Chapter 3

5 […] In some of these cases—in that of the poet Antipater, of those born on the winter solstice, of brothers falling ill together, of urine, of fingernails, and of the other examples of this kind—the interconnection of nature has its effect. I do not deny that interconnection; but there is no force of fate at work. In others there may be an element of chance, as with that shipwrecked man, with Icadius, and with Daphitas. Some instances, too, Posidonius seems to invent—with all respect to my teacher, let me say it; they are certainly absurd. For consider: if Daphitas was fated to fall from a horse and die in that way, was it from this “horse,” which was not a horse at all but bore a name not its own? Or was Philip being warned to avoid these little four-horse chariots on a sword hilt? As if it were the hilt that killed him! And what is so remarkable about that nameless shipwrecked man slipping into a stream? Though Posidonius does write that this man had been warned he would perish in water. As for Icadius the pirate, I swear I can see no fate at all in his case;

6 for Posidonius records no prediction made to him. What is surprising, then, about a rock falling from the cave onto his legs? Even if Icadius had not been in the cave at the time, I think that rock would still have fallen. Either nothing whatever happens by chance, or this very thing could have happened by chance. I ask, then—and this question will have far-reaching consequences—if fate had no name at all, no nature, no power, and most things or all things happened at random, by sheer chance, would they happen otherwise than they do now? What point is there, then, in forcing fate upon us, when without fate the explanation of everything can be referred to nature or to chance?

5 […] Take some of those examples: Antipater the poet, people whose birthday falls at the winter solstice, the brothers who became ill together, urine, fingernails, and the others of that sort. Nature's interconnectedness operates in them. I accept that interconnectedness. But it has nothing to do with a power of fate. Some other examples may be chance events, such as the shipwrecked man, Icadius, or Daphitas. And Posidonius seems to have made up some of his stories—my teacher must forgive my saying so. They certainly make no sense. If Daphitas was destined to die by falling off a horse, did that mean a thing that merely went by the borrowed name “horse,” although it was no horse? Was Philip really being warned against those tiny four-horse chariots pictured on the hilt? Surely the hilt didn't kill him! Is it remarkable that an unnamed survivor of a shipwreck should slip into a stream? Admittedly, the writer says that man's death in water had been predicted. But I cannot see any fate at all in the robber Icadius's case;

6 no prediction about him is recorded. So a stone fell from the cave onto his legs: why is that strange? In my view, it would have fallen even if he hadn't been there. We must either deny chance altogether or allow that chance could have produced this very event. Here is a question with much wider consequences. Imagine there were no such thing as fate: no word for it, no nature belonging to it, no force it exerted. Imagine that most events, or even all events, occurred accidentally and at random. Would events turn out any differently from how they turn out now? Why insist on fate, then? Even without it, everything can be explained through nature or chance.