the universe from
which they drew so many of their analogies. The symbolism of Dante
appears to us unnaturally strained until we know that the science of his
day saw everything as symbolic.
And how could we appreciate the strength of Chaucer's metaphor:
"O firste moving cruel firmament, With thy diurnal swegh that croudest
ay, And hurtlest all from Est til Occident, That naturally wold hold
another way,"
without some knowledge of the astronomy of his day?
Our first extracts explain themselves. They deal with the mystery of the
constitution of substances, as fascinating to us as to the early Greeks,
and begin with definitions of matter and form.
The principal design of early philosophers in physics was to explain
how everything was generated, and to trace the different states through
which things pass until they become perfect. They observed that as a
thing is not generated out of any other indifferently--for example, that
marble is not capable of making flesh, all bodies cannot be
compounded of principles alone, connected in a simple way, but
imagined they could be made up of a few simple compounds. These
ultimate compounds, if we may so express it, were their elements. The
number of elements was variously estimated, but was generally taken
as four--a number arrived at rather from the consideration of the
sensations bodies awaken in us, than from the study of bodies
themselves. Aristotle gives us the train of thought by which the number
is reached. He considers the qualities observed by the senses,
classifying them as Heat, Cold, Dryness or Hardness, and Moistness or
Capability of becoming liquid. These may partially co-exist, two at a
time, in the same substance. There are thus four possible combinations,
Cold and dry, Cold and moist, Hot and dry, Hot and moist. He then
names these from their prototypes Earth, Water, Fire, and Air,
distinguishing these elements from the actual Earth, etc., of everyday
life.
The habit of extending analogies beyond their legitimate application
was a source of confusion in the early ages of science. Most of the
superstitions of primitive religion, of astrology, and of alchemy, arose
from this source. A good example is the extension of the metaphor in
the words generation and _corruption_: words in constant use in
scientific works until the nineteenth century began. Generation is the
production of a substance that before was not, and corruption is the
destruction of a substance, by its ceasing to be what it was before. Thus,
fire is generated, and wood is corrupted, when the latter is burnt. But
the implicit metaphor in the use of the terms likens substances to the
human body, their production and destruction implies liability to
disease, and thus prepares the way for the notion of the elixir, which is
first a potion giving long life, and curing bodily ailments, and only after
some time a remedy for diseased metals--the philosopher's stone.
It will be seen that the theory of the mediaeval alchemist was that
matter is an entity filling all space, on which in different places
different forms were impressed. The elements were a preliminary
grouping of these, and might be present--two, three, or four at a
time--in any substance. No attempt was ever made to separate these
elements by scientific men, just as no attempt is ever made to isolate
the ether of the physical speculations of to-day. The theory of modern
physicists, with its ether and vortices, answers almost exactly to the
matter and form of the ancients, the nature of the vortices conditioning
matter.
The extracts from Book XI. bring us to another class of substances. All
compound bodies are classified as imperfect or perfect. Imperfect
compounds, or meteors, to some extent resemble elements. They are
fiery, as the rainbow, or watery, as dew. Our extract on the rainbow is
somewhat typical of the faults of ancient science. A note is taken of a
rare occurrence--a lunar rainbow; but in describing the common one, an
error of the most palpable kind is made. The placing of blue as the
middle and green as the lowest colour is obviously wrong, and is
inexplicable if we did not know how facts were cut square with theories
in old days.
In the next extract Bartholomew's account of the spirits animating man
is quoted at length. It gives us the mediaeval theory as to the means by
which life, motion, and knowledge were shown in the body. Every
reader of Shakespeare or Chaucer becomes familiar with the vital,
animal, and natural spirits. They were supposed to communicate with
all parts of the body by means of the arteries or wosen, "the nimble
spirits in their arteries," and the sinews or nerves. The word sinew, by
the way, is exactly equal to our word nerve, and ayenward, as our
author would
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