Mother; for war is too stern for any woman.'

HESIOD: `But for you, your father and lady mother lay in love --'

HOMER: `When they begot you by the aid of golden Aphrodite.'

HESIOD: `But when she had been made subject in love, Artemis, who delights in arrows --'

HOMER: `Slew Callisto with a shot of her silver bow.'

HESIOD: `So they feasted all day long, taking nothing --'

HOMER: `From their own houses; for Agamemnon, king of men, supplied them.'

HESIOD: `When they had feasted, they gathered among the glowing ashes the bones of the dead Zeus --'

HOMER: `Born Sarpedon, that bold and godlike man.'

HESIOD: `Now we have lingered thus about the plain of Simois, forth from the ships let us go our way, upon our shoulders --'

HOMER: `Having our hilted swords and long-helved spears.'

HESIOD: `Then the young heroes with their hands from the sea --'

HOMER: `Gladly and swiftly hauled out their fleet ship.'

HESIOD: `Then they came to Colchis and king Aeetes --'

HOMER: `They avoided; for they knew he was inhospitable and lawless.'

HESIOD: `Now when they had poured libations and deeply drunk, the surging sea --'

HOMER: `They were minded to traverse on well-built ships.'

HESIOD: `The Son of Atreus prayed greatly for them that they all might perish --'

HOMER: `At no time in the sea: and he opened his mouth said:'

HESIOD: `Eat, my guests, and drink, and may no one of you return home to his dear country --'

HOMER: `Distressed; but may you all reach home again unscathed.'

When Homer had met him fairly on every point Hesiod said:

`Only tell me this thing that I ask: How many Achaeans went to Ilium with the sons of Atreus?'

Homer answered in a mathematical problem, thus:

`There were fifty hearths, and at each hearth were fifty spits, and on each spit were fifty carcases, and there were thrice three hundred Achaeans to each joint.'

This is found to be an incredible number; for as there were fifty hearths, the number of spits is two thousand five hundred; and of carcasses, one hundred and twenty thousand...

Homer, then, having the advantage on every point, Hesiod was jealous and began again:

`Homer, son of Meles, if indeed the Muses, daughters of great Zeus the most high, honour you as it is said, tell me a standard that is both best and worst for mortal-men; for I long to know it.' Homer replied: `Hesiod, son of Dius, I am willing to tell you what you command, and very readily will I answer you. For each man to be a standard will I answer you. For each man to be a standard to himself is most excellent for the good, but for the bad it is the worst of all things. And now ask me whatever else your heart desires.'

HESIOD: `How would men best dwell in cities, and with what observances?'

HOMER: `By scorning to get unclean gain and if the good were honoured, but justice fell upon the unjust.'

HESIOD: `What is the best thing of all for a man to ask of the gods in prayer?'

HOMER: `That he may be always at peace with himself continually.'

HESIOD: `Can you tell me in briefest space what is best of all?'

HOMER: `A sound mind in a manly body, as I believe.'

HESIOD: `Of what effect are righteousness and courage?'

HOMER: `To advance the common good by private pains.'

HESIOD: `What is the mark of wisdom among men?'

HOMER: `To read aright the present, and to march with the occasion.'

HESIOD: `In what kind of matter is it right to trust in men?'

HOMER: `Where danger itself follows the action close.'

HESIOD: `What do men mean by happiness?'

HOMER: `Death after a life of least pain and greatest pleasure.'

After these verses had been spoken, all the Hellenes called for Homer to be crowned. But King Paneides bade each of them recite the finest passage from his own poems. Hesiod, therefore, began as follows:

`When the Pleiads, the daughters of Atlas, begin to rise begin the harvest, and begin ploughing ere they set. For forty nights and days they are hidden, but appear again as the year wears round, when first the sickle is sharpened. This is the law of the plains and for those who dwell near the sea or live in the rich-soiled valleys, far from the wave-tossed deep: strip to sow, and strip to plough, and strip to reap when all things are in season.' (3)

Then Homer:

`The ranks stood firm about the two Aiantes, such that not even Ares would have scorned them had he met them, nor yet Athena who saves armies. For there the chosen best awaited the charge of the Trojans and noble Hector, making a fence of spears and serried shields. Shield closed with shield, and helm with helm, and each man with his fellow, and the peaks of their head-pieces with crests of horse-hair touched as they bent their heads: so close they stood together. The murderous battle bristled with the long, flesh-rending spears they held, and the flash of bronze from polished helms and new-burnished breast-plates and gleaming shields blinded the eyes. Very hard of heart would he have been, who could then have seen that strife with joy and felt no pang.' (4)

Here, again, the Hellenes applauded Homer admiringly, so far did the verses exceed the ordinary level; and demanded that he should be adjudged the winner. But the king gave the crown to Hesiod, declaring that it was right that he who called upon men to follow peace and husbandry should have the prize rather than one who dwelt on war and slaughter. In this way, then, we are told, Hesiod gained the victory and received a brazen tripod which he dedicated to the Muses with this inscription:

`Hesiod dedicated this tripod to the Muses of Helicon after he had conquered divine Homer at Chalcis in a contest of song.'

After the gathering was dispersed, Hesiod crossed to the mainland and went to Delphi to consult the oracle and to dedicate the first fruits of his victory to the god. They say that as he was approaching the temple, the prophetess became inspired and said:

`Blessed is this man who serves my house, -- Hesiod, who is honoured by the deathless Muses: surely his renown shall be as wide as the light of dawn is spread. But beware of the pleasant grove of Nemean Zeus; for there death's end is destined to befall you.'

When Hesiod heard this oracle, he kept away from the Peloponnesus, supposing that the god meant the Nemea there; and coming to Oenoe in Locris, he stayed with Amphiphanes and Ganyetor the sons of Phegeus, thus unconsciously fulfilling the oracle; for all that region was called the sacred place of Nemean Zeus. He continued to stay a somewhat long time at Oenoe, until the young men, suspecting Hesiod of seducing their sister, killed him and cast his body into the sea which separates Achaea and Locris. On the third day, however, his body was brought to land by dolphins while some local feast of Ariadne was being held. Thereupon, all the people hurried to the shore, and recognized the body, lamented over it and buried it, and then began to look for the assassins. But these, fearing the anger of their countrymen, launched a fishing boat, and put out to sea for Crete: they had finished half their voyage when Zeus sank them with a thunderbolt, as Alcidamas states in his "Museum". Eratosthenes, however, says in his "Hesiod" that Ctimenus and Antiphus, sons of Ganyetor, killed him for the reason already stated, and were sacrificed by Eurycles the seer to the gods of hospitality. He adds that the girl, sister of the above-named, hanged herself after she had been seduced, and that she was seduced by some stranger, Demodes by name, who was travelling with Hesiod, and who was also killed by the brothers. At a later time the men of Orchomenus removed his body as they were directed by an oracle, and buried him in their own country where they placed this inscription on his tomb:

`Ascra with its many cornfields was his native land; but in death the land of the horse-driving Minyans holds the bones of Hesiod, whose renown is greatest among men of all who are judged by the test of wit.'

So much for Hesiod. But Homer, after losing the victory, went from place to place reciting his poems, and first of all the "Thebais" in seven thousand verses which begins: `Goddess, sing of parched Argos whence kings...', and then the "Epigoni" in seven thousand verses beginning: `And now, Muses, let us begin to sing of men of later days'; for some say that these poems also are by Homer. Now Xanthus and Gorgus, son of Midas the king, heard his epics and invited him to compose a epitaph for the tomb of their father on which was a bronze figure of a maiden bewailing the death of Midas. He wrote the following lines: --

`I am a maiden of bronze and sit upon the tomb of Midas. While water flows, and tall trees put forth leaves, and rivers swell, and the sea breaks on the shore; while the sun rises and shines and the bright moon also, ever remaining on this mournful tomb I tell the passer-by that Midas here lies buried.'

For these verses they gave him a silver bowl which he dedicated to Apollo at Delphi with this inscription: `Lord Phoebus, I, Homer, have given you a noble gift for the wisdom I have of you: do you ever grant me renown.'

After this he composed the "Odyssey" in twelve thousand verses, having previously written the "Iliad" in fifteen thousand five hundred verses (5). From Delphi, as we are told, he went to Athens and was entertained by Medon, king of the Athenians. And being one day in the council hall when it was cold and a fire was burning there, he drew off the following lines:

`Children are a man's crown, and towers of a city, horses are the ornament of a plain, and ships of the sea; and good it is to see a people seated in assembly. But with a blazing fire a house looks worthier upon a wintry day when the Son of Cronos sends down snow.'

From Athens he went on to Corinth, where he sang snatches of his poems and was received with distinction. Next he went to Argos and there recited these verses from the "Iliad":

`The sons of the Achaeans who held Argos and walled Tiryns, and Hermione and Asine which lie along a deep bay, and Troezen, and Eiones, and vine-clad Epidaurus, and the island of Aegina, and Mases, -- these followed strong-voiced Diomedes, son of Tydeus, who had the spirit of his father the son of Oeneus, and Sthenelus, dear son of famous Capaneus. And with these two there went a third leader, Eurypylus, a godlike man, son of the lord Mecisteus, sprung of Talaus; but strong-voiced Diomedes was their chief leader. These men had eighty dark ships wherein were ranged men skilled in war, Argives with linen jerkins, very goads of war.' (6)

This praise of their race by the most famous of all poets so exceedingly delighted the leading Argives, that they rewarded him with costly gifts and set up a brazen statue to him, decreeing that sacrifice should be offered to Homer daily, monthly, and yearly; and that another sacrifice should be sent to Chios every five years. This is the inscription they cut upon his statue:

`This is divine Homer who by his sweet-voiced art honoured all proud Hellas, but especially the Argives who threw down the god- built walls of Troy to avenge rich-haired Helen. For this cause the people of a great city set his statue here and serve him with the honours of the deathless gods.'

After he had stayed for some time in Argos, he crossed over to Delos, to the great assembly, and there, standing on the altar of horns, he recited the "Hymn to Apollo" (7) which begins: `I will remember and not forget Apollo the far-shooter.' When the hymn was ended, the Ionians made him a citizen of each one of their states, and the Delians wrote the poem on a whitened tablet and dedicated it in the temple of Artemis. The poet sailed to Ios, after the assembly was broken up, to join Creophylus, and stayed there some time, being now an old man. And, it is said, as he was sitting by the sea he asked some boys who were returning from fishing:

`Sirs, hunters of deep-sea prey, have we caught anything?'

To this replied:

`All that we caught, we left behind, and carry away all that we did not catch.'

Homer did not understand this reply and asked what they meant. They then explained that they had caught nothing in fishing, but had been catching their lice, and those of the lice which they caught, they left behind; but carried away in their clothes those which they did not catch. Hereupon Homer remembered the oracle and, perceiving that the end of his life had come composed his own epitaph. And while he was retiring from that place, he slipped in a clayey place and fell upon his side, and died, it is said, the third day after. He was buried in Ios, and this is his epitaph:

`Here the earth covers the sacred head of divine Homer, the glorifier of hero-men.'

ENDNOTES:

(1) sc. the riddle of the fisher-boys which comes at the end of this work.
(2) The verses of Hesiod are called doubtful in meaning because they are, if taken alone, either incomplete or absurd.
(3) "Works and Days", ll. 383-392.
(4) "Iliad" xiii, ll. 126-133, 339-344.
(5) The accepted text of the "Iliad" contains 15,693 verses; that of the "Odyssey", 12,110.
(6) "Iliad" ii, ll. 559-568 (with two additional verses).
(7) "Homeric Hymns", iii.

Hesiod

Hesiod lived in the 8th century BCE, probably about the same time or shortly after Homer. He refers to himself as a farmer in Boeotia, a region of central Greece, but other than that we know little. His poetry codified the chronology and genealogy of the Greek myths. Works and Days and the Theogony are the only two complete works we have of Hesiod, other than the first few lines of a poem called the Shield of Heracles.

In Works and Days Hesiod divided time into five ages:--the Golden age, ruled by Cronos, when people lived extremely long lives 'without sorrow of heart'; the Silver age, ruled by Zeus; the Bronze age, an epoch of war; the Heroic age, the time of the Trojan war; and lastly the Iron age, the corrupt present. This is similar to Hindu and Buddhist concepts of the Kali Yuga. The idea of a Golden Age has likewise had a profound impact on western thought. Works and Days also discusses pagan ethics, extols hard work, and lists lucky and unlucky days of the month for various activities.


The Theogony presents the descent of the gods, and, along with the works of Homer, is one of the key source documents for Greek mythology; it is the Genesis of Greek mythology. It gives the clearest presentation of the Greek pagan creation myth, starting with the creatrix goddesses Chaos and Earth, from whom descended all the gods and men; it mentions hundreds of individual gods, goddesses, demi-gods, elementals and heroes.

Hesiodes work :

Works and Days, Hugh G. Evelyn-White, tr. [1914]

 The Theogony, Hugh G. Evelyn-White, tr. [1914]

The Theogony in Greek

The River Ocean

The Wisdom of Heraclitus

Wisdom 1: His Method

Here we will discuss the meaning of Heraclitus' fragments, and some of the difficulties and limitations of our interpretations of his philosophy. Heraclitus, the aristocratic Ephesian, was a deep and cryptic ancient Greek philosopher, and quite a unique thinker in the pre-Socratic tradition. We hope to examine his ideas within their historical context, but he breaks from his influences enough to make him well worthy of consideration (despite lacking almost all of his original writings) for his own ideas.

We rely on many excellent scholars to inform this discussion, such as Gregory Vlastos, W. K. C. Guthrie, G. S. Kirk, Charles Kahn, Martha Nussbaum, and others. (For those following along, citations will follow the Diels-Kranz numbering of fragments. Kahn translations were used for quotes, unless otherwise noted by name.) They don't all agree with each other, so we have to sometimes mention competing interpretations (especially for his flux doctrine).

It was common for pre-Socratic thinkers to speculate that order exists behind seemingly chaotic events. They are often called "natural philosophers" because they tried to explain everyday phenomena (with their eyes focused to the sky above and the earth below), but they were still generally different from the sort of theoretical and experimental scientists we have today.

Heraclitus was not fond of some of his fellow contemporaries, but through his biting criticisms of other thinkers and other scattered fragments, we detect four preferences that characterize his own methodology:

(1) As an isolated and independent thinker, his thought has a sense of originality.  He claimed that he was not a synthesizer or gatherer of other philosopher's ideas like Pythagoras, whom Heraclitus criticizes as a leaner of "artful knavery" and polymathy (Fr. 129).

(2) He distrusted information gathered by hearsay and countered that we should get our information first hand through the senses (Fr. 55).

(3) He stressed the importance of searching within oneself, for by looking within one could find the same truths that preside over the cosmos as a whole. He has the conviction that we can best understand reality through reflection by the soul (Fr. 34) and the coherent comprehension of language (Fr. 107).

(4) He was not like other Presocratics who were concerned with geometry and pure natural philosophy, rather he was more concerned with oracular aphorisms or fragments that he believed conveyed deeper meaning (Fr. 45). His witty and paradoxical utterances form his own distinctive method in philosophy, borrowed perhaps from the Oracle at Delphi, who Heraclitus says does not instruct nor suppress the truth but gives a sign (Fr. 93).

His obscurity comes partly from his historical limitations such as the lack of certain logical distinctions, and his own methodological preferences.  Heraclitus was at a point in history where he had little equipment to distinguish between a non-physical form and a material embodiment.  Like the other Presocratic philosophers his ideas beg for such a distinction, which in part may explain his intuitive need for metaphorical language.

Heraclitus also prefers to think of reality as difficult to discover, or as he says: "the hidden attunement is better than the obvious one" (Fr. 54) and "nature is hidden" (Graham Fr. 123).  And he posits a deep enough reality within us to make us skeptical of easily discovering knowledge (Fr. 45).

Wisdom 2: Reality of the Logos, Fire, and Elemental Transformation

Like the natural philosophers, Heraclitus posits a metaphysical reality (metaphysics here just means a discussion of an ultimate reality behind many deceptive appearances) that seeks to explain the way reality works behind the scenes despite the appearance of chaotic events around us.

Heraclitus calls his ultimate reality by many different names: the Logos (Fr. 1), fire (Fr. 64, 66), and God (Fr. 102).  He does not in any of the existing fragments explicitly delineate a hierarchy between them.  Exactly how each of these three forms of reality relates to each other is a mystery, but we do know that each of them has intelligible and directive qualities.

Kirk notes in his epilogue that Heraclitus most likely "used different terms according to differing moods and in different contexts -- e.g. fire in meteorological-cosmological contexts, god in synthetic ones where he is accepting traditional thought-patterns, Logos in logical-analytical ones". So we have to be careful not to strain our interpretations by trying to make Heraclitus' three types of oneness fit into a seamless, somewhat artificial framework.

A. Logos

He makes use of the word "Logos" differently from context to context, but in metaphysical contexts it translates as word or account, and some translators prefer "formula of things" or "language of reality" as a closer approximation of his meaning (Kirk, Grabowski).  The precise definition of the Logos lurks far out of our reach, but we have a few hints as to his meaning.

He describes the Logos as either eternally true or eternally existent, and common to everyone. Since everything must work in accordance with it, it brings order to the world and allows us to justify our knowledge (Fr. 1, 2).  It's arguable that he also elevates the activity of strife or flux itself as an ordering mechanism. For the most part, he speaks of the Logos in cases where he is concerned with knowledge and truth, yet he identifies fire as the most important "material" manifestation of the Logos.

We should point out that the distinction between material or nonphysical is not a distinction that Heraclitus or anyone else at this point in history made. But as interpreters often think of the Logos as a language of reality or the way in which things are arranged and ordered, they come close to making such a distinction.

We also find the same tension in the Pythagoreans, who made no distinction between form and matter, but spoke of numbers as the fundamental reality in such a way as to lead Aristotle to the view (perhaps mistakenly) that Plato's Forms, which are clearly specified as nonphysical, only differ in name from the Pythagoreans' numbers.  In a similar way, it is as if Heraclitus' fragments are predisposed for a distinction between a formal rule (Logos) as the arrangement and basis of material things and the material things themselves (the elements).

B. Fire

Heraclitus describes fire in three parts as the "ever-living order", "same for all", and not made by any god or man (Fr. 30).  He probably chose fire as one of his most important metaphors because it was the best of the recognized elements to fit into his scheme of change and unity: the fire flickers and appears stable as it consumes and gives off energy.  Fire has the advantage, as Aristotle notes, that it moves on its own and needs no external cause to explain its motion.

But he is not like his predecessors, such as Anaximander, who saw one type of matter as the only reality. Instead he thought of his cosmic fire as the most important element and the manager of all things, which he states with the image of the divine fiery thunderbolt: "The thunderbolt pilots all things"  (Fr. 64).

His scheme posited three elements, which are sea (probably water), earth, and prester (might be translated "lightning flash" or "whirlwind", but in this context it probably means something fiery such as fire), that are directed by the cosmic fire.

Heraclitus adds that all transformations between materials, and generally everything, are an equal exchange for fire: like "goods for gold and gold for goods" (Fr. 90). None of the three elements are in a completely steady state as they are said to be cycling in transformations into and out of one another always in an equal exchange.

For example, if part of sea transforms into earth, then an equal amount of earth would then have to transform back into sea (Fr. 31b).  Kirk clarifies the elemental transformation cycle such that one-third of the sea changes to earth, one-third of the sea reverts to fire, and the other one-third remains sea (Fr. 31a).

A problem arises of how to reconcile the fragments in which Heraclitus considers everything a cosmic fire (see Fr. 30) when he also believes that there are three distinct elements (including fire in its elemental manifestation). How can one consider everything the cosmic fire if some parts of it are not fire?

To attempt to solve the problem (if it is solvable) we can follow Kirk and view the cosmic as "a fire like a huge bonfire, of which parts are temporarily dead, [and other] parts are not yet alight."  In this view, the cosmic or pure fire steers and manages the processes of equal transformations of the elements without necessarily being them at every moment (Fr. 64, 66, 90).

By implication I think we might say the same about the Logos such that it provides an arrangement for the balance and flux in the cosmos without needing to do all the work, that is, control each part of the cosmos at every moment. We will see below that motion and internal tension may be said to create order on a smaller scale on their own (in that Logos would be redundant, and merely stand for the truth of the way reality works through the cosmic fire and its various manifestations).

Wisdom 3: Flux and Balance in all Things

We will now examine some of Heraclitus' most fascinating intuitions.  Heraclitus presents us with three basic intuitions about the nature of reality: (1) everything is in a state of flux (even while sometimes stably persisting through time); (2) the harmony of opposite qualities create order and unity through strife; (3) possibly a third: time is important as another mechanism to the harmony and ultimate flux of things.

A. The Flux Doctrine: Stability Comes with Chaos

The most famous statement of the flux doctrine in Fr. 91b is the traditional, "One cannot step twice into the same river."

One may be tempted to interpret the fragment to mean that everything is in constant chaotic flux without order or balance. Some scholars, like Kirk, make such an interpretation and then dispute the authenticity of the quote. But other scholars, including Vlastos, defend it and argue that the flux doctrine is not fatal to the persistence of an object over time.

If the fragment is ambiguous and allows Kirk's interpretation, then it means that one cannot step into the same river and the river is never the same. However, this interpretation is equivalent to the view of Cratylus of Athens, a popular disciple of Heraclitus, who, as Aristotle notes, said one could not step into the same river once (Vlastos).  

However, the fragment in question avoids this conclusion by saying that one cannot step into the same river twice. The fragment has two equal parts: one cannot step twice into the same waters and the river is the same. It most probably follows that the river has an identity and stays the same (in addition to its flux).

The second river-statement, Fr. 49a, is the paradoxical: "Into the same rivers we step and do not step, we are and we are not."  The meaning is the same as in Fr. 91b since the fragment places both identity and change as two essential aspects of the river.

The authenticity of this fragment is controversial.  Kahn dismisses Fr. 49a as a forgery since it looks to him as a refinery or combination of other fragments made by the source Heraclitus-Homericus.  But Vlastos argues that what he calls the "yes-and-no" (step and do not step) form of writing in Fr. 49a is highly likely for Heraclitus for which there is no obvious precedent.

Since the river is meant as a metaphor, it seems intuitive that humans have identity and flux just like a river, so the meaning of "we are and are not" is similar to "being able and not able to step" into the same river. Despite Kahn's objection, the fragment at least seems consistent with Heraclitus' meaning.

We have a frequent problem interpreting Heraclitus' fragments, for one scholar may believe in the validity of a fragment and therefore differently construe the overall philosophy of Heraclitus accordingly.  They must weigh the authenticity of sources, the possible intent of Heraclitus, coherence with other fragments, Heraclitus' probable use of language, and the accuracy of accounts from early commentators such as Aristotle and Plato.  Guthrie, for example, makes an extended effort to validate Plato as a sound source in both reliability and emphasis, while Kirk believes that Aristotle is a better source for our knowledge of Heraclitus.

Kirk centers his interpretation on a conception of change in which balance and order (Logos) are essential to the river fragment and in which Heraclitus intends no underlying flux as the cause of the balance.  He believes that the earliest source, Plato, paraphrases Heraclitus placing too much emphasis on change and disorder, which future commentators then mistook as Heraclitus' actual meaning.  So he argues that Heraclitus did not imagine change on the minute or generalized level that Plato imagines.

Yet we can point to a fragment that might demonstrate that Plato captures the correct meaning of Heraclitus' flux doctrine (as Guthrie and Vlastos contend).  During Heraclitus' life time there was a drink called a kykeon, sometimes translated as "potion", consisting of wine, barley, and grated cheese (Guthrie).  The three parts of the potion-drink had to be constantly stirred or else they would break apart, so Heraclitus perhaps uses this image as a metaphor for what happens if motion were to cease: "Even the potion separates unless it is stirred" (Fr. 125).  From this fragment we get the only explicit evidence that Heraclitus intends observed motion as essential to the identity of things (like rivers, people, etc.).

B. The Harmony of Strife and Opposite Qualities

The question also arises as to whether or not Heraclitus imagined change in places where common sense tells us that there is none.  We look at a rock at one moment and only notice a motionless peaceful rock, but after a few years of weathering the rock may undergo significant changes.

The first hint that Heraclitus gives is stated in the following: "The ordering, the same for all, no god nor man has made, but it ever was and is and will be: fire everliving, kindled in measures and in measures going out" (Fr. 30).

If the fire in this fragment emphasizes fire in its symbolic meaning (that is, fire as an underlying reality and primary substance), then we cannot directly observe it kindling and going out in measure by perception.  Several take this fragment to mean a cosmic fire, as Heraclitus was not a monist (Kirk & Raven).  Hence, we can infer two characteristics evident at the imperceptible level according to Heraclitus: like a river, (a) the cosmic pure-fire is eternal and in harmony, (b) and it constantly undergoes change.

His bow fragments provide additional evidence that Heraclitus thought of an imperceptible flux functioning in things: "They do not comprehend how a thing agrees at variance with itself; it is an attunement turning back on itself, like that of the bow and the lyre" (Fr. 51).

Unlike water flowing in a river, the idle strung bow, we assume, is resting motionless.  We must infer internal change by an investigation that when the taut string is cut the wooden bow will straighten out; hence, the inference is that the two parts were pulling against each other the whole time.

We agree that Heraclitus did not imagine minute material vibrations as modern scientists do, but instead he inferred a struggle or strife going on within seemingly peaceful objects.  As we apply the flux doctrine to undetectable changes in a thing, we have essentially a "harmony of opposition" or "conflict doctrine".  We have both the inner war occurring within the bow and fire (and as a metaphor for everything in general), and the outward change in rivers and potion-drinks.

We can summarize the relevant flux fragments as follows: (a) the river fragments demonstrate that observable identity and change are essential characteristics of things; (b) the potion-drink fragment gives us the notion that observable motion or flux causes order; (c) the cosmic fire and the bow fragments tell us that Heraclitus inferred flux not only as something that is observable but also that it occurs at the imperceptible level as well. 

But he also used poetic words like "strife" and "war" to describe these instances of flux and internal tension. We can point to a couple fragments that demonstrate that Heraclitus thinks strife is the chief cause of order: "all things work in accordance with Strife" (Fr. 80) and "War is the father of all" (Fr. 53). We might summarize Heraclitus' flux argument by saying that the inward tugging and pulling of the bow is an instance of strife, but strife is the fundamental cause of its balance and identity.

Hence, strife seems to be inclusive of both the outward observed motion of a river and the internal tension of things like bows.  Since motion and internal tension are both implied as causes of order in particular arrangements (as in the potion and bow fragments), they seem fundamental for order and unity to arise in Heraclitus' picture.  Therefore, we can consider strife as the basic principle or mechanism for unity and balance in a thing.

Guthrie nicely phrases the consequence of this strife or flux doctrine: "There was law in the universe, but it was not a law of permanence, only a law of change, or, in something more like his own picturesque phraseology, the law of the jungle...."

Nietzsche colorfully says something similar as well: "The Things themselves in the permanency of which the limited intellect of man and animal believes, do not "exist" at all; they are as the fierce flashing and fiery sparkling of drawn swords, as the stars of Victory rising with a radiant resplendence in the battle of the opposite dualities."

Wisdom 4: Harmony of Oppositions Everywhere

Heraclitus knew nothing about particle bonds, but his harmony of opposites is similar to the way we currently think particles interact and are propelled by forces, except opposite qualities harmonize things together propelled by strife (that is, by motion and internal tension).

Heraclitus uses oppositions in several different contexts, but they allow him to advance many interesting critical parts of his thought. They show him questioning our hostility towards injustice, the arbitrary distinction between many of our words, and the existence of an all good God.

(1) In one group of fragments, Heraclitus notes how the existence of a term's opposite is necessary for us to account for the term's meaning and true nature; for example, without injustice, justice would presumably become meaningless (Fr. 102), and if one torpidly engorges oneself all the time, then satiety is meaningless since one does not have the contrast with displeasure and hunger (Fr. 111). 

Some would like a world without any pain, agony, or war. But then would pleasure, happiness, and peace lose their meaningfulness?

(2) He also describes types of oppositions in which two terms, e.g. day and night, are only different in that they occur at different times and states of affairs, but are one in that they refer to the same world (Fr. 57).  Another good example is his contention that waking and sleeping are the same and only different in that they succeed one another: a person goes to sleep and follows by waking up; therefore, he concludes that the sleeping is the "same" as the waking, that is they both refer to the same person (Fr. 88).

Perhaps he thinks that these arbitrary labels cloak an underlying unity in the world. A unity that is best characterized with our senses and self-reflection, rather than our blind acceptance of arbitrary categories, labels, and ideal distinctions. As with the first type of duality, he mistrusts popular attempts to divide the world, say, into good and bad with mere blunt words, which miss the unity and dependence they have on each other (specifically on their opposites).

(3) He observes other types of opposition that unite together in oneness, not by succession or time, but by being united in a metaphysical substance such as God.  For example, he says that God is both "day and night, winter and summer, war and peace, satiety and hunger," and later humans label or baptize them different names to distinguish them from one another.  But they are fundamentally united together in that they, war and peace, are both equally a part of God (Fr. 67).

In this regard, one can note that Heraclitus disagrees with those who would only assign good intentions to the divine and godly realm, for he does not think that peace alone could exist or be meaningful without its opposite (so both are necessary and divine).

Another similar example is where two perceivers interact with the same thing but attribute it opposite qualities.  For example, the salty sea is both pure and foul because it is healthy and good for fish, but for men it is "undrinkable and deadly" (Fr. 61).  This implies that a sea has the ability to produce both opposite effects to those who make use of it, and it can have positive and negative traits depending on the perspective of the thing that interacts with the sea.  Humans might think of sea water as negative since it can have a bad effect on them, but animals that need the sea for their survival experience the sea in positive terms.

This list of oppositions is not complete, but it is sufficient for a picture of some of his interesting uses of his harmony of oppositions.

Wisdom 5: Time and Degrees of Identity

The harmony of oppositions also suggest the importance of Heraclitus' third major intuition of reality concerning the nature of time.  We can interpret the passage of ever new waters in a river also as the passing of time.  And the amount of change that one interprets, whether a constant flux at the imperceptible level or a more conservative conception of change, means little to the passage of time.  In the end most everything dies in a transformation into other elements.

An essential unity captured by the passage of time consists in temporal oppositions, such as "day and night are one" (Fr. 57).  Heraclitus did not view this type of opposition as a conflict between things, which he implies in his explanation of their oneness in the following: "For these things when they have changed are those, and those when they have changed are these" (Fr. 88).  

He says day and night are the "same" because they alter in attributes or succeed one another, not because they are in conflict or have an exact identity with each other. We could say that these are like a binding bridge to tie the kosmos together, connecting it together by time, degree of change, and necessity.

However, taking a long term view that time ultimately destroys all things (in a cycle of elemental transformations), we can say that the most essential aspect of being or reality is activity. Although in outward balance and harmony, everything in existence necessarily changes over time and in the end transforms into something else, so we commonly find ourselves talking about a "becoming" rather than a "being".

Why speak of something's true nature if time and necessity will eventually wash it away?  If we take the question to an extreme, we can only talk about an essential nature or identity of something when we discuss the Logos or cosmic fire itself, that is, if we want certain unbending truths.

But depending on how much flux we attribute to the river example we will find that the river stays constant enough for us to place our foot into it, and, we can imagine, it will not be so different the next time.

Difference is often seen as either the identity of the river is lost and becomes completely "different" or it is not, but here we refer to degrees of difference.  The problem of degrees weighs heavily as we try to decipher Heraclitus' intentions in his riddling fragments.

Does hot turn into cold instantly or slowly?  Is hot a degree of coldness and cold a degree of warmness?  That Heraclitus thought of the problem in degrees is difficult to tell since his poetic method is phrased in either-or language.

Judging from his some of his fragments on opposites, we can suggest that Heraclitus could think in degrees (the way in-between) even though he wrote mostly in either-or oppositions; for example, he notes that the way up and the way down is one and the same because the way between them is the same (Fr. 60).

Wisdom 6: The Rational Psyche

As we now turn to man as a microcosm, we find that few scholars disagree on the view that the cosmic fire is analogous to the psyche.  In a fragment on transformations of elements Heraclitus uses the word soul where we would naturally expect him to write fire (Fr. 36).

By placing soul on the same level as the cosmic fire, he superimposes chunks of his philosophy to the sphere of humans. He namely thinks that a person's psyche becomes like the world-ordering fire.

Nussbaum argues that Heraclitus is the first known philosopher to describe the psyche as a central unity that accounts for the use and evaluation of language, while also representing the life-activity of the person. 

Heraclitus criticizes Homer's depiction of humans mainly learning information through sudden intuitions. He thinks this would leave the soul thoughtless and subjective and, more importantly, shut off from the common Logos (preventing us from regularly attaining knowledge).

We would be able to say that animals have similar mental abilities as humans if we just include body parts (eye, ear, etc.) as significant to knowledge.  But Heraclitus emphasizes the importance of language in human reasoning, which is peculiar to humans.

Heraclitus describes the soul's use of language and reason as its rational agency (and also the part of the soul that is similar to the cosmic fire). Since the soul uses the same type of rational language of the Logos, it is able to seek knowledge of the Logos (or the formula of things).

Wisdom 7: Anonymous Soul

Any interpretation of his remarks on immortality need to refer to his cosmological fragments.  Heraclitus may or may not advocate the immortality of the soul.  If he does then the immortality we receive is not like anything that one typically desires of an afterlife.  That is, if we assume that most people want to preserve their identity, including their life memories and experiences in the hereafter.

But in Heraclitus' cosmology we have no way of distinguishing one soul from another.  We discussed that the cosmic fire is one reality that transforms between many different elements. After the soul dies and transforms, it is lost to the many parts of the cosmic fire. And some elements in it are not very soul-like, such as water and earth.

We can say that the general material and rational language of the soul survive (the "language of nature" and any part of us that became knowledgeable about how reality might work). The reality of the Logos, which the soul may come into contact with, persists past the death of the soul. But we have no way of saying that our individual traits or miscellaneous memories survive.

It's an interesting question whether Heraclitus would go as far as Spinoza, and suggest that we share a sense of immortality when we understand eternal laws of nature. In any case, the immortality would be as interesting as grasping the flux doctrine intellectually. It's just not something to write home about; it's something to take a philosophy seminar on! You would lose your lifetime achievements, personal identity, and unique experiences.

Nussbaum additionally argues (based on textual and historical analysis) that in fragments where Heraclitus mentions the soul living after death, he might be referring to the fame of the individual in the minds of future generations.

Therefore, on this interpretation we can account for the reason why Heraclitus praises fame: the courageous soldier in battle gets honor from the gods and men (Fr. 24) and greater deaths get better destinies (Fr. 25).  We can also understand why the gods honor men, for the gods are immortal and cannot risk their lives, so they cannot attain virtue through battle (Nussbaum).

Other interpreters take the opposite view and believe that the only way to account for Heraclitus' use of soul is to provide for some sort of immortality, but such an interpretation is incoherent with the necessity of change, strife, and elemental transformations that we adopted earlier. The soul must transform to some other non-soul-like substance, such as water or earth.

Wisdom 8: Strife is Good, from a Certain Point of View!

Heraclitus rebels against Anaximander's moralizing account of nature, which claims that materials pay a price for their transgressions against the peaceful order of things.  Heraclitus instead believes that strife is just, good, and desirable (Fr. 80), for balance and order can not exist without conflict. So we cannot condemn the necessity of strife.

Aristotle also remarks in Eudemian Ethics (1235a25) that Heraclitus chided Homer for his poetic wish to end conflict, since there would be "no harmony without both high and low notes" (Fr. A22). 

This may be startling and ghastly for some to conceive: war is right and good and unavoidable.  Most people are in the nature of advocating peace and harmony, but they, says Heraclitus, should look within peace.

We should emphasize that Heraclitus would possibly say that a rock is at "war" when it is sitting motionless and idle, apparently doing nothing.  So, here, we find "the Riddler" devising his own personal vocabulary and outlook on life that we might expect from such an original, isolated and independent thinker, and at the same time as a result of his philosophical views.  He prefers his own reflective vision of Logos over the language of the commoners.

Wisdom 9: Moral Exceptionalism

Another key aspect of Heraclitus' ethical views is that he advocates a noble moral outlook.  He would choose the best person from the crowd instead of several average types (Fr. 49), and this implies that he makes a qualitative distinction between people.

In other fragments, e.g. where he envisions the punishment of whole cities for the sake of a defiled better man among them (Fr. 121), we also find that he does not endorse an equalizing ethical code that grants all people the same moral status.

But at the same time he wants us to live in accordance with the law of one and to defend the walls of our cities, so he does not believe in leaving one's society in moral chaos; therefore, he echoes the entire ancient Greek culture that tended to think of balance and measure as best.

Wisdom 10: Temperance

Heraclitus symbolizes the right road to attaining truth as the "dry soul" (Fr. 118) and the wrong way as the "wet soul" (Fr. 117).  He thinks that a dry soul should live a temperate life (Fr. 112) and avoid the bestial pleasures of the body (Fr. 4).

Nussbaum argues that his reasons for rejecting the life of a wet soul: "the shamefulness of the wet state of psyche consists, apparently, in a loss of self-direction, self-awareness, self-control."

Heraclitus does not, however, distinguish between the amount of "wetness" we are allowed or how much "dryness" we should desire, so we have no way to tell if Heraclitus advocates a completely "dry" life or a moderate one.

Final Remarks

Heraclitus might have counseled that while our soul is still active in us, we can work on achieving a greater amount of self-knowledge and knowledge of the Logos, but it is not easy to grasp and some parts of it may always remain out of our reach (and most men fail to grasp it altogether).  Things tend to keep their secrets.

Possibly he believes that we can come closer to an understanding of it with the proper use of language and reason (by solving its riddles, we could say). And we have a better chance if we use the other methods outlined in the introduction (self knowledge, sense perception, etc.).

His aphoristic method compacts a lot of meaning into each of his fragments, and they can be unpacked in many different ways.  Heraclitus' philosophy is like Zeus' thunderbolt that strikes to the root of its spectators from a distance, and strikes deep enough to lend to multiple interpretations (none of which are perfectly resolved by any two scholars).

But we can hope that by careful analysis of his time, language, history, and influences, we can reason along with his intended meanings and transmit his wisdom to the future. Deep thinkers tend to get misunderstood and dismissed with contemptuous rhetoric, but rare thinkers are a cherished commodity in the marketplace of ideas. Heraclitus will be difficult to ignore.

He would probably council us to exert our own rationality in considering his wisdom, and put aside the urge to dismiss his meditations with contemptuous political correctness, mere rumors or cultural habits, or academic pseudo-knowledge that all too often lacks critical reflection.

Works Cited (Main Sources)

Guthrie, W. K. C.  "Heraclitus."  History of Greek Philosophy. Vol. 1.  Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962.  403-492.

Kahn, Charles H.  The Art and Thought of Heraclitus.  Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979.

Kirk, G. S. & Raven, J. E.  The Presocratic Philosophers.  Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1957.

Kirk, G. S.  Heraclitus: The Cosmic Fragments.  Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962.

Nussbaum, Martha C.  "Psyche in Heraclitus."  Phronesis 17 (1972): 1-16, 153-170.

Vlastos, Gregory.  "On Heraclitus."  The American Journal of Philosophy 76 (1955): 337-368.

Additional Works Cited (One Citation or Less)

Benardete, S.  "On Heraclitus."  The Review of Metaphysics 53 (2000): 613-633.

Grabowski, Frank.  "Issues Surrounding Logos in Heraclitus, Fragment B56."  Michigan Academician 32 (2000): 267-282.

Graham, Daniel W.  "Does Nature Love to Hide?"  Classical Philology 98 (2003): 175-80.

Haxton, Brooks.  Fragments: The Collected Wisdom of Heraclitus.  New York: Viking, 2001.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Early Greek Philosophy: and Other Essays.  Trans. Mugge, Maximillian A.  Edinburgh: The Darien Press, 1911.