they will be sure to obtain the same. Truly, for a brief time he attributes to each what is worthy, and finally the things themselves are presented as spectacles and riddles common to all, and A
The remaining days Are the wisest witnesses.
DIONYSII PETAVII NOTES. For when he had inquired who might be a prudent and moderate spectator, he added: "Am I to say that which is manifest to all?"
NOTICE CONCERNING THE FOLLOWING WORK.
The book *On Dreams*, a witness to marvelous acumen and genius, in discussing dreams and their origin and significance, skillfully sets forth the author's opinion concerning the gods, the human soul and its imagination, and the universe and the mutual interaction and connection of these things.
OF SYNESIUS A TREATISE ON DREAMS.
SYNESIUS BOOK ON DREAMS.
PREFACE.
B I believe it is a very ancient practice, and deeply Platonic, to hide what is serious in philosophy under the guise of a humbler subject, so that truths discovered with difficulty may neither be lost to mankind again, nor be defiled by being exposed to the profane masses. This, indeed, the present work strives to do as much as possible. Whether it has achieved this, and whether the other parts have been carefully elaborated in the ancient manner, those who rely on their own talent and industry may judge for themselves as they turn to its reading.
ON DREAMS.
C 1. If dreams are prophetic, and the visions presented to men in sleep offer riddles of events that are to happen in reality, they would indeed be wise, but they would not be clear. There is wisdom in them, even in their lack of clarity.
A For the gods have hidden the life of men. To reach A the greatest things without labor is a divine good; but for men it is not, therefore, a good of virtue only, but of all fine things. . . . The gods have set sweat before it. Divination, however, would be the greatest of goods. For by knowledge, and by the cognitive power altogether, God differs from man, and man from the beast. But for God, nature suffices for knowing; yet by divination, man receives a manifold increase of that which belongs to his common nature. For the common man knows only what is present; what has not yet come to pass, he follows with conjecture. But Calchas alone in the assembly of all the Greeks knew
What is, what will be, and what was before.
Hence, in Homer, the affairs of the gods depend upon the will of Zeus, because B
He was born first, and knows more;
surely because he is older. For I believe the mention of age in these verses pertains to this: that by the length of time, it happens that one knows more, since knowledge itself easily excels all else. But if anyone, on account of other verses, is persuaded to consider the hegemony of Zeus to be measured by the strength of his hands—because, as he says,
. . . In strength he was superior—
this person has engaged with the poetry in a foolish manner, and is ignorant of the philosophy C contained within it, which defines the gods as nothing other than minds. Therefore, he joined back to it immediately after saying Zeus was superior in strength, that he was "born first," to signify that Zeus is the more primordial mind; and what else could the strength of mind be but prudence? And therefore, whoever is the god to whom the hegemony of the gods is attributed, since he is mind, he rules by his excellence in wisdom. Thus, even "In strength he was superior" turns back and arrives at the same point for us as "He knows more." For this reason, the wise man is also akin to God, because he attempts to be near to knowledge, and is occupied with intellection, which is the very substance of God.
2. Let these, then, be proofs that divination is among the best of pursuits for men. But if it signifies everything through everything—since all things are like siblings within the one living creature, the world—and if these are D manifold characters, as in a book written throughout the whole universe, of which some are Phoenician, some Egyptian, and others Assyrian, which whoever is wise reads; and a wise man is one who has learned by nature, and one is wise in one thing, another in another, and this one more, that one less—for instance, one is skilled in syllables, another in the complete diction, another in the speech as a whole—so clearly the wise foresee the future, some from the stars, others from the fixed and permanent, others finally from the moving phenomena.
A For it was necessary, I think, that the parts of this whole, which is sympathetic and breathes together, should attend to one another, as they are members of one single whole. And might not these be the [*Iunges*] of the magi? For it is fascinated by one another just as it signifies; and he is wise who knows the kinship of the parts of the world. For one thing draws another, having present tokens of things for the most part absent, both sounds and materials and shapes. Just as in us, when one organ is affected, another suffers with it—and the evil of the finger is transmitted to the groin, though many parts in between are not affected; for both belong to one animal—and there is to them a certain affinity more than to others. And so, to some god among those within the world, a stone or a plant from here belongs, to which it yields by nature, being B of like passion, and is charmed. Just as he who plucks the lowest string moves not the one next to it, the epogdoon, but the epitrite and the nete. This already belongs to the older concord. For there is a certain discord among the parts, even in their kinship. For the world is not absolutely one, but one made up of many. And there are in it parts that are agreeable and parts that are warring, and their opposition harmonizes toward the concord of the whole, just as the lyre is a system of dissonant and consonant notes. The one that emerges from opposites is an C harmony, both of the lyre and of the world. Archimedes, indeed, the Sicilian, asked for a place outside the earth, as if he were to leverage himself against the whole earth; for he said that while he was upon it, he had no power against it. But the one who is wise about any part of the nature of the world, if placed outside, would no longer be able to use his skill; for he uses it upon the very thing itself. Therefore, the continuity being torn asunder, he would look in vain, and would notice only soulless symbols. For as much as is divine outside the world is entirely uncharmable; but he who is set free cares not, Nor does he fear. D For the nature of the mind is entirely unyielding; and that which is susceptible to being charmed and moved is the impassioned part. The multitude of things in the world provides a vast store of both divinations and initiations, and their kinship. The multitude exists where things are separated, but kinship where they are one. And as for initiations, let not even my discourse stir them, yielding to the laws of the state, but to admit divination is free from all reproach.
A And indeed its whole substance is enclosed within the resources that are in it. But for the present, it is best to cut off the finest part and to dwell upon the inquiry concerning it, which has as a common characteristic on all sides a certain obscurity, so that it is not considered worthy of being scrutinized by any test in the way that which is perceived in the whole of nature is. Yet the argument shows that this also is something holy, just as the secret thing is in initiations. B Thus, the oracles do not speak clearly to all, and hence Loxias is called the Pythian prophet, because the people, when assembled in parliament, would have heard in vain the "wooden wall" which the god had offered the Athenians for their salvation, if Themistocles had not discerned the intent of the oracle. Hence, divination through dreams is not to be rejected in this regard either, since it possesses a common obscurity, both with other things and with the oracles. But one must apply one's efforts to this area of study above all, because it is from us, and from within, and belongs properly to each person's soul. For the intellect, ancient philosophy says, contains the forms of things that exist. We would add that the soul also contains the forms of things that come into being, C since reason exists in the intellect in relation to the soul, just as it truly does in relation to that which comes into being. Thus, by turns, first to third, and second to fourth—and conversely taken—we would not the less be speaking the truth, following the principles of science. Thus it would be demonstrated as we claimed, that the soul possesses the forms of things that come into being. It possesses them all, indeed, but it projects those that are appropriate, and depicts them as in a mirror to the phantasy, through which the living being has perception of those things that remain there. Just as, therefore, we do not perceive the actions of the intellect before the presiding and governing faculty announces them to the common [consciousness], and that which does not reach it escapes the cognition of the animal; so too do we not have perception of those things which are in the primary soul, until they have their images impressed upon the phantasy. And this life seems to be a certain lower state, D and one consisting in a certain property of nature. Indeed, the senses themselves reside in it. For we see colors, and we hear sounds, and we have a very sharp perception of touch, while the organic parts of the body are meanwhile idle. And perhaps this kind of sense is more sacred. In accordance with it we often commune with the gods as they instruct us, and give answers, and provide for other things. So if anyone has obtained the treasure and gift of sleep, I do not consider it something to be wondered at; nor if someone who had fallen asleep unskilled, having afterwards conversed with the Muses in his dreams, and having said some things and heard others, becomes a sudden and most elegant poet—such as our own age has produced—does this seem to me in the least incredible. I omit the plots that have been detected and those for whom a certain medical sleep [has cured every disease].
A But when it has opened for the soul a way to the most perfect inspection of things—things of which it has neither conceived a desire nor thought of the ascent—this, finally, in the conduct of those things which exist, will have been most hidden; to transcend nature, I say, and to couple with the intelligible him who has wandered so far from here, that he does not even have a clear view of where he has come from. But if anyone opines that the way itself and the great leading is something, and is not at all persuaded by the phantasy that it can by itself provide that blessed conjunction, let him hear what the sacred oracles pronounce concerning the diversity of these paths. Therefore, after a full enumeration of all the resources which we have for that advancement, according to which we are able to excite and increase the seeds implanted in us:
"He gave," it says, "an instructed manifestation of light to understand these things; And to those sleeping, he grants the fruit of their powers."
B You see how he has separated the blessed lot from learning. "Here," he says, "the one who is awake is taught; but the one who is dreaming—by being awake, it is man who instructs; but to the one sleeping, God presents the fruit of his powers, so that the learning is the same as the obtaining." For to present the fruit is more than to teach.
4. But let this be taken as a demonstration of the value of life in the phantasy, against those who reject it and [its] lesser components; since it is no wonder [that those who are] attached to things repudiated by the oracles know them in such a way, due to an excessive wisdom. For it says:
"I care for no sacrifices, nor entrails: these are all trifles;"
and it exhorts us to flee them. But they, as though they were placed above the multitude of men, selecting different arts for the knowledge of future things, contend to practice them; but they neglect dreams, as being [a] manifest thing, of which the ignorant and the wise are equal partakers. What then if it has wisdom on this account precisely, because it obtains more than the rest from [what is] common? Siquidem, even the remaining goods, and much more those which are chief among them, are set forth most for all in common. For nothing in visible things is either more divine or more common than the sun. If indeed even to behold God himself is a thing of happiness, then to grasp the knowledge of him through the phantasy is a matter of a more exquisite intuition. For this is the sense of senses, because the spirit of the phantasy, that indeed by which visions and images are conceived, is the most common sense of all, and the first body of the soul. But this indeed resides in the interior, and contains in itself the principate of the animal, as if from a citadel. For nature built the whole construction of the head around it. Hearing and sight are not senses, but organs of the common sense, handmaidens, as if gatekeepers of the animal, reporting to the mistress the things sensed from without, by which the external sense-receptacles are struck. And for all its parts, the sense is complete. For it hears with the whole spirit, and sees with the whole, and can perform all other things. But it distributes its powers, one to one [part] and another to another, and each having inclined from the animal separately, they are as if some straight lines flowing from a center, and converging toward the center, all one according to the common root, but many according to progression. The sense through the presented organs is indeed most animal-like, and not even being sense until it reaches the first [stage]; but the more divine and the one close to the soul is the immediate sense. But if [men] honor bodily senses because they know some things…
B primarily through what we place before our eyes, and therefore reject phantasy as being less trustworthy than sense, they seem to forget that not even the eye shows all things truly. For the eye sometimes shows nothing, and sometimes it is deceptive, both because of the nature of the things being seen and through the medium by which they are seen. For through distances, these things appear smaller or larger; those things in water appear larger, and the oar appears to the eyes as if broken, and that deception arises from the weakness of the eye itself. For when it is bleary, it sees everything confused and indistinct. Similarly, whoever is ill-affected in the spirit of phantasy ought not demand clear and distinct visions. But as for the nature of that sickness, and by what things it contracts that bleariness, or becomes thicker, and then by what things it may be purged and purified and recalled to its [proper] nature, this must be sought from a more recondite philosophy; through which, being purged by certain ceremonies, it becomes divine, and the things introduced from without by the senses vanish before God is introduced into phantasy. Furthermore, whoever keeps it pure and sincere by an honest way of life that is in accordance with nature, uses it readily and easily, so that in this way it again becomes most common.
For this spirit perceives the constitution of the soul, and is not totally devoid of such affection, like that shell-like covering of the body. For that [the body] is repugnant to the better disposition of the soul. But as it is the first and peculiar vehicle of the soul, so when it is good, it becomes subtle and ethereal; when it has degenerated into evil, it becomes thick and earthy. For to speak universally, between that which is devoid of reason and reason, and likewise between the incorporeal and the corporeal, it is that middle [substance], as it were the common boundary of both, through which things divine are joined to the lowest things. Therefore, C it is difficult to investigate the nature of that [spirit] through philosophy; for it borrows something proper to itself, as if from a neighbor, from both extremes, and in the same nature it embraces things so far removed from one another by thought.
5. Furthermore, nature has poured the abundance and wealth of the phantastic essence into many parts of existing things; so much so that it descends even to those animals that lack mind. And at that point, it is not the vehicle of a more divine soul, but it sits upon the subject and inferior faculties as upon vehicles, like a certain reason of the animal itself; and many things it perceives and manages appropriately by itself. Nevertheless, it receives purging even in those devoid of reason, so that something more excellent may be introduced. Then, all kinds of demons have a nature consisting of such a life. For these, in all that they are, are phantoms, and are represented in those things which come to pass. In man, however, it acts by itself alone, or with another. For we do not form intellections separated from phantasy, unless perhaps if, in some brief moment, one might grasp a form devoid of matter in cognition. But to rise above phantasy is no less difficult than it is blessed. For he says that mind and prudence, even should one reach old age, are desirable, meaning that which is free from phantasy.
For that life which is placed in the open belongs to phantasy, or to the mind using the ministry of phantasy. Furthermore, that animal spirit, which blessed men call the soul endowed with spirit, becomes a god, a multiform demon, and a phantom; and within it the soul pays its penalties. For the oracles also agree concerning it, when they say that the state of the soul in those places is similar to those sights which are presented in dreams; and philosophy itself confirms that former lives are preparations for subsequent ones, since a better habit of the soul renders this spirit more subtle, while a worse one, on the contrary, brands it with a stain and blemish. Wherefore, by a certain natural attraction, it is either lifted on high because of its heat and dryness—and such are the wings of the soul, nor do we find that the saying of Heraclitus points to anything else when he declares that the dry soul is the wise one—or, when it has become thick and moist, it is clothed with the crevices of the earth by a natural inclination, dwelling and being thrust into the subterranean region. For this place is most appropriate for moist spirits. There, the life is indeed wretched and full of punishment; but it is possible, through labor, and through time, and B through other modes of life, for one to emerge once it has been purified. For having become amphibious, it traverses a double path, and by turns converses with the inferior [things] and with the superior; which indeed the primeval soul borrows as it descends, and boarding it as if it were a ship, it becomes joined to the corporeal world. It has this struggle set before it: either to lead it back with itself, or certainly not to remain with it. For it rarely happens that it deserts that spirit which has not followed it on earth; yet this can happen sometimes, for one ought not to despair of known mysteries. But that return would be shameful for souls if they left behind on earth what they had borrowed. And this perhaps only one or another, by the benefit of initiation and of God, may achieve. Nature, however, is so constituted that the soul, once it has been implanted in it, either strives with it with equal force, or draws it, or is drawn by it; and in short, it perseveres in its company until it returns to that place from which it departed. From which it happens that if it, through sloth, inclines downward, it depresses the soul which has allowed itself to be burdened. And this is that very thing whose terror the sacred responses declare to the intelligible seed within us: D Nor let yourself incline toward a world of black darkness, Whose abyss is always faithless, and a Hades Shrouded in gloom, filthy, phantom-loving, and senseless. For to the mind, what is consistent with living a dull and stupid life? But to the phantom, by reason of the certain constitution of the spirit, the lower seat is appropriate: for like delights in like. But if from the two, through their very conjunction, one [thing] is made, the mind itself is also immersed in pleasure. Although this is the ultimate of evils, not even to perceive any sense of present evil; and this is proper to those 139 who do not desire to emerge at all. Just as a callous hardness, because it produces no further pain, gives no warning of healing and safety; for this reason, repent
repentance A possesses the power to draw one away from evils. For whoever bears with annoyance those things in which he is involved, strives to extricate himself from them; and the greatest part of purification is the will. For in this way, deeds and words conspire toward the same end, like a hand stretched out; but if this [will] is lacking, any expiatory ceremony is like a lifeless thing, inasmuch as it is mutilated by the principal pact and consent. For this reason, both here and there, the apt temperings B of good and evil things provide the greatest and most excellent contribution to the order of the universe, and by introducing pain in turn, they purge the soul of dull joy; and calamities, which are said to happen undeservedly, have great momentum for dissolving the affection by which we cling to the lowest things. Thus it happens that by these very arguments the primate Providence proves itself to the wise, by which the foolish are led to deny it. For it is impossible that the soul, which has experienced nothing adverse in these matters, should be recalled from matter. For this reason, those memorable successes in secondary things must be thought to have been prepared by the presiding inferior demons as snares for souls. Therefore, as souls depart from here, a cup of oblivion is provided, which is to be called the alternative evil. But to the soul entering into life, in place of the cup of oblivion, the sweetness and pleasantness of life is extended. For although it descends to its first life as a mercenary of its own accord, it undertakes servitude in exchange for mercenary labor: yet that was nothing other than to perform some duty to this world by the command of Adrastea, and to provide service. But, enticed as if by the bonuses of matter, it suffers something not unlike free men, but [rather] like those hired for a time; who, captivated by the beauty of a maidservant, desire to remain, and strike a bargain concerning servitude with the mistress of their beloved. Thus we appear, C when we rejoice in our innermost heart over those things that pertain to the body or external commodities, which are indeed thought to be good, to be making a contract with the nature of matter and acknowledging it as beautiful. But she receives our consent as if it were secret tablets, and when we, as if by our own right, wish to withdraw, she cries out that we are fugitives, and attempts to drag us back; and as if she were a mistress to those fleeing, trusting in those same tablets, she lays her hand upon them. But then, there is need, first of all, for the strength of the soul, and for the help of God. For it is no light struggle to refute one's contract by legal prescription, and perhaps even violently to shake it off: then certain punishments from matter, even those that have arisen beyond fate, rise up against the rebels and those who refuse her command, nor would we say it is absurd that these [punishments] signify those trials which we read in the sacred monuments that Hercules underwent: or if any other man has D manfully attempted to assert himself into freedom; until they had brought the spirit to a point where the hands of [material] nature could not reach. But if that leap has been made short of her boundaries, he will be dragged down, and more severe struggles will have to be applied: for from then on, just as if they were not her own, she does not spare them; and as if
A she despaired of the ascent, she demands efforts of this kind, and she does not propose lives any longer from both casks, which Homer silently hints are two parts of matter: and Jupiter himself, in that place, is the god who moderates matter, from whom that double lot and condition of fate is distributed: so that he never pours out any sincere good, without the admixture of evil, although someone might sometimes turn out a participant of the purer and cleaner part of the worse. But the life of that soul is absolutely wandering and erratic, which does not immediately return after its first descent. See, therefore, how great a distance separates this spirit in this life. For when the soul inclines downward, the arcane teaching reported, the spirit is weighed down, and descends as far as it falls into a seat that is dark and obscure on every side; but if it is carried upward, it follows it as far as it can: and it can indeed go as far as, until it arrives at the greatest distance of the opposite region. For hear what the sacred songs pronounce regarding this: No longer will it leave the dregs of matter in the precipice, B But also a part for the image has been left in the splendid seat. But this is opposed to that which is dark. Although someone might perceive something more acutely in these matters. For it seems not only to lead up to the celestial spheres the nature that comes from there, but even if it has drawn down something from the extremity of fire and air into the nature of the simulacrum, before it put on the earthly shell: and this, he says, it transmits with the better portion. For the dregs of matter cannot be a divine body. Moreover, it is very consistent with reason that things which have come into the communion of the same nature, and have at some time coalesced into one, should not lack every habit and affection between them, especially those which have their seat placed nearby: just as fire is contained in the body spread around the orb, and not like the earth, which is the lowest of all things. Wherefore, if those things which are endowed with a more excellent nature, conceding something to the worse, have come into communion with them, so that a body might be contributed to the dregs as if immortal, just as if it were made its own and usurped with the other part, which prevailed in this composition; it may be that those which are of a worse condition, provided they do not resist the actions of the soul, but are compliant and accommodated to its nod, follow it also, and while they render the nature of the middle condition quiet and prepared for the command of the superior, they pass over together into the nature of the ether, and are transmitted upward again: so that if they do not arrive at the whole space completely, C at least they transcend the extremities of the elements, and taste of the most splendid region. For it has, he says, a certain lot in it, that is, it consists in a certain seat of the orb. 6. Let what has been said from the part which is sought from the elements be enough, to which whoever wishes may give or withhold faith. But as for that corporeal nature which slips down from there with the soul, it is impossible that, if the soul returns upward according to nature, it should not be raised up together, lifting itself from the fall, and be joined to the celestial orbs: which is the same as being in some way recalled to nature. These are, therefore, the two extreme lots, one of which is most obscure, the other most splendid, which, divided between themselves, contain the extremes of happiness and unhappiness. How many regions, however, do you think exist in the concave space of this orb, partly sub-lucid, partly sub-obscure, in all of which the soul lives with that spirit, changing forms and customs and lives again and again? But D
it errs and lies. A For the misty quality of the spirit does not grasp the activity of beings. And being in the middle, it might miss some things and happen upon others. By this, one could also verify and discern the nature of demons in any rank whatsoever. For to be truthful either entirely, or for the most part, is divine, or very near to the divine. But that which is wandering in its prognostications is restless, being passionate and ambitious for those things that are rolled into matter. For in this way, it always creeps into [the nature of] the divine, and of an older demon, and it leaps in and occupies the place made ready for the nature that is greater. And being [able to judge] the state and condition of the soul that is in man, we might discover [its] rank from this. B Whenever the visionary spirit is pure and well-defined, and receives, both awake and in sleep, true impressions of things, such a one could have the promise—as far as concerns the figure of the soul—of obtaining a better lot. And we investigate the state and disposition of the animal spirit, not least from the phantasms which it projects and about which it is busied when it is not moved from without by another, in what sort of condition the psychic spirit happens to be. Philosophy provides some indications for judging this, which teaches how it is proper to educate it, and by what provision it must be cared for so that it never errs. The best education is always to act from the power that is incumbent and intent upon the work, and, to say it in one word, as far as possible, for the progress of life to be intelligible, C inasmuch as we anticipate the impulses of the absurd phantasms that cast themselves in the way. For this is the same as being converted to the more excellent and being abstracted from the worse, and being free, except in so far as necessity demands that we associate with it; yet there is nothing more apt for breaking through those things that rise up against the spirit than that intelligible incubation for action. For it renders that [spirit] more subtle than can be spoken, and raises it up to God: and when it is suited for this, it presently draws the divine spirit to the soul by a certain bond of kinship. Just as when it is folded in on itself and diminished by density, such that it cannot fill the seat defined for it by the providence that fashions man (these are the ventricles of the brain), then nature, not bearing a vacuum in things, as soon as a malign spirit insinuates itself into it. Then what inconvenience does one not suffer from the company of such detestable evil? D For nature requires that the seats destined for this, that the spirit might reside in them, be filled by either a worse or a better spirit. But this is the punishment of impious men, who have defiled the divine portion within them. That, however, is the end of piety, or next to the end.
7. Now, we have set out to speak about divination by dreams, so that it might not be despised by men, but rather that they might be held by the study of it, inasmuch as it brings very great utility to life; and for this purpose we have investigated the nature of the faculty of imagination. But out of our discourse, a lesser utility appeared for present use; yet the fruit of a sound and healthy spirit is far more excellent, namely, the elevation of the soul, a truly sacred gain; so that it is also a kind of exercise of piety, to attempt to...
A become qualified for divination. 500 Some, indeed, through a desire for such foreknowledge, have set for themselves a table, instead of an intemperate and immoderate one, that is sacred and humble; and have embraced a chaste and modest bed. For whoever determines to use his bed as if it were the Pythian tripod, is far from wishing to make the nights in it witnesses of dissipation and lack of self-restraint, and rather wishes to worship and pray to God. What is accumulated little by little becomes abundant, and what is done for the sake of one thing ends in something greater, so that those who did not originally strive for this may gradually attain to the love of God and union with Him. By no means, therefore, is divination to be neglected, which gradually contends toward divine things and has as a kind of consequence that which is most precious in human faculty. For the soul, when joined to God, does not have less use of and opportunity for inferior things because it touches upon the more excellent. For it does not entirely abandon the care of the animal [part], and it B looks down upon the lower things far more clearly and distinctly from on high than if it were with them and mingled with the worse. Therefore, while remaining unmoved and quiet, it communicates to the animal the images of things that are occurring. And this is what is said, "to descend without ascending," when, without being tethered, the superior [part] takes care of the inferior. This skill in divination I wish both to have myself and to leave to my children; for this, it is not necessary to undertake a long journey with much baggage, or a voyage beyond the seas, as to Delphi or to the shrine of Ammon; but after washing one’s hands and offering a propitious prayer, it is enough to sleep, C *When she had washed and put on pure robes,* *She prayed to the Cecropian goddess.* 8. Thus shall we ask for a dream, just as perhaps Homer asked. And if you are fit, the god who is far away is present to you. For even if you have labored nothing toward it, he offers himself simply to the sleeper: and in this consists the whole business of the initiation, for which no one has ever complained of poverty, as if in this part he had less than the rich. Yet some ceremonies that pertain to the foreknowledge of future events, just as the Athenians choose their trierarchs, require their priests to be selected from the highest censuses: and there is need of an enormous expense, and especially of luck, to bring together some D Cretan herb, or an Egyptian bird, or an Iberian bone, or, by Zeus, if any monstrous thing from land or sea grows and is nourished in a hidden spot, *Where the sun sets and where it rises.* For these and many such things are told about those who practice external divination, to the performance of which whose private fortune would suffice? But a dream is seen by the man who is measured by five hundred medimnoi, and it is seen by him who has three hundred: but also by the zeugites no less, and by him who cultivates a remote plot of land so as to survive; and even the rower and the day laborer likewise, as well as the equal-taxpayer and he who pays the alien's tax. And there is no difference for the
A deity regarding who is an Eteobutad and who is a newly bought slave. And that which is popular in this form of divination is most full of humanity; that it is simple and devoid of artifice is most wise; that it is not in the least violent is religious; that it does not occupy merely water, or stone, or a chasm in the earth, is truly most divine. But that we are not kept from any single act by such divination, nor is any time taken away from us by it—this was the first thing worth stating. For no one, having left behind a matter of great importance which he had in hand, departs home to sleep, having made a compact with his dreams. But that time which must of necessity be spent by a living creature in caring for its nature, since it cannot be intent upon the actions of wakefulness perpetually, this very time brings to men what is commonly called a "greater bonus" from the work itself, joining the voluntary to the necessary, and adding "being well" to "being." On the other hand, for other prognostications of the future, which are solicited through various objects and instruments, if they should take up the greatest part of life, one must consider it a splendid thing for us if they grant any time at all to the remaining necessities and actions of life. For if one were to be completely occupied by any of these matters, one would with difficulty derive any benefit from divination. B For neither at every time, nor in every place, is it possible to receive the equipment of the rite, nor does every convenience carry with it the instruments required. For if there were nothing else, at least those things for which the places of punishment were lately filled and narrowed—the loads of carts or of a hollow ship—together with which other parts of the rites are the recorders and witnesses. For it is more true to say this: after our age published so many things through the ministers of the laws, by whom they were brought forth to the crowd, they began to be spectacles and performances for the profane populace. Therefore, besides the fact that it is most miserable, I think, and hateful to God to descend to such things—for to await not just anyone coming of his own accord, but to try to force [the god] by contention and violence is the same as inflicting force; a thing which the legislator did not wish to C remain unpunished even among men; but beyond these things, which have for the most part only trouble, this also happens to those who seek the knowledge of the future in that way: that they are frequently interrupted in their acting, and that when they travel to a distant region, they seem to leave their art behind at home. For it is no small business to carry with you, wherever you go, the supplies necessary for it. But of divination through dreams, every person can be his own instrument, and thus they cannot leave their oracle behind even if they wish to; for it remains with them while they stay at home, and is a companion to them while they travel abroad; it goes with them to war, it helps them manage the republic, it helps them farm D and conduct trade. Neither do the laws of a jealous republic restrain it, nor, even if they wished to most strongly, could they. For they have no proof against those who use it. And what harm do we do while sleeping? Not even if a tyrant were to order that no one be a spectator of dreams, not unless he were to also forbid the act of sleeping itself. But it is characteristically of a mindless person to wish for what is impossible; and of an impious person to legislate things that are contrary to nature and to God. One must therefore go to it—it is open to woman and to man, to the old and to the young, to the poor and to the rich, to the private citizen and to the ruler, to the city-dweller and to the rustic, to the craftsman and to the orator. It turns away no race, no age, no fortune, no craft. It is present everywhere to all.
B It is an interpreter of future things ready at call, an excellent counselor, silent; it is the same priestess of sacred rites and the initiated, which reports good things so that pleasure might be, by the foreknowledge of the good, more lasting, and it uncovers impending evils so that they might be prevented and driven away. For whatever hope—by which the human race is nourished—proposes as pleasant and sweet; whatever is cautious and useful in fear, all that is found in dreams, nor are we led into hope by any other thing so much. And yet this whole species of hoping is so abundant and salutary in the nature of humans that it is in the mouth of more elegant sophists that men would not even be able to endure life if they persisted in the same state as before. For they would easily be fatigued by those annoyances which surround the life of men, if Prometheus had not implanted hope in their nature, as a medicine of endurance, by which, being deceived, they think that which is in expectation more certain than that which appears. C Furthermore, it is endowed with such power that he who is held bound in fetters, as soon as he allows his eager mind to hope, is instantly set free, and serves in the army, and is suddenly a commander of half a century, and by degrees a centurion, then turns out an emperor; then he conquers, offers sacrifice, is crowned, sets a table, and, if he pleases, a Sicilian one, or if he prefers, a Persian. Meanwhile, he forgets his feet and his chains as long as he wishes to be an emperor. And all that is a true vision of one dreaming and an insomnium of one waking; for they concur in the same subject, namely the phantastic nature; which, as often as we wish to create images, brings this one benefit, that it suffuses our life with hilarity, and by soothing the soul with vague and inconstant hope, refreshes and recreates it from the sense of annoyances; but when of its own accord it proposes some hope to us, which indeed happens to those who are sleeping, we accept the promise of dreams as some pledge from God. Therefore, sometimes as soon as anyone has prepared his mind to handle greater things, which had been offered to him through a dream, he brings back a double fruit from it, so that he both perceives pleasure before the attainment of the matter, and when it has befallen him, he can use it skillfully, because he has it as something convenient for his life, long since meditated upon and thought out. D Wherefore, the hope which is celebrated by Pindar, when it speaks thus of a happy man: "That there is joined to him a sweet, heart-soothing, youth-nurturing hope, which most of all governs the versatile mind of mortals"—rightly would someone deny that this is said of that false species which we fashion for ourselves. But all this praise of dreams has been spoken by Pindar as yet in a small part. The art of divination, therefore, concerning dreams, making use of technique for what has appeared, provides a more certain hope, so that it might not seem to be of the baser sort. But the Penelope of Homer posits two gates of dreams, and makes them half-deceitful, because she was not wise regarding the nature of dreams. For if she knew the art pertaining to them, she would have brought them all through the horns. It is represented, therefore, that she is refuted and that she incurs the charge of ignorance regarding that very appearance in which she did not trust when she ought to have.
"The geese shall be my suitors; but I, the eagle bird, am Ulysses." And he was dwelling under the same roof, and speaking with her in a vision. In this I seem to hear Homer saying clearly that one should not despair of dreams, nor attribute the weakness of those who use them to the nature of the things seen. For this reason, Agamemnon is not correct to rebuke the deceptive nature of dreams, having wrongly received that predicted victory:
"He bids thee arm the long-haired Pelasgians Forthwith: so thou mightest take the broad city of Priam."
B He goes forward, therefore, as if he would capture the city at the first assault, since he had understood that phrase utterly wrongly; for he says that it is to be understood as if he should lead out the Greeks all-armed to a man. But meanwhile Achilles and the phalanx of the Myrmidons, the chief strength of the army, were refraining from battle. But enough has been said regarding the praise of dreams; now let us put an end to this proclamation.
9. For it was a small matter that I should receive the charge of ingratitude. For that this divination is most fit, that it should sail with us, and remain at home, and go to the market, and at the same time preside over the army, and lead all things with all men to their end: these are things which I mentioned a little while ago; but the benefits conferred by her on me have not yet been set forth in common. Although there is nothing which is so common to men as to philosophize: and many things which occurred to [those] wakeful, difficult to understand, she discloses in part, while we are slumbering, and in part provides something for their resolution. For something of this kind happens, such that now I seem like one questioning, C and now like one discovering and thinking it out myself; and indeed, not rarely, she completes some nocturnal studies with me. For she has often prepared the meaning, and accommodated the diction, and, having introduced this, has supplied another in its place: sometimes she has chastened the very structure of the words, which was too wanton and turgid with the novelty of terms, due to a preposterous emulation of obsolete and ancient Attic style, with God inspiring, while she partly said something, partly explained what this was; and partly she taught me to smooth away certain swellings, as it were, protruding from my tongue: thus she both recalled me to modesty and repressed whatever was inflated. At other times, when I was devoting effort to hunting, she devised engines with me for capturing those wild beasts which are accustomed to run craftily and hide; but to me, when I was failing, and now preparing to return, she commanded persistence, D and pledged that fortune was in my power, so that I might more gladly encamp outdoors, trusting in her. And when she was present, the mistress [fortune] was also present, and she pointed out to me swarms of wild beasts caught in nets and taken by spears. For my own life, therefore, is books and hunting, since I have never been an ambassador. How I wish that I had not seen those three ill-omened years of my life! And yet, even then, most...
A great benefits did I receive from her. For she rendered void the plots of the soul-conducting sorcerers against me, and by revealing them, and rescuing me from those dangers, she also directed common affairs so that they went as well as possible for the cities, and she brought me before the emperor for an audience, more boldly than any Greek in history had done before. Others have other concerns; but she is present to all, being a kindly daemon to each one, and devising something for those who are awake. So great a treasure is the soul when it has rested from the flood of vulgar sensations that introduce varied and manifold alien things into it. For the images of things that it possesses, and whatever it receives from the Mind, it offers only when it is alone to those who have turned to the interior; and it conveys to them those things that proceed from the Divinity. For the worldly god also joins with it when it is in such a state, because its nature derives from the same source.
[V] 10. These kinds of dreams, then, are B more divine, and are either entirely, or for the most part, clear and perspicuous, and in no need of art; but these occur only to those who pursue virtue in life, whether that virtue is acquired by prudence or gathered by habit. And if it happens to anyone else, even if it happens very rarely, it may yet occur at some time; it is certainly not for some small reason that an excellent dream is offered to an ordinary man. But the remaining, frequent, and standard kind is that which is wrapped and obscurely shadowed, for which some art must be made ready. For it has, if I may so speak, an absurd and strange origin, and it proceeds in a most obscure manner, as having sprung from such things. It holds as follows regarding it: Whatever nature possesses—of all things that are, have been, and are to come (since even this is a mode of existence)—its images flow away, and fall away from their substance. For if each perceptible thing is a form combined with matter; and we have detected in a composite the flux of matter; reason itself proves that the nature of the images also flows forth, so that in both respects the things that come to be would deny the dignity of the reality. C The imaginative spirit is a most clear mirror of all these flowing images. For as they wander at random and slip away from their station, both through the indefiniteness of their being and by being recognized by none of the things that are, when they happen upon the psychic spirits—which are images, but have a seat in nature—they lean upon them and rest in them as if in a home. Since those of past things, inasmuch as they have already existed in reality, are sent as clear images, until they vanish little by little through the length of time; of present things, D since they are still standing, [the images] are more lively and clearer, whereas those of future things are more indefinite and indistinct. For they are the precursors of what is not yet present, the blossoms of an incomplete nature, such as those leaping and bounding from seeds stored away
150 Therefore, a work of art is needed for the knowledge of future things, since the images of them emerge only in shadow, and are not manifest, as are the images of things that actually exist; they consist, nevertheless, of an admirable nature, and thus they possess the character of things that have sprung from objects not yet produced.
[11.] But now we must also say something about this art, and by what method it may be acquired. It is best, therefore, to have so prepared the divine spirit that it is deemed worthy of the contemplation of the mind B and of God, and is not made a receptacle for wandering and straying phantoms. The best education, however, is that which is obtained through the benefit of philosophy, which settles and tranquilizes the perturbations of the soul; for once these are stirred, the spirit is taken captive, just as a territory is. Then, through a moderate and frugal diet, which neither adds goads to the animal part nor drives the body to an extreme, this is achieved. Otherwise, the agitation itself will reach as far as the body, which, however, ought to be peaceful and quiet. But since to desire this is indeed very easy for anyone, but to accomplish it is the most difficult of all things; and since we wish that sleep should not be useless to anyone, come, let us seek a boundary for these infinite matters—that is, let us establish an art concerning these phantoms. C It stands thus: just as those who sail the sea, if a certain cliff occurs to them, and then, having gone ashore, they see a city full of men, as often as they see that same cliff, they recognize the same city; or as it happens with the leaders of an army; although we do not yet see them, we know from their precursors that they will come, because when these appear, those have always followed—so also with regard to these phantoms, we infer at each recurrence the activity of future realities. For these are the precursors of the same events, and like things are precursors of like things. Just as it is a vice of the navigator, when the same cliff appears, not to recognize it, nor to be able to say near what land the ship is cruising, and such a man sails blindly; so too, he to whom the same vision has often presented itself, if he has not observed of what event—whether of fortune or of action—it was a premonition, uses his life thoughtlessly, just as that navigator uses his ship. And we predict the signs in the sky during the deepest peace of the surrounding air, when we have seen a halo around the moon, because, having often seen it thus, a storm has followed.
151 D One halo announces to you winds, and serene weather: If broken, winds; if consumed, fair weather: But if a double circle encompasses the moon, winter, And a triple circle brings a greater winter: and where It is darker, and more broken, there a fiercer one impends.
In all these matters, both Aristotle and reason itself define: that sense has created memory, memory has created experience, and experience has created art; by these same footprints let us also walk toward the knowledge of dreams. And indeed, infinite books of such observations have been compiled by some. But I laugh at all of them, and consider them of little use. For not as the ultimate body...
the assembly of the commonly known elements, is able to receive a universal art and a principle extending along with nature. A For just as these for the most part undergo these things by the same agencies—the difference between them being small in things of the same kind, and what has anything contrary to nature in them does not escape notice as being diseased, nor do we use such a thing as a standard—it is not so, I say, with regard to the imaginative spirit, but even in its primary nature one differs from another; for one belongs to one sphere, another to another, according to the greater part of the mixture; B or according to the primary nature itself, one differs from another; for one, as it consists of a larger mass and, as it were, a lump, belongs to a different sphere.
Felices nimium, reliquis et sorte priores Sunt animæ, ad terram quæ summo ex æthere fusæ: Hæ quoque felices, et inenarrabile prorsus Stamen habent, a te quæ, rex, splendente, vel ipso Ab Jove proveniunt, filo cogente subactæ.
And this, indeed, was what Timaeus hinted at, assigning to each soul a star as a companion. B But those that degenerate from nature, more or less, as each is weighed down by a certain infelicity of greater or lesser moment, stain the spirit. Thus affected, they dwell in bodies: and their whole life is passed in sin and the sickness of the spirit; which, to the spirit itself, happens contrary to nature because of its primary nobility, but for the animal, it is according to nature—for it was ensouled by [the spirit] being thus affected—unless, perhaps, we say that the nature of the latter is that very order and sequence in which it is placed by itself, as it makes use of vice and virtue. For nothing is so varied and versatile as the spirit. C How, then, could the same things be represented by the same agencies in things so dissimilar in nature, law, and affection? This is not the case, nor could it ever happen. For how could it ever come to pass that muddy water and pellucid water, or water that is stagnant and water that is agitated, be affected in the same way by the same form? But if that perturbation happens in one way in one, and in another way in another, according to the diversity of colors, and the agitations are figured in various ways, they will at least be one in the genus of failing to be an exact image. D But if a difference is found, whether some Phemonoe, or Melampus, or anyone else wishes to pronounce and lay down anything at all about such matters in a universal way, let us ask him whether it is possible by nature that a straight mirror and a distorted mirror—and one that consists of dissimilar material—should return a similar image of that which is shown. But these men, I believe, have never philosophized at all about the spirit. Yet that which is akin to it, however it may be situated, they have wished to be a canon and standard for all things. And for my part, I do not deny that there is some agreement and similarity among all these things that differ from one another, but if it is obscured and distracted, it becomes more obscure. Add to this that, as was said before, the simulacrum of a future thing that leaps ahead is in itself difficult to know. Furthermore, it is far more laborious to describe in the character of each individual some common similar vision.
12. For these reasons, one should not despair that universal laws can be prescribed for all; but rather that each person, as his own material...
should store away in his memory what things he has experienced, and when, and what visions preceded them. A For habit is easily acquired regarding those things which are practiced with use and utility. Indeed, the utility of this exercise brings it into memory, especially when it has frequently chanced upon the material. Now, what can be more abundant than dreams? Or what can be more effective for inviting even the foolish to think something about them? Therefore, it is shameful for those who have reached their twenty-fifth year to still have need of another seer, and not to have gathered for themselves many precepts of this art.
It would also be wise to record both the visions of the day and those of the night, unless the customs of the city are too rustic and unrefined for the novelty of this discovery. For we shall resolve, by attaching to what are called "day-books" those which we term "night-books," to have records of both lives. For our discourse defines the life of the phantasy as being now better, now worse, than the intermediate life, just as the spirit is healthy or diseased. Thus, if we seriously apply ourselves to that observation by which the art grows day by day, with nothing slipping from our memory, this would be an otherwise elegant diversion: for a person to commit himself to history, both waking and sleeping.
Moreover, for those who are seized by a desire to forge their language, I know not if they could find any other subject matter which would receive such manifold exercise of oratorical power. For if the Lemnian sophist says that daily accounts, that is, ephemerides, are excellent teachers for speaking well on any subject whatsoever—because they do not disdain even the smallest things, but are necessarily brought to handle all matters, both grave and trivial—why should "nightly accounts" not also be highly valued by us for the exercise of speaking? B Yet how dense and laborious a task this is, one may easily understand who has contended to match speech with the visions—from which things that are by nature joined are separated, and things by nature separated are joined; and it must be brought about that objects which have not been seen by someone are nevertheless presented to him by the benefit of oratory. Nor is it a light or contemptible thing to be able to transfer a strange and unusual motion in the soul into another.
But when, through the phantasy, things that are, are driven from their nature, and things that neither are nor by nature can be, are introduced into nature, what force or faculty can finally represent that which lacks a nature to those who have thought of nothing similar to it for themselves? The phantasy, however, does not present these things as various images, nor all at once, nor with time. It brings them forth, however, as they have themselves and as they are ministered by the dream. For we think we see whatever it pleases: to move among all of them in description not shamefully, but with perpetual decorum, requires finally the most absolute power of an orator. C Since it invades even our souls and affections with a certain youthful license, these things—as they are and as the dream might desire them—we consider to be a matter of the most perfect rhetoric. D Yet it also shows boldness against our very judgment, yielding something more to be known. For we are not even impassively disposed toward these spectacles, but our assents and efforts are strong, and we do not turn away from them in the least; and the frequent enchantments regarding these things settle upon us while we dream. And pleasure is then most gentle, so as to wipe away from the soul the middle, and to suggest loves for the waking life. If, therefore, anyone is about to speak not things inanimate, but to accomplish that for which the discourse was undertaken, it would be necessary to establish the listener in the same passion and the same assumptions, as the...
A speaker has experienced — for at the same time one wins, and walks, and flies, and all the phantasy is in motion. How then could speech comprehend it? A person is sleeping in a dream, and sees a dream, and has risen while sleeping, as he thinks, and shakes off the sleep while lying down, and philosophizes about the dream that has appeared, as he knows how, and this too is a dream, but that one is double. Then he disbelieves, and thinks the current state to be waking life, and that what appears is living. From this the battle is at its height, and one dreams of a struggle against himself, both to abandon [the sleep] and to be aroused, and to gain trial of himself, and to expose the deception. The Aloadae, indeed, are punished for setting up the mountains of the Thessalians as a wall against the gods; but for the one sleeping, no law of Adrastia stands in the way to prevent him from rising from the earth more fortunately than Icarus, and to fly beyond eagles, and to become higher than the highest spheres themselves. And one looks down upon the earth from far away, and it is marked out, although not even visible, by the moon. It is possible also to converse with the stars, and to be with the gods who are invisible in the world. B Indeed, what is called difficult then becomes easy, the gods appear manifest; nor is there any envy at all in these things. For after a little while he has not come to the earth, but is already on it. For nothing is so characteristic of dreams as to suppress all that is between, and to accomplish anything without time. Then he converses with sheep, and thinks their bleating to be speech, and understands those who are speaking. And so novel and vast is the abundance of arguments, if one should dare to commit his speeches to them.
13. For I believe that even fables have received their license from dreams, by which even the peacock, and the fox, and the sea speak. These are small [things] compared to the autonomy of dreams. But although fables are the smallest part of dreams, nevertheless they have been loved by the sophists for the preparation of interpretation. And yet, for those to whom the fable is the beginning of the art, it would be fitting that the end should be a dream; and there is added the fact that one has not C exercised the tongue in vain, as in fables, but that one may also become wiser in judgment. Let every one, therefore, who has leisure and sufficiency of life, go to the recording of those things that befall him both while waking and while dreaming; let him spend some portion of his time, from which the most excellent thing that is produced by the faculty of writing is to stir up the divination which we have praised, than which no matter could be more beneficial. Nor indeed is the expression to be rejected, the trailer of things. For the philosopher it might be a game, as he relaxes tension, just as the Scythians do with their bows; but for the rhetorician, let us assign it as the crowning point of his displays. For it does not seem to me to be the time to practice cleverness on Miltiades, and Cimon, and various D nameless persons, and on the rich and the poor, and on enemies from the political sphere; over whom I also...
A remember seeing old men quarrelling in the theatre. And yet those men were most full of gravity, as philosophers, and each of them, as one might guess, carried the weight of a beard. But such great gravity did not prevent them from hurling insults at one another, and roaring, and gesturing with their hands indecorously, while they delivered long-winded speeches about men whom at that time I supposed were connected to them by some necessity; though, as I was later informed by others, they were not even alive, let alone connected by necessity, and had in no way existed in reality. For where in the world would a commonwealth exist that, as a reward for the one who had conducted himself best, decreed the execution of a citizen who followed the opposing side in the administration of the state? And yet, what sort of time is a ninety-year-old man, who struggles over a fabricated subject, reserving for the truth of his learned studies? They do not even seem to me to grasp the sheer meaning of the term "practice," for they claim it is done for the sake of something else; yet those men consider the preparation to be the end, and they love the road as if it were the goal toward which one must travel. For they have made the practice itself the contest. It is as if someone, having merely exercised his hands in the wrestling school, should demand to be proclaimed a winner of the B pancration at Olympia. Such a drought of intellect and flood of words has seized upon people, so that there are some who are able to speak while having nothing to say; they should instead have brought forth fruits from themselves, as Alcaeus and Archilochus did, both of whom expended their eloquence on the description of their own lives. Whence also their memory, concerning things both pleasant and disagreeable that befell them, has been propagated through the succession of subsequent time. For they did not bring forth empty and futile speeches, as this new race of learned men is accustomed to do with their contrived subjects; nor did they spend their wealth on the praise of others, like Homer and Stesichorus, who indeed rendered the race of heroes more glorious and illustrious through their poems, and we derived some advantage for the study of virtue from them, but they themselves, as far as they were concerned, lay neglected; of whom we can say nothing else, except that they were elegant poets. Therefore, whoever C burns with the desire for spreading his fame among men and to posterity, and is conscious to himself of being able to inscribe immortal-worthy things upon tablets, let him boldly enter into this new and unusual manner of our writing, and commit himself to the memory of time. It is an excellent guardian, whenever, with God’s favor, something is entrusted to its care.
MONITUM IN SYNESII EPISTOLAS
It happens for the most part that the more illustrious a writer is, and the more widely he is circulated and studied, the more he is filled with variations in reading, or, what is more troublesome, with mistakes and errors. We experience this daily with Cicero, Pliny, and others, both Greek and Latin; for their books, because they were handled by everyone and scribed repeatedly by copyists, are marked by a multitude of variant words and readings. The same cause existed in our Synesius, why this epistolary work of all his monuments was especially spotted and varied. For since the Epistles of Synesius were already most celebrated among the ancients, as is evident from the accounts of Evagrius, Photius, Suidas, and others, it resulted that while other works, which are more obscure even to our own age, reached us in a purer state, the Epistles teemed with many errors of the copyists and with a surplus of ambiguities and variations of that kind. Therefore, more effort was expended by us in reviewing them than in the others, so that we might bring them into conformity with the testimony of ancient codices, of which we had a sufficiently large number. In these, the reader will notice not a few things that were deformed by some marked corruption and have been restored to the genuine reading. Now, as regards the order of the Epistles, although they were all gathered together in a haphazard fashion without any consideration of chronology, we have decided to innovate nothing in this edition, lest those who have read them in other editions, or seen them cited by writers in this order, might labor afterward in finding them.
SYNESIUS'S LETTERS
A
LETTER I. To Nicander.
I have brought forth children in the form of discourses: some from the most venerable philosophy and its companion, poetry; others from public, prostitute rhetoric. Yet anyone could easily discern that they are all from one father, who inclined now to serious matters, now to pleasure. As to which branch this present work belongs, it will declare itself by its own argument. For my part, it has been so affectionately regarded that I would most willingly have adopted it into philosophy and counted it among my legitimate offspring. But the laws of the state do not allow this. For they are defenders of nobility.
DION. PETAVIUS' NOTES
[XLIII-XLIV] (1) Children, I have brought forth discourses. The Greeks use this better than the Latins; for they call a creator or a writer a "father." Clem. Alex. *Strom.*: "Children are the offspring of the soul, which are the discourses." So Arnobius, book I, calls the authors of his opinions "fathers." Rufinus also, in his preface to the books *On First Principles*, [writes] so that he might be a father of the word, rather than an interpreter. Dionysius of Alexandria, in Athanasius' book *On the Opinions of Dionysius*: "A poet, for he is the B father..." (2) From public, prostitute rhetoric. He alludes to the "Pandemos Aphrodite" (Common Venus), of whom Xenophon speaks in the *Symposium*, which consult. (3) This present work. A scholar of an ancient codex from the Royal Library notes that this book is a eulogy of baldness. Anyone who has read it will deservedly admit that this doubt was rightly posed to Synesius.