Humans’ innate desire and need to survive – and, if at all possible, to survive ‘well’ – has prompted us to observe the paths of the sun and moon, the physical characteristics of plants, the behaviours of our fellow animals, the properties of stone or metal, the ocean’s tides and all manner of atmospheric phenomena. Through millennia we have used what we have learned to great advantage in many instances, but, as we are becoming increasingly aware, not without serious, irreversible environmental consequences. In this climate of accelerating environmental degradation, scholarship examining ancient attitudes and observations about the natural world is timelier than ever. We still have much to learn from the past, including the distant past, a time before the advent of science, when innate links between all living things were keenly felt if not factually understood.
As the literature of Greece from the archaic and the classical periods reveals, people were aware of an inherent spiritual connection between humans and plants arising from a host of the latter’s notable characteristics, among them their burgeoning and growth, their life cycle from seed germination to maturity and dormancy or death, their annually recurring flowers and fruit, their diverse appearances, and their possession of a mysterious agency and vitality though rooted to a single place. In Greek linguistic usage the phylogenetic proximity of plants and humans is particularly clear; the Greek term phuton, originally meaning ‘the thing that has grown, creature’, narrowed over time in application so as to denote plants. This semantic development, in turn, provided the basis for a broad spectrum of plant symbolism and botanical metaphors (cf. Pl. Ti. 77A–C; Eur. Med. 231). For example, one spoke of being in the prime or ‘bloom’ of life (anthein), as is still the case today, and it was not without good reason that botanical excursus in the medical texts from the Hippocratic Corpus – in De Genitura, De Natura Pueri, De Morbis, probably dating to the last third of the fifth century bce – exhibit a striking interest in analogies between plant and human physiology (Genit. 10.2; Nat. Puer. 26ff.; Morb. 4.33–5).
In his expansive and thorough study Penser les humains à travers les plantes Buccheri has made a valuable contribution to a growing corpus of works on human attitudes towards and understandings of nature in antiquity. Buccheri’s study does not examine the human–plant relationship in every extant genre of Greek literature. Rather, it is limited largely to works of poetry and botanically inspired metaphors of the body and parentage therein. The monograph situates itself at the intersection of classical philology, literary criticism and anthropological inquiry, offering readers a fresh perspective on the figurative language that underpins much of ancient Greek poetic thought. Buccheri’s central objective is to demonstrate that metaphors drawn from the plant world are not mere rhetorical embellishments, but are integral to the Greek understanding of the self, lineage and the broader social order. Through a careful analysis of selected poetic texts, Buccheri seeks to uncover the philosophical and cultural implications of these metaphors, thus inviting a reconsideration of how we interpret classical literature and its enduring influence on concepts of human nature.
The study deftly organises its wealth of material into an introductory section followed by six chapters, each with a series of appropriate subdivisions to guide readers. In broad strokes, their subject matter is as follows. The opening chapter delves into the building blocks of the Greek botanical lexicon: parts of trees that are ‘perennial’ (roots, trunk, branches, twigs) and those that are ‘annual’ (leaves, flowers, fruits), the vital processes of plants (thállō, phúomai, blastánō, kárphō, together with words denoting withering) and the cultivation of plants (sowing, ploughing, planting, harvesting) as parallel to conceiving and rearing children. The relation of botanical and humans’ bodily fluids, especially those involved in life cycles, from sap to tears and humours, are the focus of the second chapter, while the third looks at appearance (colour, flourishing) as a point of comparison between humans and their vegetal counterparts. Here plants are a mirror of human emotions, feelings and attributes of character such as desire, rage, illness and hubris. The second half of the book is less catalogic, becoming instead more discursive and focused in terms of case studies. The fourth chapter examines the metamorphosis of the Heliades in Greek texts not only from the archaic and the classical periods, but also from Hellenistic and Roman times. This section includes discussion of amber and other ‘tears’ of plants and arboreal metamorphosis. Metaphors of the body, innate qualities and genealogy are the foci of the fifth chapter, while lineage and land (metaphors of civic identity and reproduction) are the subject matter of the sixth.
In terms of methodology Buccheri’s study is anchored in a close reading of major and minor works of Greek poetry, spanning Homeric epics to lyric and tragic fragments. He systematically traces the recurrence of botanical imagery – trees, flowers, seeds and roots – in descriptions of the human body, familial relationships and the transmission of life across generations. The analysis is organised around three principal axes: the metaphorical mapping of the human body onto plant forms, the use of botanical tropes to articulate kinship and descent, and the philosophical implications of these metaphors for the ancient Greek world view. Combining philological rigour with insights from cognitive metaphor theory, particularly the work of George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Buccheri elucidates how metaphorical thinking structures poetic language as well as cultural models of identity and relation.
As noted above, a key finding is that Greek poets frequently employ botanical metaphors to bridge the gap between the natural and the human worlds. For example, genealogical trees and family roots are not simply figurative expressions, but reflect a deeper ontological continuity between human beings and plants. The metaphor of the body as a tree or flower serves to emphasise both fragility and resilience, growth and decay, thus capturing the full spectrum of human experience. Furthermore, Buccheri argues that these metaphors are intimately linked to ritual and religious practices, such as the cult of ancestors and agricultural festivals, which reinforce the cyclical nature of life and death.
In exploring the theme of kinship, the study highlights how the language of seeds, shoots and branches is used to articulate the transmission of qualities, virtues and social status from one generation to the next. Buccheri demonstrates that such metaphors are not merely decorative but serve to naturalise social hierarchies and legitimise claims to power and continuity. The findings suggest that botanical metaphors function as a cultural code that encodes both individual and collective identities in Greek society.
Buccheri’s approach stands out for its interdisciplinary breadth and depth. By integrating literary analysis with cognitive theory and cultural anthropology, he succeeds in revealing layers of meaning that might otherwise remain concealed in traditional philological readings. His argument that botanical metaphors are fundamental to Greek concepts of the body and kinship is persuasive, supported by a wealth of textual evidence and cogent interpretation. A notable strength of the study is its attention to the historical and social contexts in which these metaphors arise. Buccheri does not treat the plant imagery as static or universal, but traces its transformations across genres, periods and sociopolitical settings. For instance, he notes how heroic poetry uses the image of the uprooted tree to signify the end of a noble lineage, while lyric poetry often employs flower metaphors to evoke the fleeting beauty of youth and love. Tragedy, on the other hand, frequently mobilises botanical imagery to dramatise the tension between fate and agency, as seen in the recurring motif of withered branches and barren roots. Buccheri also explores the gendered dimensions of botanical metaphors, observing how flowers and fruits are often associated with femininity, fertility and eroticism, whereas trees and seeds are linked to masculine strength and generational continuity. Buccheri’s analysis is careful to avoid reductive binaries, instead highlighting the fluidity and multiplicity of meanings that these metaphors can convey depending on context.
Overall, Buccheri offers a solid foundation for further study of human–plant relations, inviting us to reconsider the boundaries between the human and the non-human, the natural and the cultural, and to appreciate the generative power of poetic imagination. His book is an interesting modern complement to Josef Murr’s timeless, cross-disciplinary monograph Die Pflanzenwelt in der griechischen Mythologie (1890), which weds botany with a wealth of literary and anthropological or ethnobotanical information. Buccheri’s volume is a valuable resource for anyone interested in the intersections of literature, philosophy and the life sciences, and it opens new avenues for research into the symbiotic relationship between metaphor and meaning.
While Buccheri’s focus is limited to human-plant relationships, Falcon’s The Architecture of the Science of Living Beings delves into humans’ speculation about and enquiry into the life force and life cycles of both animals and plants. An intricately woven, sweeping discourse by a seasoned scholar, this is a comprehensive study examining the philosophical and scientific foundations laid by Aristotle and his successor and so-called ‘father of botany’, Theophrastus, in the domains of zoology and botany. The book aims to illuminate how these ancient thinkers conceptualised living beings, investigating both the methodologies and the structural principles underpinning their respective sciences. Falcon’s work provides a nuanced exploration of the intellectual architecture of ancient biology, while also situating it within broader philosophical debates. Falcon’s chief objective is to demonstrate the interconnectedness of Aristotle’s and Theophrastus’ approaches, arguing for their significance in the development of systematic natural inquiry.
The book’s central argument posits that both thinkers sought to establish a rigorous science of living beings but did so through distinct conceptual frameworks. Aristotle’s zoological investigations are characterised by a focus on causality, classification and teleology, while Theophrastus’ botanical inquiries emphasise descriptive taxonomy and adaptability to empirical observation. Falcon systematically presents these approaches, highlighting their methodological innovations and philosophical underpinnings.
The structure of the book is methodical, beginning with an introduction to the historical and intellectual context of Aristotle and Theophrastus. Subsequent chapters delve into the specifics of Aristotle’s biological treatises – such as History of Animals and Parts of Animals – before transitioning to Theophrastus’ botanical works, particularly Enquiry into Plants. The final sections synthesise the comparative findings, offering a reflection on the legacy and continued relevance of their scientific architectures. Falcon’s methodology is marked by close textual analysis, engagement with contemporary scholarship and an emphasis on philosophical coherence.
Falcon provides a thorough examination of Aristotle’s biological writings, foregrounding his commitment to systematic enquiry. Aristotle’s science of animals is rooted in his broader philosophical principles, including the four causes and the notion of teleology. Falcon demonstrates how Aristotle’s classification schemes and anatomical studies are informed by an effort to discern essential differences and commonalities among species. The book highlights Aristotle’s use of comparative anatomy, his attention to reproductive and behavioural traits, and his attempts to explain biological phenomena through both material and final causes.
A key insight from Falcon’s analysis is the architectural nature of Aristotle’s science: the philosopher constructs a hierarchical framework that organises animal life according to degrees of complexity and function. Falcon argues that this architecture is not merely descriptive but also explanatory, enabling Aristotle to account for the unity and diversity of living beings. The discussion is enriched by references to Aristotle’s epistemological commitments, such as the primacy of observation and the interplay between empirical data and theoretical reasoning.
In contrast to Aristotle, Theophrastus adopts a more empirical and descriptive approach in his study of plants. Falcon explores Theophrastus’ Enquiry into Plants and related works, emphasising the botanist’s reliance on observation, classification and practical knowledge. Theophrastus is portrayed as a pioneer in plant taxonomy, grouping species according to morphological features, habitats and uses. Falcon contends that Theophrastus’ methodology reflects a pragmatic orientation, prioritising the accumulation of detailed information over theoretical abstraction. Falcon’s analysis reveals that Theophrastus’ science, while less philosophically systematic than Aristotle’s, is nonetheless sophisticated in its organisation and scope. Theophrastus is attentive to variations within species, environmental influences and the practical applications of plants. Falcon argues that Theophrastus’ architectural principles are implicit in his ordering of botanical knowledge, enabling subsequent generations to build upon his classifications and observations.
One of Falcon’s most significant contributions is the comparative discussion of Aristotle and Theophrastus. The book argues that, despite their methodological differences, both thinkers share a commitment to constructing a science of living beings grounded in systematic principles. Falcon identifies points of convergence, such as the use of classification and the pursuit of explanatory coherence, as well as points of divergence, including the balance between theory and observation. Falcon situates Theophrastus as both a disciple and an innovator, showing how he adapts Aristotle’s architectural model to the unique challenges posed by botanical study. Theophrastus’ emphasis on empirical detail is contrasted with Aristotle’s theoretical rigour, and Falcon explores how these differing approaches reflect broader philosophical commitments. The comparative analysis is nuanced and avoids reductive generalisations, instead highlighting the complementary nature of their contributions to ancient biology.
Falcon’s book is notable for its clarity of argument, depth of analysis and breadth of scholarship. One of its chief strengths lies in the careful reconstruction of ancient scientific methodologies, which are presented with both philosophical insight and historical sensitivity. Falcon’s engagement with primary texts is rigorous, and his interpretations are well supported by evidence and contemporary scholarship. The comparative framework enables readers to appreciate the distinct yet interconnected architectures of Aristotle’s and Theophrastus’ sciences.
The book’s accessibility is another strength, as Falcon avoids excessive jargon and provides clear explanations of complex concepts. The author’s unwavering, authoritative narrative voice adds significantly to the reader’s experience, making the work suitable for both specialists and intellectually curious general readers, enhancing its pedagogical value. Furthermore, Falcon situates his analysis within ongoing debates in the history of science and philosophy, demonstrating the relevance of ancient biology to modern discussions about classification, explanation and scientific method.
Falcon’s work represents a significant scholarly contribution. It advances the study of ancient philosophy and biology by foregrounding the structural and methodological innovations of Aristotle and Theophrastus. The book encourages readers to reconsider the relationship between philosophical architecture and empirical investigation, offering fresh perspectives on the origins and development of scientific inquiry. In sum, it is an important resource for anyone interested in the history of science, philosophy and biology. By elucidating the distinctive yet complementary approaches of Aristotle and Theophrastus, Falcon sheds light on the foundations of systematic natural inquiry. The book’s analytical rigour, clarity and comparative methodology make it a valuable addition to the literature on ancient science, and its insights have enduring relevance for contemporary debates about classification, explanation and the nature of scientific knowledge. The study not only enhances the understanding of ancient biology but also invites reflection on the principles that underlie scientific investigation across disciplines and eras. Its strengths in philosophical analysis and historical contextualisation ensure its place as a significant contribution to the study of Aristotle, Theophrastus and the architecture of the science of living beings.
Buccheri’s and Falcon’s books could not be more different, one focusing on mytho-poetic engagements with nature and the other on natural-philosophical, ‘scientific’ musings, but together they illuminate the Greeks’ understanding of their place among other living beings as well as our own.
