Laudator Temporis Acti

Cicero, On Friendship 7.23 (tr. William Armistead Falconer):

Wherefore friends, though absent, are at hand; though in need, yet abound; though weak, are strong; and—harder saying still—though dead, are yet alive; so great is the esteem on the part of their friends, the tender recollection and the deep longing that still attends them.

quocirca et absentes adsunt et egentes abundant et imbecilli valent et, quod difficilius dictu est, mortui vivunt; tantus eos honos, memoria, desiderium prosequitur amicorum.

James S. Reid ad loc.:

Xenophon, Anabasis, with an English Translation by Carleton L. Brownson (1922; rpt. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992 = Loeb Classical Library, 90), pp. 38-39 (1.4.6):

ἐντεῦθεν ἐξελαύνει διὰ Συρίας σταθμὸν ἕνα παρασάγγας πέντε εἰς Μυρίανδον, πόλιν οἰκουμένην ὑπὸ Φοινίκων ἐπὶ τῇ θαλάττῃ...

Thence Cyrus marched one stage, five parasangs, to Myriandus, a city on the sea coast, inhabited by Phoenicians...

Brownson didn't translate διὰ Συρίας. Neither did Robin Waterfield:

The next leg was a one-day march of five parasangs that brought him to Myriandus, a coastal city inhabited by Phoenicians.

Wayne Ambler's translation is correct:

From here Cyrus marched through Syria one stage, five parasangs, to Myriandus, a city inhabited by Phoenicians and on the sea.

I don't see any relevant variants in Wilhelm Gemoll's editio maior.

Labels: typographical and other errors

"Arthur Gibson, philosopher who rose from poverty to become the cleverest man in Britain," The Telegraph (18 Sept. 2026):

Professor Arthur Gibson, who has died aged 83, was a polymath widely recognised as one of the last century’s greatest minds and, measured by IQ, the cleverest man in Britain, despite growing up in poverty in Bradford and dropping out of school aged 14.

....

It was in this climate that Gibson stubbornly developed intellectual passions: for maths — despite his father stubbing out cigarettes on his hand when he got answers wrong — and for books, although he once received a Bible to the head after being caught reading it by his anti-literate father.

The dyslexic Gibson read everything he could — Bradford Library became a refuge — but he could not translate his instinctive passions into formal academic success. He left school at 14, with no O-levels and unable to recite the alphabet beyond the letter L.

....

His friend and fellow Cambridge mathematician Imre Leader recalled that: "If you quoted a passage from the Bible, Gibson could tell you exactly where it was from, and also which other verses shared the same words."

Hat tip: Eric Thomson, who also quotes Cesare Lombroso (1835-1909), The Man of Genius (London: Walter Scott, 1891), p. 8:

Cranium and Brain.—Lesions of the head and brain are very frequent among men of genius. The celebrated Australian novelist, Marcus Clarke, when a child, received a blow from a horse’s hoof which crushed his skull. The same is told of Vico, Gratry, Clement VI., Malebranche, and Cornelius, hence called a Lapide. The last three are said to have acquired their genius as a result of the accident, having been unintelligent before..

Related posts:

• Bible Thumpers
• Samuel Johnson as Bible Thumper
• Gagged with the Gospel
• Books as Weapons

Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), Parerga and Paralipomena, Vol. II, Chapter 22, § 258 (tr. Adrian Del Caro and Christopher Janaway):

The difference between the effect that thinking for oneself has on the mind, versus that of reading is incredibly large, which is why it constantly magnifies the original difference between minds, by virtue of which we are driven to one or the other. Reading, that is, forces thoughts on the mind that are as foreign and heterogeneous to its momentary direction and mood as is the seal to the wax on which it presses its imprint. The mind here experiences a total external compulsion to think this or that at random, for which it simply has no inclinationb or mood. — On the other hand, with thinking for oneself it follows its own peculiar drive, as this for the moment was more specifically determined by either the external environment or some recollection. For the intuitive environment does not force one specific thought on the mind, like reading; instead, it provides the mind with material and occasion to think what is in accordance with its nature and present mood. — Now this is why much reading deprives the mind of all elasticity, like a continually pressing weight bearing down on a spring; and the surest way to have no thoughts of one's own is to immediately grab a book in every free moment. This practice is the reason why erudition makes most people even more stupid and simple than they already are by nature, and also deprives their writing of all success.

Die Verschiedenheit zwischen der Wirkung, welche das Selbstdenken, und der, welche das Lesen auf den Geist hat, ist unglaublich groß; daher sie die ursprüngliche Verschiedenheit der Köpfe, vermöge welcher man zum Einen, oder zum Andern getrieben wird, noch immerfort vergrößert. Das Lesen nämlich zwingt dem Geiste Gedanken auf, die der Richtung und Stimmung, welche er für den Augenblick hat, so fremd und heterogen sind, wie das Petschaft dem Lack, welchem es sein Siegel aufdrückt. Der Geist erleidet dabei totalen Zwang von außen, jetzt Dies, oder Jenes zu denken, wozu er so eben gar keinen Trieb, noch Stimmung hat. — Hingegen beim Selbstdenken folgt er seinem selbsteigenen Triebe, wie diesen für den Augenblick entweder die äußere Umgebung, oder irgend eine Erinnerung näher bestimmt hat. Die anschauliche Umgebung nämlich dringt dem Geiste nicht einen bestimmten Gedanken auf, wie das Lesen; sondern giebt ihm bloß Stoff und Anlaß zu denken was seiner Natur und gegenwärtigen Stimmung gemäß ist. Daher nun nimmt das viele Lesen dem Geiste alle Elasticität wie ein fortdauernd drückendes Gewicht sie einer Springfeder nimmt; und ist, um keine eigenen Gedanken zu haben, daß sicherste Mittel, daß man in jeder freien Minute sogleich ein Buch zur Hand nehme. Diese Praxis ist der Grund, warum die Gelehrsamkeit die meisten Menschen noch geistloser und einfältiger macht, als sie schon von Natur sind, und auch ihrer Schriftstellerei allen Erfolg benimmt.

Arrian, Discourses of Epictetus 1.28.9 (tr. W.A. Oldfather):

And where can I go to escape death? Show me the country, show me the people to whom I may go, upon whom death does not come; show me a magic charm against it. If I have none, what do you wish me to do? I cannot avoid death.

καὶ ποῦ φύγω τὸν θάνατον; μηνύσατέ μοι τὴν χώραν, μηνύσατε ἀνθρώπους, εἰς οὓς ἀπέλθω, εἰς οὓς οὐ παραβάλλει, μηνύσατε ἐπαοιδήν· εἰ μὴ ἔχω, τί με θέλετε ποιεῖν; οὐ δύναμαι τὸν θάνατον ἀποφυγεῖν.

Holbrook Jackson (1874-1948), "Introduction" to Robert Burton (1577-1640), Anatomy of Melancholy (vol. 1, pp. xiv-xv of the Everyman edition):

The appreciation of Burton is a test of bookishness, and although he has never lacked readers, even during the dark age, 1677-1799, when no edition of the Anatomy appeared, there have not been lacking those who have belittled and misrepresented him. I am not concerned at the moment with his defence, even if it were necessary, which it is not, for there is no reason why any one should read him unless he wishes to do so. Burton is for the Burtonian. But it is necessary to refer to the misrepresenters, both ancient and modern, because many of them have sinned ignorantly. Critics and commentators have not always taken the trouble to read, still less understand the book, hence much popular nonsense, of which Hallam's description of the Anatomy as "a sweeping of the miscellaneous literature from the Bodleian Library," and Lowell's

A mire ankle-deep of deliberate confusion,
Made up of old jumbles of classic allusion.

are typical specimens.

Burton has been oftener damned with faint praise than scoffed at by the ignorantly learned. I know of only one downright depreciator, the Manx poet, T. E. Brown. In a vigorous and humourless essay, contributed to the New Review in 1895, this minor poet and major schoolmaster can find no good word for our good Burton. His learning is but a "parade," the "product of omnivorous folio-bolting and quarto-gulping, urged on and sustained by inordinate vanity"; his method naught but a "pseudo-method," a mere "affectation of method and order." Brown concedes, however, that Burton has "slanging power . . . a wondrous hurly-burly of invective"; and his conclusion reveals a sneaking, if slightly priggish regard. Like Charles Lamb, he is opposed to reprints of the Anatomy. "I do not know a more heartless sight than the reprint of the Anatomy of Melancholy," says Lamb. "What need was there of unearthing the bones of that fantastic old great man, to expose them in a winding-sheet of the newest fashion to modern censure? What hapless stationer could dream of Burton ever becoming popular?" Brown is not so generous or so romantic. An old Burton has a charm, he admits, but only "in an old library; old dust embalms it, old memories haunt it. It is worth seeking there": and he thinks it ought to be read there in situ. "Neglect, decay," he admonishes, "must be the fate of all such ponderous eccentricities. And to smarten them up, and turn them out spick-and-span, radiant and raw, into the form of literature, is a doubtful sort of proceeding. They belong to the cave, and scholars are their natural friends and custodians. Leave them to the scholars."

Cicero, On Old Age 19.71 (tr. William Armistead Falconer):

Therefore, when the young die I am reminded of a strong flame extinguished by a torrent; but when old men die it is as if a fire had gone out without the use of force and of its own accord, after the fuel had been consumed; and, just as apples when they are green are with difficulty plucked from the tree, but when ripe and mellow fall of themselves, so, with the young, death comes as a result of force, while with the old it is the result of ripeness.

itaque adulescentes mihi mori sic videntur, ut cum aquae multitudine flammae vis opprimitur, senes autem sic, ut cum sua sponte, nulla adhibita vi, consumptus ignis exstinguitur, et quasi poma ex arboribus, cruda si sunt, vix evelluntur, si matura et cocta, decidunt, sic vitam adulescentibus vis aufert, senibus maturitas.

J.G.F. Powell ad loc.: Aristotle, On Youth and Old Age 5 (tr. W.S. Hett):

Now we can see two ways in which fire is destroyed—by dying out and by extinction. By dying out we mean a decay arising from itself, and by extinction a decay caused by opposites: one is death by old age and the other by violence.

ἀλλὰ μὴν πυρός γε δύο ὁρῶμεν φθοράς, μάρανσίν τε καὶ σβέσιν. καλοῦμεν δὲ τὴν μὲν ὑφ᾿ αὑτοῦ μάρανσιν, τὴν δ᾿ ὑπὸ τῶν ἐναντίων σβέσιν, τὴν μὲν γήρᾳ, τὴν δὲ βίαιον.

Midrash Rabbah: Ecclesiastes, tr. A. Cohen (London: Soncino Press, 1939). p. 151 (5.11.2):

What is the difference between the death of the young and the death of the old? R. Judah and R. Nehemiah give answers. R. Judah says: When a lamp is extinguished of its own accord, it is good for the lamp and for the wick; but when it is not extinguished of its own accord, it is bad for the lamp and for the wick.² R. Nehemiah says: When the fig is gathered in its due season it is good for the fig and for the tree; but when it is not gathered in its due season, it is bad for the fig and for the tree.

² So it is good for a person to die in the fulness of years, and not to be cut off in youth like a lamp blown out by a gust of wind.

Leonardo Sciascia (1921-1989), The Day of the Owl, tr. Archibald Coloquhoun and Arthur Oliver (New York: New York Review Books, 2003), p. 16:

Sposito had a baby face, but the brothers Colasberna and their associates were in holy terror of his presence, the terror of a merciless inquisition, of the black seed of the written word. 'White soil, black seed. Beware the man who sows it. He never forgets,' says the proverb.

Aveva una faccia infantile, il carabiniere Sposito: ma i fratelli Colasberna e i loro soci dalla sua presenza ebbero mortale inquietudine, il terrore della spietata inquisizione, della nera semenza della scrittura. Bianca campagna, nera semenza: l'uomo che la fa, sempre la pensa dice l'indovinello della scrittura.

Thanks to Eric Thomson for a link to the riddle (l'indovinello).

---

More from Eric Thomson:

Raimondo Moncada (Agrigento b.1967) writes (original in Italian):

You carry Sicily within you. Always. Even when you’re no longer breathing its air. Its soul, its culture, its language, its ancient wisdom, and its idioms remain within you. In the book Sicily as Metaphor (an interview by Marcelle Padovani, published by Mondadori), Leonardo Sciascia speaks at length about his homeland, his works, his mentors, and his connections. There’s a passage in which Leonardo Sciascia discusses writing, mentioning the old saying “Bianca campagna, niura simenza, l’omu chi la fa sempri la penza” (White field, black seed, the man who does it is always thinking about it).

“I love to recall a riddle that goes: ‘Bianca campagna, nera semenza, l'uomo che la fa sempre la pensa’. The ‘white field’ is the sheet of paper, the ‘black seed’ is the writing, and ‘the man who does it’ is the writer, who must always be on his guard, thinking about what he’s writing and what he’s written.

This is a riddle from my region, and its true message is actually this: writing is important for those who know how to do it, and even more so for those who don’t know how to do it, don’t know how to see it, and don’t know how to read it.”

Moncada states that the old saying ("antico detto”), which Sciascia calls a riddle (“indovinello”) is from his region (Agrigento) and quotes the original Sicilian dialect version, which appears to be, if not a conflation or intellectualized deformation, at least a variation, of the following “indovinelli", recorded in Giuseppe Pitré (1841-1916), Biblioteca delle tradizioni popolari siciliane vol. XX (Turin and Palermo: Carlo Clausen, 1897), pp 226-227:

a) Bianca maisa e nivura semenza,
L’omu chi simina sedi e penza.

[Bianco maggese e nera sementa
l’uomo che semina, siede e pensa]

White fallow land and black seed
the man who sows, sits and thinks.

b) Bianca muntagna e nìgrura simenza,
Miatu l’omo chi si la penza!

[Bianca montagna e nera semenza,
Beato l'uomo che la pensa!]

White mountain and black seed
Blessed is the man who thinks of it [i.e. writing]

In Sciascia, ‘sempre la pensa’ allows what was originally a riddle to be elevated into an apophthegm throwing light on the writer’s craft, glossed ‘on his guard, thinking about what he’s writing and what he’s written’. In the context of the The Day of the Owl, it has the force of a threat (‘He never forgets’). ‘Si la penza’ in riddle b) I take to mean simply ‘solves the riddle’ and in a) ‘sedi (e penza)’ contrasts the sedentary nature of writing compared with (upright) sowing. On the analogy of secondary epic, ‘sempri la penza’ sounds like secondary riddling.

Related post: The Quill Is My Plough.

Robert Burton (1577-1640), Anatomy of Melancholy ("Democritus Junior to the Reader," vol. 1, pp. 69-70 of the Everyman edition):

Every man thinks with himself, Egomet videor mihi sanus [I regard myself as sane], I am well, I am wise, and laughs at others. And 'tis a general fault amongst them all, that which our forefathers have approved, diet, apparel, opinions, humours, customs, manners, we deride and reject in our time as absurd. Old men account juniors all fools, when they are mere dizzards; and as to sailors terræque urbesque recedunt they move, the land stands still, the world hath much more wit, they dote themselves. Turks deride us, we them; Italians, Frenchmen, accounting them light-headed fellows; the French scoff again at Italians, and at their several customs; Greeks have condemned all the world but themselves of barbarism, the world as much vilifies them now; we account Germans heavy, dull fellows, explode many of their fashions; they as contemptibly think of us; Spaniards laugh at all, and all again at them.

Id. (pp. 70-71):

The Chinese say, that we Europeans have one eye, they themselves two, all the world else is blind (though Scaliger accounts them brutes too, merum pecus [mere cattle]); so thou and thy sectaries are only wise, others indifferent, the rest beside themselves, mere idiots and asses. Thus not acknowledging our own errors and imperfections, we securely deride others, as if we alone were free, and spectators of the rest, accounting it an excellent thing, as indeed it is, Aliena optimum frui insania, to make ourselves merry with other men's obliquities, when as he himself is more faulty than the rest, mutato nomine, de te fabula narratur [change but the name, the tale applies to you], he may take himself by the nose for a fool; and which one calls maximum stultitiæ specimen [a gross exhibition of folly], to be ridiculous to others, and not to perceive or take notice of it, as Marsyas was when he contended with Apollo, non intelligens se deridiculo haberi [not perceiving that he was being made a laughing-stock], saith Apuleius; 'tis his own cause, he is a convicted madman, as Austin well infers, "in the eyes of wise men and angels he seems like one, that to our thinking walks with his heels upwards." So thou laughest at me, and I at thee, both at a third; and he returns that of the poet upon us again, Hei mihi, insanire me aiunt, quum ipsi ultro insaniant. We accuse others of madness, of folly, and are the veriest dizzards ourselves.