Book 1, Chapter 26

64 “Even these more familiar and conspicuous powers seem to me to possess something divine. I cannot believe that a poet pours out a weighty, full-voiced poem without some heavenly inspiration of the mind, or that eloquence flows richly, with resonant words and abundant thoughts, without some greater power. And philosophy, the mother of all arts—what is it but, in Plato’s words, a gift of the gods, or in mine, their invention? It first taught us to worship them, then to respect the rights of human beings, founded on the fellowship of the human race, and then to practice restraint and greatness of soul. It also scattered the darkness from our minds as though from our eyes, so that we could see everything above and below, first, last, and between.

65 “To me this power, which achieves so many things of such importance, seems altogether divine. What, after all, is memory for things and words? What, again, is invention? Surely it is something greater than which nothing can be conceived even in a god. I do not suppose that the gods delight in ambrosia or nectar, or in Youth serving their cups. Nor do I listen to Homer when he says that the gods carried Ganymede away for his beauty, to serve Jupiter his drink: no just reason for doing Laomedon so great a wrong. Homer invented these stories, transferring human qualities to the gods; I would rather he had transferred divine qualities to us. And what qualities are divine? Vitality, wisdom, invention, memory. The soul, then, which … is divine, as I say, or, as Euripides ventures to say, a god. Indeed, if a god is breath or fire, the human soul is the same. Just as that heavenly nature contains neither earth nor moisture, the human soul is free of both. But if there is a fifth kind of substance, first proposed by Aristotle, that is the substance both of gods and of souls. Following this view, I expressed it in these very words in my Consolation:”

64 “Even the better-known, more obvious abilities strike me as needing divine help. Would a poet produce a poem of weight and richness unless something from heaven stirred his mind? Would a speaker pour out resounding language and a wealth of ideas without some higher power? I don’t think so. As for philosophy, the mother of every art, Plato calls it the gods’ gift; I call it their invention. Its first lesson was reverence for the gods. Then it taught us human rights, grounded in the fellowship of our whole race, and then restraint and greatness of spirit. It cleared away the darkness before our minds, as one clears it before the eyes. We could now see things high and low, their beginnings, their endings, and everything between.

65 “When a power accomplishes so much, on such a scale, I can only call it divine. Consider remembering facts and words, or making discoveries. Can we imagine anything greater than this, even in a god? Surely not. The gods’ pleasure, I think, doesn’t come from ambrosia, nectar, or Youth pouring their drinks. Nor will I listen to Homer’s account of Ganymede: the gods, he says, kidnapped the handsome boy to serve Jupiter his wine. His looks hardly justified treating Laomedon so badly. Homer invented all that, giving the gods human qualities. I wish he’d done the reverse and given us divine ones. Which ones? Being full of life, being wise, discovering, remembering. The soul that … is therefore divine, as I put it; Euripides boldly calls it a god. Further, suppose a god consists of breath or fire. A person’s soul consists of the same thing. That heavenly substance has no earth or moisture in it, and neither has a human soul. Or suppose Aristotle was right to introduce a fifth substance: that belongs both to gods and to souls. I adopted that position in my Consolation. Here are my exact words:”