Latin Translation of Basil's Hexaemeron

Your Fraternity's mind, devout and studious alike, longing to know the fullness of the heavenly Scriptures, searched through all the church libraries and their founders with constant reading, and came at last to the Hexaemeron of the holy and venerable bishop Basil, written in the Greek tongue. Wishing to place it among the monuments of the Latin language, you judged that this task should be entrusted to me. But I, considering that you gave this command out of love rather than judgment, was eager indeed to obey your simple orders, urged by your charity, yet did not dare to promise, seeing my own lack of eloquence. So, pulled two ways in thought, I did not know what to do: I feared that if I chose to refuse, I would offend the mind of one who devoutly presumed well of me; if I chose to obey, that I could not carry out the duty I had undertaken. This being so, I decided rather to offer my service faithfully than to excuse my style stubbornly, trusting that if I displease, you who commanded it will pardon me. For you will impute whatever comes of it not to my fault but to your own judgment; it is enough for me to have carried out your commands.

"In the beginning God made heaven and earth." The one who was about to narrate the composition of the world took up a fitting opening: he made the order of the works accomplished the beginning of his discourse. For the making of heaven and earth must be reported as not formed spontaneously, as some have supposed, but as having obtained the causes of its own substance from God. What hearing, then, is worthy of the greatness of the things related, or how prepared should the mind be for the perception of such matters! Surely it must be free from the vices of the flesh and in no way darkened by the cares of the world; it must also be diligent and alert and look round on all things, so that it may be able to draw to itself a worthy notion of God. But before we discuss the precision of the words and search out how great the meaning of these expressions is, let us consider who it is that speaks to us. For although, because of the weakness of our understanding, we cannot reach the depth of the historian's heart, yet when we look at the authority of the speaker we shall be led of our own accord to assent to what has been said. Moses, then, is the author of this scripture: that Moses who is said to have been beautiful before God while he was still hungry at his mother's breasts; whom Pharaoh's daughter adopted and brought up generously with royal care, appointing the philosophers of the Egyptians as teachers for his education (Acts 7:22); who abhorred the pride of tyranny and turned to the lowliness of his fellow citizens, content "to be afflicted with the people of God rather than to enjoy the temporary fruit of sin"; who received the love of justice from nature itself, since even before he received the leadership of the people he is seen, through a natural hatred of wickedness, to have pursued the wicked even to death. He was driven away by those whom he himself had helped; he gladly left behind the tumults of Egypt and went off to Ethiopia, and there, free from other business, he gave himself for forty years to the contemplation of things; and in the eightieth year of his age he saw God, as far as it was possible for a man to see him, or rather as it was permitted to no one else, according to the testimony of God himself: "If there is a prophet of the Lord among you, I will make myself known to him in a vision and speak to him in a dream; but not so my servant Moses, who is faithful in all my house. Mouth to mouth I will speak with him, in appearance and not in riddles" (Num 12:6–8). This man, then, who in enjoying the present sight of God had been made equal to the angels, tells us what he heard from God. Let us therefore listen to the truth of the words, not in the persuasiveness of human wisdom, but in the most approved words of spiritual teaching, whose end is not the praise of the hearers but the salvation of the learners.

"In the beginning God made heaven and earth" (Gen 1:1). The wonder of my mind holds back my speech, as I consider what I should say first, or where I should take the beginning of my account: should I refute the vanity of the worldly, or rather proclaim the truth of our own? The philosophers of the Greeks argued a great deal about the nature of things, but among them no account is held fixed and stable, the earlier one always being overthrown by the one that follows. It is not worth our while to refute their views, since they are sufficient for their own destruction. Those who could not know God did not in any way grant that wisdom presides over the things of mortals; slipping into an ignorance that was natural to them, they enclosed everything in various definitions. Therefore many of them reduced themselves to a confused and formless matter, assigning the causes of all things to the elements of the world. Others taught that atoms, indivisible bodies, masses, and passages make up the nature of visible things: that those light, round little bodies, now coming together, now drawing apart and separating from one another, bring about births and deaths, and that in more lasting bodies the combination of the atoms is set more firmly and expresses more strongly the causes of their duration. Truly they weave a spider's web who describe such things, and who assign such empty and vain principles to heaven, earth, and sea. For they did not know how to say, "In the beginning God made heaven and earth"; therefore, deceived by the error of impiety implanted in them, they said that all things are driven and carried along without direction or government, by chance. So that we might not suffer this as well, the expositor of the making of the world, in the very first words of his narrative, lighting up our minds with the mention of God, said: "In the beginning God made." What a good order: he set the beginning first, so that no one might think the world unbegotten. Then he added "made," to show that the creation is a work, a small part of the Creator's power. For as the potter, after shaping vessels, loses neither his art nor his power, so God, the maker of things, possessing a power not merely sufficient for one creation but exceeding it infinitely, built the greatness of the things that are seen by a single moment of his own will. But if the world has a beginning and was made, ask who gave it its beginning and who its maker is. Lest perhaps, by examining this with human reasoning, you should stray from the path of truth, he forestalled you by instructing us with teaching, and, fixing the venerable name of God in our minds like the seal of a guard, he inserted it at once, saying: "In the beginning God made." Therefore the blessed nature, the rich goodness, the beauty most beloved and exceedingly dear to all who have reason, the principle of all that exists, the fountain of life, the intelligible light, the inaccessible wisdom: he himself made heaven and earth in the beginning.

Do not suppose, then, O man, that the things that are seen are unmade or unprovided for; and do not believe that the nature of revolving bodies is without beginning because the things that move in the heaven run round about you, or because the beginning of the circle itself is not perceptible to our senses. For this orb, that is, this flat and round figure that is contained within one boundary, escapes our understanding, and we cannot find where it began or where it ends; yet we must not on that account assert that it was not composed; nor, because it entirely escapes our senses, is it therefore to be thought not to have begun from anywhere. So you too should not be deceived into holding that the world has no beginning or end because the things you see revolving are carried round upon themselves, and their surface is interrupted by no intervening obstacles. For "its form passes away" (1 Cor 7:31), and "heaven and earth will pass away" (Matt 24:35). The proclamation of all the commandments concerning the consummation of the age and the renewal of the world is made known, according to the indication of the spiritual teaching, from what has been briefly handed down at present: "In the beginning God made heaven and earth." All things that began in time must end in time. If there is a beginning in time, do not doubt the end. Geometry and arithmetic, invented writings, and fabulous astrology are a very busy vanity. To what end, then, must one conclude it comes, when those who devoted themselves to the investigation of these subjects declare that this visible world is coeternal with God the Creator of all, ascribing to his glory this circumscribed orb, which has a composite body, though his is an incomprehensible and invisible nature? They could not see even this: that a whole body whose individual members are all subject to dissolution and corruption must itself perish by the same accidents. But they became so vain in their thoughts, and their senseless heart was so darkened, and claiming to be wise they became so utterly foolish (Rom 1:21–22), that some of them even dare to affirm that the heaven is eternal with God, has neither beginning nor end, and is the author and governor of the things arranged part by part.

When, where, or with what will worldly wisdom begin to fear the coming condemnation, when those who look so keenly at the vainest things have of their own accord become blind to conceiving the understanding of truth? Some count up the distances of the stars and describe those of the north that always shine, and how many of those that move under the southern pole are seen by certain people but are unknown to us. Or they divide the northern latitude and the zodiac into a thousand spaces, and minutely observe the courses of the stars, their occultations, and the chief motions of them all, and after how long each of the planets usually completes its own circuit. Yet they could not find the one reason of all, so as to say that God is the maker of the whole world and will render to each, by just judgment, a worthy recompense for his deeds. Nor, with a view to the coming examination, did they form a fitting thought about the end of all things, considering that the world too must be renewed if the state of souls is to be transferred to another form of life. For as the present life has a nature akin to this world, so the future life of souls will take a condition suited to its own kind. But they are so far from believing that these things are true that they laugh at us everywhere when we proclaim the consummation of this world and the renewal of the age. Since the first principles are by nature the beginnings of all things, the writer, discussing the things that began in time, set this word first, saying: "In the beginning he made."

For there was, as you see, before this world a certain substance, contemplable indeed by our understanding, but left unspoken, because those who were being instructed could not easily grasp it on account of the smallness of their senses. There was a most ancient order of creation, suited to the powers that are outside the world, arising without time, everlasting and proper to itself, in which God, the Creator of all, established all his works: that is, an intelligible light suited to the blessedness of those who love the Lord. I mean the rational and invisible natures and the whole adornment of intelligible beings, which exceed the capacity of our mind, and whose names cannot even be found. These, we must know, filled the substance of the invisible world, as Paul teaches us, saying: "For in him all things were created, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers" (Col 1:16), or virtues, or the armies of angels, or the assemblies of archangels. But when it became necessary to bring this world in addition to these things, a world which is above all a school and training place for human souls, and also a fitting dwelling for all things that rise and pass away, then the course of time also is recognized as having been generated together with the world itself and the living things in it; and it is always pressing on and flowing away, and never reaches the end of its passage. Or do we not say that time is of such a kind that the part of it that has passed is not seen, the part that is to come is not yet present, and the part that is present slips away before it becomes known to our senses? Such too is the nature of things that come to be: it is either growing or decreasing, and its stability and foundation have nothing certain. The bodies of animals and plants, then, were alike, as though bound by the force of a torrent to an inborn necessity, and subject to that motion which brings them to birth and death, and contained by the nature of time, which possesses a property akin to changeable things. From this point, accordingly, the narrator began, teaching us plainly about the construction of the world, that in the beginning God made it. Now a "beginning" is what belongs to time, not what looks to that antiquity which is prior to all things. So he did not say "In the beginning God made" with respect to that, but after those invisible and intelligible things he narrates the beginning of the origin of the things that are seen and grasped by the senses. A beginning is also called the first motion, as "The beginning of a right road is to do just things" (Prov 16:5 LXX). For by just works we are moved to live blessedly. A beginning is also called that from which a thing is made out of some underlying material, as the foundation in houses, the keel in ships, and as it is said, "The beginning of wisdom is the fear of the Lord" (Prov 1:7). For reverence with fear is always set first as a kind of defence and support for firmness of faith. The first part of works of construction is also called the beginning, as the wisdom of Bezalel for the adornment of the tabernacle. And often the good outcome of what is begun becomes the beginning of actions: as in generous mercy the favour of God follows, and in the practice of virtues that end is held which lies in the promises.

Since "beginning" has so many meanings, consider whether the present word does not suit them all. For you can speak of the time from which the establishment of the world began, if, going back from the present to the past, you look for the first day of the world's creation, the point from which time received its first motion. Then, that heaven and earth were founded first as a kind of seat and set of bars; and that there is a craftsman, the Word, who made the adornment of all that is seen, as the word "beginning" here used shows; and that the world was not formed without reason or in vain. For it was to provide a useful and necessary outcome for things, if indeed it gives our mind, as we said, the schooling of rational souls and instruction in the knowledge of God through these visible and perceptible things, leading us, so to speak, by the hand, so that we may more easily contemplate the invisible, as the Apostle says: "For his invisible things, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood through the things that are made" (Rom 1:20). Perhaps also, because of the speed of creation, which was built without any moment of time, it was said "In the beginning he made," since a beginning is something indivisible and without parts. For as the beginning of a road is not yet a road, and the beginning of a house is not yet a house, so also the beginning of time is not yet full time, nor even a small part of time. And if someone objects and says that the beginning is time, let him know that he will divide it into many portions, that is, into a first, a middle, and a last. But to seek the beginning of a beginning is utterly ridiculous and absurd. And whoever divides the beginning will necessarily make two parts instead of one, or rather many, since whatever is divided is undoubtedly cut into two portions. So, that we might be taught that the world came into existence without time, together with the will of God, he said, "In the beginning he made." Certain interpreters, explaining this more plainly, have said: "God made summarily," that is, briefly and suddenly. Let it suffice to have said thus far these few things out of many about the "beginning."

We should know that of all arts some are called productive, some practical, and some contemplative. The end of the contemplative is only the attention of the mind; that of the practical is the movement of the body itself, and when it stops, nothing remains and nothing more is shown to those who watch. For dancing and singing leave no product: the whole activity is spent upon itself. But in the productive arts, even if the labour and activity have stopped, their work is still evident, as in carpentry, architecture, weaving, and the like: even if the craftsman is not present, the skill of the art itself is apparent, and from the work that is seen we can admire the expertise of each craftsman. So, that it might be certain that the world, which lies open to everyone's sight, was completed by art, so that through it the wisdom of its maker might be known, Moses used no other word, but said: "In the beginning God made." He did not say "built" or "put together," but "made." Yet some of those who are prejudiced by a vain opinion, saying that the world is everlasting with God, in no way granted that it was made by him, but said it is a kind of shadow of the divine power. For they say that it came together spontaneously; and although they admit that God is its author, they admit it in such a way as to affirm that it proceeded from him without his will, like a shadow from a body or brightness from light. Wishing to correct such an error, the prophet chose this precision of words, saying, "In the beginning God made": that is, he did not merely provide the cause of its being, but made it, as one who is good makes something useful, as one who is wise makes what is best, as one who is mighty makes what is greatest. For when he says "made," he undoubtedly declares a craftsman who, by the composition of individual members, formed a world fitting and harmonious with itself in every part. "In the beginning God made heaven and earth." By the two chief elements, then, he indicates that the substance of all things was built: assigning the worthier privileges to heaven, and setting the earth in the second place among creatures; and whatever else lies between was completed together with these principal ones. So, although nothing has been said of air, fire, or water, you must understand them by your own good sense. First, because all things are mixed in all. It is quite certain that water, air, and fire are joined to the earth: for fire is often struck out by friction from iron and stones, which certainly come from the earth. And it is wonderful how, while the flame is hidden in these bodies, it is harmless to them, but when it is drawn out, it devours the matter in which it was kept. Diggers of wells show that the nature of water lies beneath in the veins of the earth; and that air is mixed with it we can know from this, that when the earth is moistened and receives the warmth of the sun, it soon breathes out abundant vapours. Then, if heaven by nature received the higher seat and the earth is lower, because light things are carried toward heaven and heavy things are carried down toward the earth, and lower and upper are contrary to each other, what must we say except that he who joined the most separated things by the fellowship of his command also arranged by his own will the things that the middle place between the two elements contains? Do not, then, ask for an account of each thing, but you must perceive from what has been related even the things the Scripture passed over in silence.

"In the beginning God made heaven and earth." The substance of the earth, then, and the investigation of each of the things that lie open to our senses, would make our account so long that far more words would have to be spent on such an examination than on all the other things that can be explained. From this no benefit at all is brought to the building up of the church. Concerning the nature of heaven, let us be content with what Isaiah said, who in simple words gave us a sufficient understanding of it, saying: "Who made the heaven firm like smoke" (Isa 51:6), that is, who set a nature that is not at all strong and dense in the composition of heaven. Of its shape too he said enough, in glorifying God: "Who established the heaven like a vault?" (Isa 40:22). We urge that the same view be taken about the earth: not discussing what kind its substance is, nor wearing ourselves out with reasonings by searching what lies beneath it, nor examining a nature empty of qualities and formless; but it suits us to know only that all the things we see about the earth were arranged for this alone, that they might be, things by which its substance is completed. So you will reach no end if you try to pursue each of its qualities in words. For if you separate off its blackness, coldness, heaviness, density, and the qualities perceptible by taste, there will be nothing at all left as the underlying earth. Leaving these aside, then, we do not urge inquiry into this either: on what the earth is founded. For the mind will be tormented, since the search of its reasoning reaches no sure outcome. If you say that air lies beneath its foundation, you will certainly fail when you consider how a fluid and diffuse nature, pressed down by so great a weight, remains in place and does not rather slip away, escaping on every side from the density of the earth and always rising above what presses on it. And if you suppose that water lies beneath the stability of the earth, you must still ask how so heavy and dense a mass is not sunk beneath the water, but the imposition of so great a weight is supported by a weaker nature. Then the foundations of the water itself must be sought, and again you will fail when you want to find on what support the lowest bottom is held, so that it resists.

But if you bring in some other, stronger body to keep the earth from sinking to the depths, you will have to consider that this too is founded on a similar barrier that does not let what it carries fall lower. And if we could invent something to put beneath this as well, the mind will necessarily run on to another support beneath it, and so we shall be led on in thought to infinity, always seeking new supports for the ones we find. And the further we go in argument, the more we shall be compelled to bring in a power that sustains the earth, able to support at once all the things it allows to be placed upon it. So you must set limits to your inquiry, lest at some point, as your curiosity handles things too incomprehensible, the word of Job should seem to stand against you, and you be asked, "On what were its circles fixed?" (Job 38:6). And if you ever hear in the psalm, "I have made firm its pillars" (Ps 75:3), understand the pillars to be its holding-together power. And what does "He founded it upon the seas" (Ps 24:2) mean, except that the nature of the waters surrounds and embraces the circle of the earth on every side? How, then, since water is fluid and always tends to run to lower places, does it hang there and not flow away on either side? Nor do you consider that the earth itself brings us not less but even greater difficulty, since with so great a weight it is held balanced in the air. But whether you grant that it is placed upon itself or we say that it is carried upon the waters, it is fitting that we never depart from the thought of piety, but confess that all things are held together by the power of the Creator. We should therefore persuade ourselves of this, and answer those who ask where the vast and insupportable weight of the earth is fixed by saying: "The ends of the earth are in the hand of God" (Ps 95:4). This can be found either more convenient for us to believe or more profitable for those who listen.

Yet some of the natural philosophers argue that the earth remains unmoved because of a certain arrangement. They say that it is set in the middle of the world and, being gathered at equal distances on every side up to the outer limit, has no direction in which it can incline more, and for this reason it always rests in itself; and that the equality surrounding it makes it impossible for it to find any impulse to turn itself to another place. The earth, they say, holds the middle region not by chance or spontaneously or by some lot, but this position was decreed for it by nature and necessity. For since the heavenly body has obtained the farthest seat above, whatever weights, they say, we think descend from higher places to the depths are gathered into the middle place; and the whole body must be drawn into the positions in which its several parts come together. If stones and timbers and all earthly things are always driven downward, there will undoubtedly be the proper and fitting position of the earth. But if anything lighter is moved out of the middle region, it is quite certain that it is carried upward, since it is natural for the heaviest things always to seek the depths; and by "depths" we mean the middle place of the whole world. So do not wonder if the earth nowhere inclines, since it has received the middle seat of all, in which it must always stand and in no way be moved, against nature, from its own limits. If any of these things seems probable to you, you should transfer your wonder at such things to the wisdom of the Creator, who arranged them so. For the dignity of the greatest things is not lessened if we discover what their reason is; and if it turns out otherwise, I urge that the simplicity of faith be made stronger than all other proofs.

If you say the same about heaven, you will not sin, although the talkative disputation of the philosophers has said a great deal about the nature of heaven. Some of them assert that it is composed of the four elements, and that it is invisible, and has a share of earth because of its inborn hardness, and also a share of fire, which is why it is thought to be transparent, and that it nonetheless includes mixtures of the remaining portions. But others, despising such an opinion, added by their own invention a certain fifth nature in the composition of heaven: to them the ethereal body seems to be neither air, nor earth, nor water, nor fire, nor anything at all believed to be simple; for this reason, that it is natural to simple bodies always to have a straight motion, the lighter of them always tending upward and the heavier slipping downward; but in circular motion neither the upper nor the lower part keeps the same or a straight interval relative to the round of the circle. And things whose natural motions change must also have changeable qualities. Nor can we believe that heaven was composed of those principal bodies called elements, since things built of different matter do not agree with one another, nor can they keep a harmonious motion without some force, since each part has by nature a different impulse, and things so composed are kept in continuous motion only with great effort. For one and the same principle cannot harmonize things that are unlike and opposed to one another, since what is friendly to lighter things is judged contrary to heavier ones. For when we hasten to the heights and heavenly places, we are pressed down by earthly weight; and when we plunge to the depths, we do violence to fire, dragging it downward against its nature. And the pulling of elements in different directions brings causes of ruin and dissolution. For what is attempted by force against nature's refusal is quickly scattered, as each part from which the mass was built returns to its own principle. Because of the difficulties of these opinions, those who came after rejected the school of the earlier philosophers and hastened to put forward their own assertions, affirming, as we said, that a certain fifth nature of body underlies the substance of heaven and the stars. And yet another, one of the sharper ones, destroyed all that we have narrated and appeared to commend his own doctrine. If we chose to report each of these, we would suffer an error like theirs. Let us rather leave them to be overthrown by one another in turn, and, putting aside all their contention, let us follow Moses when he says, "In the beginning God made heaven and earth." Let us glorify the best Creator of things most wisely formed, and from the beauty of visible things let us contemplate him who is supremely good. From the greatness of bounded bodies let us measure him who is infinite and greatest, and who surpasses every thought of the human heart by the vastness of his power. For although we do not comprehend the nature of creation, yet that very part of it which slightly falls under our understanding holds so much wonder that even the swiftest mind seems inferior to the smallest things in this world; and let us render more fervently the praise due above all to the Creator, to whom be glory and honour, now and always, and for ages of ages. Amen.

With the few words we went through this morning, we found such a hidden depth of meaning that we are inclined to despair altogether of what follows. For if such is the entrance to the holy place, and the vestibule of the temple is so beautiful and splendid that it dazzles the eye of our mind with the elegance of its beauty, what must we think the holy of holies to be? Who, then, would dare to handle impossible things, or who will gaze on things unspeakable, whose sight is inaccessible and whose meaning cannot be expressed? Yet since, before the just Judge, a reward not to be despised has been assigned to us even for the mere zeal for better things, let us not be reluctant to explore. For although we are thought to fall far short of such dignity, yet if we follow the intention of Scripture, with the Holy Spirit's help, we shall not be judged unworthy, and by the will of heavenly grace we shall bring some edification to the church. "Now the earth," it says, "was invisible and unformed." How, then, when both elements, heaven and earth, were made with equal honour, had heaven been completed, while the earth was still unformed? Or what was the cause at all that it was not completed and not visible? The full formation of the earth is its own fruitfulness, that is, the sprouting of all plants, the abundance of trees, fruitful and unfruitful, the colours and scents of flowers, and the other things which, brought forth a little later by divine command, adorned the earth. Since none of these yet existed, the word of Scripture rightly called it unformed. We may properly say the same of heaven, that it was incomplete, since it too had not yet received its own adornment: it had not yet been lit by the brightness of sun and moon, nor crowned with the choirs of stars. So you will not seem to stray from the truth if you call heaven also unformed. He called the earth invisible for two reasons: either because man, its spectator, had not yet come forth, or because, lying hidden under the waters that then covered it, it could not be seen at all. For the waters had not yet been gathered into their own receptacles, the waters that, collected afterwards into one, the Lord named seas. Something is invisible, then, either because it cannot be grasped by fleshly eyes, like our mind, or because, though by nature it can be seen, it is hidden by the covering of some body drawn over it, like iron lying in the deep. In this sense we must think the earth is now called invisible, since it was covered by the surface of the waters. Then, since light had not yet been established, it is no wonder if it was held invisible, since the air itself, lacking brightness, was dark.

But the detractors of the truth, who do not follow the Scriptures in their proper sense but drag their interpretation to suit their own will, say that by such words the matter of things is shown: that it was by nature invisible, unformed, and shapeless, deprived of all form and figure, and that the craftsman took it up and shaped it by his wisdom, and so made through it all the things that are seen. If we call this matter unbegotten, it will undoubtedly be made equal to God in the honours it deserves, and will be judged worthy of the same privileges as he. What could be more abominable and wicked than that a confused and utterly shapeless thing should be judged endowed with the same dignity as God, who is wise, powerful, supremely good, and the Creator of all? Then, if it is so great that it can receive all of God's skill, they will still seem to make its substance equal to God's power, if indeed the earth by itself can measure the whole of God's wisdom. But if matter is less than divine power, their argument is led into a still more atrocious blasphemy, since because of the poverty of matter they try to make God ineffective and idle in his works: the poverty of human nature deceived them into thinking such things. Since among us every art is exercised on some material provided to it, as smithing on iron and carpentry on wood, and in these there is one thing that underlies, another the form, another what is formed from the form (for the material is what is taken from outside, the form is what is produced by the art, and the finished work is composed of both, that is, of form and material), so they think about the divine working too: that the shape was brought to the world from the Creator's wisdom, but the material was supplied to the Creator from outside, and that the whole world was built in this way, possessing a substance sought from elsewhere but a shape and figure received from the power of God. Hence they take occasion to deny that God presides over the causes of the world, and to say that he contributed only a small portion to the generation of things, like a beggar's mite; because of the poverty of their understanding they cannot look up to the summit of truth. Nor did they consider that here among us art is known to be applied after the material, for the sake of providing for life. For wool came first, and the practice of weaving was found afterwards, so that what was lacking by nature might be supplied by art; wood too existed first, and the woodworker's art, taking it afterwards and shaping it for necessary uses, gave us no small benefit: it gave the oar to sailors, the winnowing fan to farmers, and the spear to soldiers. But God, before the things that are seen came to be, embraced all things in his mind; and, wishing to bring into being things that did not exist, he considered what the world should be like and produced together with it a matter suited to its form. To heaven he assigned a nature fitting for it, and to the shape of the earth he gave a substance proper and due to it. Fire, water, and air he distinguished as he willed, and brought them into the order that the nature of each required. And the whole world, though unlike itself and composed of diversity, he bound together into one fellowship and framework, held fast by the inviolable bonds of a certain concord, so that even things far apart in position are believed to be joined by mutual mixing. Let them cease, then, with their fabulous inventions, from handling with the pitiable sense of their own thoughts a power incomprehensible to the mind and unspeakable in human words.

God made heaven and earth, not each by half, but the whole heaven and the whole earth, that is, the substance itself together with its form. For God is not an inventor of shapes, but the creator of the whole nature. Let them answer us how the working power of God and the passive nature of matter agree with each other, if one supplied only the underlying substance without figure, and the other, possessing skill in shapes, arranged what was offered, so that each might supply from the other what it lacked: the Creator having something on which to show the knowledge of his art, and matter laying aside its shapelessness and taking on a beautiful face. But enough on this; let us return to what we set before us: "Now the earth was invisible and unformed." When he said, "In the beginning God made heaven and earth," he passed over many things in silence, namely fire, water, and air, which were produced as certain states of those principal ones and which, as completing the world, undoubtedly came forth at the same time. But the historian deliberately passed these over, to sharpen our heart to the diligence of taking up hints from a few things, which makes us search out by thinking what is lacking. So, since nothing had been said about water, that he made it, but he said that the earth was invisible, you must reckon with yourself by what covering the earth was veiled so as not to appear. Fire could not hide it, for fire is bright rather than dark; nor could air cover it, whose nature is certainly transparent, since it shows the forms of all things clearly to those who look. It remains, then, that we understand that water was drawn over the surface of the earth, for the nature of moisture had not yet flowed down into its receptacles. For this reason the earth is called not only invisible but also unformed. Even now an abundance of waters hinders the earth from supplying a wealth of fruits. This, then, was the cause both that the dry land could not be seen and that it was held unformed. For the formation of the earth is, as we said, its natural adornment: crops waving in the plain, green meadows shining with the varied colour of flowers, fertile hills, and mountain tops shaded with tall trees. The earth had none of these, though it was in labour with the birth of them all through the power implanted in it by the Creator; but it awaited the time when by divine command it would bring forth its offspring into the light.

"And darkness," it says, "was over the abyss." Here again further occasions for fables and wicked inventions are given to those who twist the words of Scripture to their own will. For they do not interpret darkness in the way it is naturally meant, that is, as a dark air or a place darkened by some body placed in front of it; but they say it is an evil power, or rather evil itself, having its beginning from itself, opposed to the goodness of God, and they assert that this is the nature of darkness. For if God is light, they say, then the power opposed to him is undoubtedly darkness, according to the logic of the sense; it has not borrowed its substance from anything else, but evil is its own mother, the ruin of souls, the cause of death, the enemy of virtue; and they contend that it both subsists and was made by God. What impious and profane doctrine might not be invented from this? What ravening wolves, tearing the Lord's flock, would not take this word as their starting point to snatch away simple souls? From here flowed the sects of Marcion and Valentinus and the accursed sect of the Manichaeans: who among the churches will not sin by even naming that rottenness? Why do you depart so far from the truth, O man, seeking out for yourself the causes of your own perdition, when the word is simple and plain to all? "The earth," it says, "was invisible." Why? Because the abyss had been laid over it. And what is meant by "abyss"? A great mass of water having a boundless depth. "But we know," they say, "that many bodies are often seen through clear water. How, then, was no part of the earth shown through the waters at that time?" Because the air poured over the waters was still without light and dark. For when the rays of the sun have penetrated water, we often see the pebbles at the bottom, which certainly cannot happen at night. The cause of the earth's being invisible, then, was the waters laid over it. For he says that there was an abyss that hindered the view, and the abyss itself was darkened. So we do not say that the abyss is a multitude of hostile powers, as some falsely argue, nor that darkness is some original and evil substance opposed to goodness. For two things set against each other by contrariety must be destructive of each other's substance and produce everlasting quarrels for each other, bound as they are to struggle with each other. If one of them prevails, the opposite part, conquered, is undoubtedly destroyed. And if they want evil always to be equal to goodness, they will subject things to unceasing conflict and corruption, as the parties now overcome each other and now give way. But if they declare that evil is overcome by goodness, what reason is there that the nature of evil does not seem to have perished entirely? If not, which it is wicked to say, I wonder how they do not flee from uttering so sacrilegious a blasphemy. But we affirm that evil did not receive the beginning of its birth from God for this reason: nothing can generate its contrary. For neither did death originate from life, nor darkness from light, nor health from sickness; but in changes of condition, transitions always take place from contrary to contrary, whereas in births each thing comes not from its contrary but from what is like it. "Then," they say, "if darkness is neither unbegotten nor made by God, where does it come from? For that it is evil, no living person dares to deny." What do we say, then? That evil is not a living and animate substance, but a disposition contrary to virtue, fallen away from goodness, and seated in the minds of the most depraved.

Therefore I do not want you to think that evil comes from outside, or to suppose that it possesses an original nature of wickedness; rather let each person recognize that he is the author of his own wickedness. For of the things that happen to us, some come from nature, such as old age and sickness; some happen of themselves, that is, chance events, which, arising from affairs unrelated to us, bring us either joy or grief, as when the finding of a hidden treasure befalls those digging a well, or a mad dog meets those going to the market. But others are in our power: such as to bridle the desires for pleasure, to restrain lusts, to check anger, to avoid one who provokes us, to follow the truth or hate falsehood, to be gentle in character or harsh, humble or proud. Of the things of which we are masters we do not borrow the beginnings from elsewhere. Recognize, then, that what is properly evil takes its beginning from the acts of free will. For if evil came from necessity, so great a fear of the laws would not weigh upon sinners, nor would judges set punishments worthy of the guilty. Let this be said about what is properly evil. But sickness, poverty, disgrace, and the other things that usually sadden mortals I do not think should be put among evils at all, since their opposites are not placed among the greatest goods either; some of them are natural, and they often seem to happen to our benefit. So, restraining for the present a discourse that would bear on morals, let us rather turn our minds to the consideration of darkness simply and without any subtlety. The argument requires us to know whether darkness was generated together with the world, and whether it should be thought to be earlier than light. If so, why is the worse thing held to be older than the better? Yet we assert that this darkness too does not exist by a substance of its own, but is a certain defect in the air, produced when light is taken away. And again we must ask of what light the place of the world was suddenly deprived. For we think that if anything existed before the establishment of this perceptible and corruptible world, it was certainly in light. For neither the dignity of the angels, nor all the heavenly armies, nor whatever is named or cannot be named, or any rational power or ministering spirit, could live in darkness; rather it possessed a condition fitting for it in light and joy. On this point I think no one will contradict. Whoever, then, awaits in the promises of good things that light which is above the heavens, of which Solomon says, "Light is always for the righteous" (Prov 13:9), and the Apostle, "Giving thanks to God the Father, who has made us fit for a share in the inheritance of the saints in light" (Col 1:12)... For if the condemned are driven into the outer darkness, those who await a reward for worthy works will undoubtedly obtain a home of rest in that light which is outside the world. Since, then, it is agreed that heaven was made by God's command and was suddenly stretched out and enclosed around the earth with its proper roundness, having a dense body so strong that it can separate what lies outside from what is inside, it necessarily left behind it a region without light, since the brightness that shone from above was shut out. For three things must come together to produce a shadow: light, a body, and a darkened place. We must know, then, that the darkness of the world arose from the shadow of the heavenly body. Consider what we say through a plain example. If at midday you set up for yourself a tent of very dense and opaque material, you will place yourself there in a darkness of your own making. Think, then, that that darkness was of this kind: not established as an original thing, but following upon something else. This darkness is said to be borne over the abyss, because the edge of the air usually lies against the surfaces of bodies; and at that time water lay over everything, which is why it was necessarily said that darkness was over the abyss.

"And the Spirit of God," it says, "was borne over the water." If he calls the diffusion of this air "spirit," understand that the writer is enumerating for you the several portions of the world: for he says that God made heaven and earth, water and air, this last being fluid and diffused. Or else, which I think more true and which was approved by those who were before us, he calls it the Spirit of God, that is, the Holy Spirit. For Scripture has reserved this name so as to declare a special and fitting mention of it; and we must believe that no other spirit is meant than the Holy Spirit, who completes the blessed and venerable Trinity. If you take this sense, you will find a greater benefit conferred on you from it. How, then, was this Spirit borne over the waters? I will tell you not my own words but those of a certain man, a Syrian by race, who was as far from the wisdom of the world as he was near to true doctrine. He said that the Syriac language is more expressive and, because of its kinship with the Hebrew tongue, comes closer to the words of the Scriptures. The sense of that saying, then, is this. "He was borne over," he said, means: the Spirit cherished and gave life to the nature of the waters, like a hen brooding, putting a life-giving power into what it cherished. In this way, then, he interprets "was borne over," that is, he moved the nature of the waters toward life. From this can also be sufficiently proved what some ask about so anxiously: that the Holy Spirit too does not lack creative power.

"And God said, Let there be light." God's first word fashioned the nature of light, drove away the darkness, dissolved the gloom, and at once brought forth every glad and pleasant sight. Then the sky appeared, which had until then been hidden by the Lord, and its beauty shone forth as great as its appearance even now bears witness. The air was lit by the light mixed with it, and extended the keen penetration of its brightness everywhere to all its bounds. Upward it was neighbour to the ether and heaven; in breadth it touched at once the northern and southern, eastern and western parts, since its nature is bright and transparent, so that light passing through it met no delay or lapse of time. For as the air directs our glances at once, without any moment of time, to the things that are seen, so it poured the arrival of light, received swiftly and with all speed, through all the limits of its compass. The ether too is made lovelier by being lit up, and the waters appear more splendid, not only because they are lit by the whiteness of the light, but also because, flashing with its reflection, they give back a brighter image of the air. So the divine word made all things pleasing and fair. For as those who sprinkle oil make the depth of the sea transparent for themselves, so God, the maker of things, by the [word] of his mouth suddenly gave the world the delight of light. "Let there be light," God said; and at once the command was the work, and a nature was made than which nothing more delightful to enjoy could enter the thought of mortals. But whenever we speak of the voice, word, or command of God, you must notice that no sound is sent forth by the effort and movement of a body producing a voice, nor is God's word air struck by a tongue; it is the impulse of his will, which we think it more useful, for the sake of those who are taught, to represent in the form of a command. "And God saw the light, that it was good." With what praises shall we be able to celebrate light, when it has received such a testimony to its goodness from the Creator? Yet the divine words compel our eyes to judge of it in the same way; for speech cannot express all that the sense of sight, going before it, attests. For if bodily beauty is formed from members properly arranged with one another and from the charm of colour, how can we fully explain how light, whose nature is simple and alike throughout, is good? For so we call gold good, not because it is well wrought, but because it gives us great delight by its colour. Likewise the star that is called Antifer is named the most beautiful of all the stars, not because of an excellent arrangement of members, for it has none, but because it bestows a glad and lively brightness on our eyes. God's testimony of this kind, then, does not look only to this, that light is good in itself and pleasant to those who see it; he also called it good because of the usefulness that was afterwards conferred from it on mortals. "And God divided between the light and the darkness": that is, he made their natures unmixed and unlike each other by contrariety, since he set them apart and separated them by long distances from each other, as it is said: "And God called the light day, and the darkness he called night."

Now indeed, after the creation of the sun, "day" is the name for the air lit by the sun while it stays in the hemisphere above the earth, and "night" is the shadow of the earth produced when the sun has set. But at that time, not by the motion of a body but by the diffusion of the original light, now withdrawing itself, now bringing itself back again, according to the divine command, day came about and night followed. "And there was evening, and there was morning, one day." The name "evening," then, must be understood as a common term. For both at the beginning of the day and as it turns to its setting, night is adjacent to it; but to reserve the privileges of the birth of day, he spoke first of evening, meaning that night follows the day. For before light was created, there was no night in the world, but darkness. The shadow of the earth that we described above, cutting off the day, was called night; and so it was called by a new name after it came into being. "So there was evening, and there was morning": he did not say day and night, but evening and morning, in order to give the dignity of the name to the better part. For the day equally touches evening and morning; and you will find Scripture keeping this custom everywhere in counting times. For we say that so many days have passed, making no mention of nights, as the psalm teaches: "The days of our years" (Ps 90:10). And again Jacob: "The days of my life are few and evil" (Gen 47:9). And elsewhere: "All the days of my life" (Ps 23:6). What was then related for the sake of history, the writer established as laws to hold good for the future. "And there was evening, and there was morning, one day." Why did he not say "first," but "one"? Surely it would have been more consistent for one who was going to speak of the second, the third, and the fourth to call it the first day rather than one. But he said this either to define the measure of day and night together and to join the time of both, so that twenty-four hours might appear to make up the space of one day (we understanding that by the name of day night too is meant); hence, even if one of them happens to become longer through the change of the solstice, the fixed time of the hours still embraces the intervals of both, as if you said that twenty-four hours belong to the measure of one day. Or perhaps he said "one" because in the heaven the sun's departure from certain signs and its return to the same are completed within one day. So whenever evening or morning, following the sun's circuit, embraces the circle of the earth, it usually completes its own course in no longer time than the space of one day. Or, as a more hidden reason teaches: when God created the nature of time, he set for it a measure and fixed signs from the intervals of days; he willed it to be counted by the week, and commanded it always to turn back upon itself, measuring the movement of time; and he ordered the week to be completed by the space of one day, which returns upon itself seven times. For this is the nature of circular figures, that beginning from themselves they are always carried round into themselves. This is also the property of the age, which, turning back incessantly along its own tracks, by no means reaches an end. For this reason he called the head of time not the first but one day, so that by this very name its kinship with the age might be kept. For, indicating a pattern of things simple and having nothing in common with others, it was named "one" quite fittingly and properly. And although Scripture declares to us many ages, saying "ages of ages," yet there no first, second, or third age is numbered. From this we are given to understand rather differences of various states and acts, and not the circuits, successions, and ends of ages. "For the day of the Lord," it says, "is great and bright" (Joel 2:11). And elsewhere: "Why do you seek the day of the Lord? It is darkness and not light" (Amos 5:18). But he means the darkness assigned to those who deserve it. For the word bears witness to that day as never setting and everlasting, which the psalm also calls the eighth, since it lies outside time. Whether, then, you say "day," or "age," or "seventh," it is drawn from the same meaning: it is declared singly and not as many. So, to direct our thoughts to the future life, he rightly called the principal day, which is the image of the ages, "one," since it is of the same age as light. I mean the holy Lord's day, which was glorified by the resurrection of the Saviour. And this is what he said: "There was evening, and there was morning, one day." But while we have been occupied with the account of that evening, the present evening sets a limit to the course of our discussion. May the Father of the true light, who adorned the day with heavenly light and made the night bright with the rays of fire, who has prepared the rest of the age to come for those who deserve it, illumine your hearts with the knowledge of the truth and keep your life spotless, granting you to walk honourably, so that you may shine like the sun in the brightness of his saints, to my rejoicing in the day of the Lord; to whom be glory and honour, now and always, and for ages of ages. Amen.

The works of the first day, or rather of the one day (for it is not right for us to take from it the dignity it received from the Creator, since it was produced singly by itself and in no way counted among the courses of the others), our sermon discussed yesterday, along with everything that was made on it. And dividing these here and there, it offered morning nourishment and evening gladness to the souls of the hearers. Now we hasten to the wonders of the second day. In mentioning this, I do not place what is said in the power of the speaker, but in the grace of Scripture, which, naturally possessing ease of understanding, has breathed its love into the hearts of those who put truth before superfluous persuasion; as the psalm too, showing the sweetness of the truth, says: "How sweet are your words to my throat, more than honey to my mouth" (Ps 119:103). Yesterday, then, lingering as far as possible over the words of the Lord, we filled your senses with delight; and today we hasten to meet the day, to look at the wonders of the things that follow. Yet we could not fail to notice that many craftsmen who live by the labour of their hands are standing around us and urging us to keep the proposed account short, so that they may not be kept long from their work. To them I answer this: that a small portion of time lent to God is not only not lost, but is repaid by him with great increase. For the almighty Lord, granting at the right time strength to bodies, gladness to souls, and ability to carry out business, [provides] all the things that cause our occupations, if only we judge spiritual things to be preferred to worldly ones. And if perhaps in the present life we cannot receive the reward of good deeds, yet in the ages to come we shall undoubtedly obtain abundant treasures. So I beg you to shut out all worldly thoughts from your minds and give yourselves to me entirely. For bodily presence will gain nothing when the mind, entangled in earthly cares, is held to be absent.

"And God said, Let there be a firmament, dividing between water and water." Yesterday we heard the words of the Lord saying, "Let there be light"; today, "Let there be a firmament." Yet the present words seem to have something more. For the word did not remain a bare command, but the reason for which the production of the firmament is sought is more openly declared: namely, that it may divide between water and water. First let us consider, discussing how God speaks: is it in our way, that is, the way of men, who first conceive the form of a future thing in the understanding, then, gathering from the things that underlie it the meanings suited and proper to each, express them, and after this, making our thoughts known by the service of the vocal organs, publish the sense conceived in the heart by the striking of the air and the obedience of articulate speech? And how is he not to be called mad who declares that God needs such services to explain what he thinks, when it is more pious to assert that the divine will, the first impulse of his mind, is the Word of God? Scripture has represented this in a certain form in order to show that he not only willed creation to come about, but also completed it with someone working together with him. For the historian could have related now, as he did at the beginning concerning everything, that in the beginning God made heaven, then made light, and afterwards the firmament; but now he seems to bring in God commanding and speaking, hindering us by no spell from being led by traces and signs to the contemplation of him who is unspeakable. For what is sought with labour is both received with joy and kept most carefully, whereas the possession of what is easily obtained is undoubtedly tiresome. Therefore he directs us, having entered the path of true reason, to search out the Only-begotten. And certainly there was no need of audible speech for an incorporeal nature, since the intention of the thought could not be hidden from the one working with him, since for them the fellowship of counsel is supplied by their very power. For voice is needed for the sake of hearing, and hearing for the sake of voice. But where there is neither air nor tongue nor ears nor a rough touch to bring the reflected sound to the sense in the head, there speech is not needed; rather, from the principal thought itself, so to speak, comes the sharing of will. As we said before, then, so that our mind might rise to the search for the face of him with whom we are dealing, he wisely and excellently adopted the form of such an expression.

In the second place we must ask whether the firmament, which is itself also called heaven, was something other than the heaven made at the beginning, or whether there are in fact two heavens; although the philosophers, in their disputes about heaven, would more willingly agree to have their tongues cut out than grant that there are two heavens. For they assert that there is one heaven, and affirm that its nature by no means allows a second or a third to be added to it, since, they say, the whole substance of heaven was used up in forming the one. For they say it is a single revolving body, enclosed by a fixed circuit, and that since it was all spent on the creation of the first heaven, nothing remained for the composition of a second or third. But in saying this they suppose that the Creator had some unbegotten matter, weaving the lies that follow out of the first fable. We, however, ask the philosophers of the Greeks not to censure our views before they can keep agreement among themselves. For some of them assert that there are infinite heavens and innumerable worlds; and when the sharper ones have overcome that ill-advised claim, with certain proofs gathered from the necessity of geometry, they think they affirm in turn that nature does not allow any heaven other than the one to be generated. But we say that they deserve all the more ridicule, especially since many [bubbles] are often seen to form even in water; so there is no reason to doubt the multitude of heavens, nor that the living power that creates all things sufficed for their construction. If we contemplate the power of God, we shall not think that their strength and greatness differ from the flowing of a liquid which, when poured into empty vessels, sometimes swells up with certain blowings. Their proposition, then, is utterly laughable, contending as they do about the impossibility of the Almighty. We, for our part, are so far from disbelieving in a second heaven that we even confess a third, the sight of which the most blessed Paul was not denied (2 Cor 12:2). And the psalm, naming "the heavens of heavens," suggests to us the understanding of still more. Yet this question does not seem more wonderful than those seven circles along which, as all agree in proclaiming, the seven stars are carried. They say these are nested within one another, like jars fitted one over another, and they affirm that, driven by motions contrary to each other and blending high with low, they give back a certain concord and a sweet melody of harmony. When those who assert this are compelled to prove the truth of their words by the reasoning of common sense, they say that our ears, attending to that sound from our first birth by long habit, have grown deaf through daily use, their sense being filled with it, and so we cannot hear the harmony, just as in a smithy the hearing is dulled, battered by the constant blows of the workers. But letting them handle these studied cleverness of worldly men, let us return to the teaching of the church. It has been said by our predecessors that this is not the creation of a second heaven but an explanation of the first. For there Scripture reported the making of heaven and earth in summary; here it has handed down to us more carefully the manner in which each element was made. But we say that since the second has both another name and its own use, it is necessarily other than the heaven made first, having a stronger nature, which provides a special benefit to all things.

"And God said, Let there be a firmament, and let it divide between water and water." Before we reach the root of what is written, let us try to refute the objections that we think others will raise against us. For they ask us, putting it this way: if the body of the firmament is like a sphere, as sight itself testifies, how could flowing water, which always slips down to lower places, stay on the curved roundness of the firmament? What do we answer? That what appears to us, looking up from within, to be round is not necessarily believed to be formed like a sphere on the outside as well. For we see the marble vaults of baths built inside in a semicircular shape, yet flat on their roofs. Let them stop, then, raising a false charge against us on this point, boasting that water cannot be held in the higher parts. It remains to say what the nature of the firmament is and for what reason it was appointed to come between the waters. It is customary for Scripture to use this word of things excelling in strength, as when it is said: "The Lord is my firmament and my refuge" (Ps 18:2); and elsewhere: "I have made firm its pillars" (Ps 75:3); and: "Praise him in the firmament of his power" (Ps 150:1). Worldly writers call a body firm as being condensed, and they say it is so called to distinguish it from a mathematical body; for a mathematical body is one thing, and what subsists in the extent of dimensions, that is, extended in height and breadth, is another. What is firm, being separated by intervals, also possesses hardness. But Scripture is accustomed to call a body that is very strong and solid a firmament, as it also often calls thick and condensed air by the same word, when it says: "Who makes firm the thunder" (Amos 4:13). For it calls the hardness of thickness, because the wind enclosed in the clouds and bursting out violently produces the sound of thunder, the making firm of the thunder. So now too we think that the passage and slipping of the waters is stopped by some very firm nature, and that it is held within the bar signified by this word, since it is believed to have had its origin from the production of common waters; or certainly we should judge it like congealed moisture, or some such material that took its origin from the spreading of liquid, like the nature of crystal, which they say is produced by the hardening of waters. A stone that properly has a bright transparency, and that is found pure according to its nature, neither fouled by any admixture of decay nor split at its base by any cracks, is held to be like air in colour; but it is not right for us to compare the firmament to any of these. For it is truly the mark of a childish and foolish mind to hold such an opinion about heavenly things. Nor, if all things are in all, that is, fire in earth, air in water, and others in others, nor because among the elements subject to our senses none is without fellowship, either by the sharing of intermediate or of contrary causes, should we on this account suppose that the firmament is either one of the simple elements or a mixture made from them, since Scripture plainly instructs us that our sense may not suppose more than is granted to it. And I beg you, let us not pass over without discussion this point too: that after God commanded, saying, "Let there be a firmament," the historian added, not without reason, "And the firmament was made." For before it, "God made the firmament"; and again, "God divided." Let the deaf, then, hear, and the blind be enlightened to see. Who is so deaf as one who does not hear Scripture crying out so openly? Or who so blind as one who, though instructed by plain proofs, does not look to the glory of the Only-begotten? "And God said, Let there be a firmament": this word indicates the cause of the design. And when he said, "God made the firmament," it is a demonstration of its completion.

Now let the discourse turn to what remains: "And it said, dividing between water and water." The spreading of the waters, as far as we can understand, was boundless, washing the earth on every side, so that it seemed to exceed even the appointed limits of the other elements; therefore it is said in what follows that the abyss surrounded the earth. We shall set out the cause of the great quantity of the waters a little below. Yet none of us, nor even of those who are very learned and look most keenly into this corruptible and flowing nature, will be able by supposition to accuse us of putting forward impossible things or words glued to the narrative by fictions; nor will he demand proofs by which we can establish on what the nature of the waters was founded. For by the same reasoning by which they affirm that the earth, being heavier than the waters, is balanced in the middle of all things, that heavenly water too, because of its natural impulse always tending downward and because it is placed equally on every side, must remain steadily above the circle of the earth. The nature of the waters, then, was very great, and not spread out to match the measure of the earth, but far exceeding its circuit. So from the beginning the most magnificent craftsman, foreseeing the future, provided for the usefulness of later things by the arrangement of the earlier. What, then, was the reason that an enormous amount of water abounded on the earth? Because the nature of fire was necessary to things, not only for the management of earthly things but also for the completion of all. For all things would be very slight and half-complete if anything were lacking to the greatest and principal elements, which we know to be contrary to each other and to devour each other's substance. For fire consumes water when it prevails in strength, and water, when it abounds, puts out fire. It was necessary, then, that these elements should neither be firmly at peace with each other nor, by the complete failure of one, provide a cause for the dissolution of all things; and therefore the governor of the world laid up a sufficient supply of moisture, so that, not exceeding the bounds set for it, it might be able to resist the voracity of fire. For God, who established all things under the order of weight and measure, by whom even the drops of rain are numbered, as Job testifies (Job 36:27), knew how long water should remain on the earth, and how much nourishment he should prepare for fire. This is the reason for the waters according to creation. And who is so utterly without experience of life as to know only from the teaching of tradition how necessary the use of fire is to human affairs? For not only do the arts that sustain human life need the help of fire, but also the sprouting of trees, the ripening of fruits, and the birth of animals both of land and sea would neither have come about in the beginning nor lasted through time, if the benefit of heat had been lacking. An abundance of waters too was very necessary, so that fire might draw its food from them incessantly and without interruption.

Look carefully, then, at creation, and you will find that the force of heat clings powerfully to all things that rise and set. For this reason very abundant waters have been poured into the earth, extending further than they appear and reaching the depths of the earth; from them also a larger supply of flow is provided for springs and wells and the headlong courses of torrents, so that moisture might be stored in many and different storehouses. So from the winter regions of the East comes the river Indus, the most violent of all streams, as those who first described the world have observed. From the southern regions flow the Bactrus, the Choaspes, and the Araxes, from which the Tanais breaks off and passes into the Maeotic marsh. The Phasis comes out of the Caucasian mountains, and countless others are carried from the northern regions to the Euxine Sea. From the summer regions of the West, beneath the peak of the Pyrenees, come the Tartessus and the Ister, one of which runs down into the outer seas while the other, passing through Europe, empties into the Pontus. And what need is there to enumerate those that rise from the Rhipaean mountains of inner Scythia? Among them is the Rhodanus, which, with many other navigable rivers, passes the Galatians and the Hesperians, the nation of the Celts, and many neighbouring peoples, and mingles with the western sea. Of those that come down from the upper south through Ethiopia, that is, the Tages, the Nisus, the Cremeas, and the Nile, some flow into our sea and others roll down into the nearer Ocean; though the Nile is not to be compared with rivers, since, spreading like a sea in summertime, it usually floods the land of Egypt. So the habitable part of the world is entirely filled with water, no less surrounded by the waves of the sea than watered by rivers, because of the ineffable wisdom of the Creator, who ordained a nature opposed to heat, so that it might be sufficient. But there will be a time when fire will scorch all things, as Isaiah testifies, speaking of the Lord God of all: "Who says to the abyss, You shall be laid waste, and I will dry up all your rivers" (Isa 44:27). Despising, then, worldly wisdom, receive with us the teaching of truth, adorned with no trappings of eloquence, but strong in the reasoning of knowledge.

Therefore: "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the water, and let it divide between water and water." We have said what the name "firmament" means: not a hard and strong nature supported by some prop and weight; for the earth would have deserved such a name far more properly. But because of the substance of the higher regions, which is fine and rare and perceptible by no sense, he called it a firmament, that is, in comparison with lighter bodies which we can reach neither by sight nor by touch. And at the same time think of a certain place that separates the moisture, of which he assigned the finer part to the upper stations and appointed the thicker and muddier part for the lower, so that the temperate balance established from the beginning might remain, brought about by the gradual diminution of the waters. You do not doubt the vast amount of liquid, but you do not look at the power of fire, which, though it seems small to the sight, can spend a multitude of waters. For it always draws to itself the waves beneath it, like a medical cupping glass, and easily consumes them, as the flame of a lamp, licking the oil through the wick set in it, soon eats it up. And who would doubt that the ether is fiery and burning? Unless it were restrained by limits set for it by the Creator, it would easily consume all things; and this is what prevents all the moisture inserted in different things from drying up, devoured by the heat of the sun. For this reason the heavenly water was made, gathered in the upper place, which marshes, rivers, and sea breathe out in the vapours rising from them, so that the heat of the ether might not burn up everything beneath it. For we see the sun too in summer suddenly drying up shallow pools in a very short time. Where, then, is that water? Let the clever men show us: can anyone doubt that it has failed, spent by the heat of the sun? Though they say that the sun is not even hot, so great is their facility in speaking. And consider on what proof they rely in opposing the plainest facts. Because, they say, its colour is white and not red or purple, they contend that the sun is not fiery; and they say its heat comes from the rougher motion of its revolution, arguing, of course, so as to assert that the sun spends none of the moisture. But I, even if what is objected is not true, will not refute the argument, since it supports me. For it was being said that a multitude of waters was necessary because of the voracity of fire; and it makes no difference whether the heat is natural or produced, as long as it has like effects on the same material: whether a flame rises when sticks are rubbed together, or a fire lit of itself consumes what is thrown into it, one and the same result comes from both. And certainly we see the governing wisdom of God moving the sun from some regions to others, so that it may not stay always in the same places and ravage the world's adornment by the greed of its heat. Now he leads it to the southern zone, now to the solstitial signs according to the change of seasons, and from there turns it to the northern region, so that, passing gradually through different regions, it may keep a temperate climate for the fruits of the earth. Let them see, however, whether they do not prove themselves to contradict themselves, when they affirm that the sea is not increased by the inflow of rivers because it is absorbed by the heat of the sun; from which also its water is made salty and bitter, since it loses the taste of its own sweetness by being snatched away by the heat, which carries off the lighter part with it and leaves behind the heavier and muddy part like a kind of dregs. Yet those who were just now saying such things about the sea change again and declare that no loss of liquid is caused by the sun.

"And God called the firmament heaven." Properly another name would have suited it. Yet we know that "heaven" is very often said of the thick and condensed place of this air that plainly meets our eyes. Heaven (caelum) is so called from "seeing" (cernendo), as we gather better from the etymology of the Greeks, who call it ouranos, from horasthai (to be seen), as Scripture says, "the birds of heaven" (Ps 8:8), and elsewhere, "birds along the firmament of heaven" (Gen 1:20). Of the same kind is the saying, "They go up to heaven" (Ps 107:26). And Moses, blessing the tribe of Joseph, gives a blessing from the bounds of heaven, from the changes of the sun, from the meeting of the months, and from the tops of the mountains (Deut 33:13–15), since that region of the land abounds in such riches. And in the curses on Israel he says: "Let the heaven over your head be bronze" (Deut 28:23), indicating complete drought and the failure of the moisture of the air, through which the desired fruitfulness is given to the fruits of the earth. When, then, it speaks of dew or rain being sent from heaven, understand the waters that were commanded to hold the upper region. For when vapours have gathered on high and the air is condensed by the blowing of winds, these exhalations, finely inserted into the clouds, become drops by joining one another, and, pressed by their own weight, are driven downward. This is the generation of rain. But when the moisture has been whipped into foam, driven back by the violence of the winds, and has hardened more strongly with the cold, the clouds congeal and frozen snow is carried down to the earth. And in general, by reasoning of this kind, you can observe the whole nature of the waters, how they are gathered around the air that is above us. Yet let no one compare the simplicity of the spiritual words with the argumentation of those who dispute about heaven. For as much as the beauty of women who live rightly is preferred to the comeliness of harlots, so much is our word known to be preferred to worldly teaching. For they are accustomed to bring a persuasion forced by words; but we put forward the truth, bare of deceit. But what need is there for us to stir up a contest, refuting their lies, when, by comparing their writings with one another, we can watch their conflict without labour of our own? Neither different in eloquence, nor fewer in number, nor inferior in dignity, they fight against their opponents. They affirm that fire scorches and devours all things utterly, and then again bring in causes of regeneration from the seeds that remain, left behind by the conflagration of fire; from which they also introduce innumerable worlds.

But they, deprived of the truth of either profession, seek out help for their error on this side and that through their poverty. For concerning these waters too, which the interposition of the firmament separated, they put certain figures before us under pretext of allegories and a higher sense, saying that by the waters spiritual and incorporeal powers should be understood figuratively, and that the worthier ones remained above the firmament, while the harmful ones settled in the lower lodgings, as being thicker and muddy. Therefore, they say, the waters that are above the heavens praise the Lord, that is, the best powers, which are worthy, because of the merit of their purity, to celebrate the Creator with fitting praises; but those contained below, they affirm, are spirits of wickedness, fallen from their natural height into the depth of evil; and these, as turbulent, seditious, and tossed by the tumults of vices, are called the sea because of the changeableness of their purpose, which alters continually. But let us set aside such talk as interpretations of dreams and old wives' tales, and understand water to be real water, and accept the separation by the firmament as Scripture hands it down. And if waters are ever said to offer praise to the common Lord of all, they are not on that account to be thought of a rational nature. For neither are the heavens in every way alive because "the heavens tell the glory of God" (Ps 19:1), nor is the firmament to be thought a sentient animal because it "declares the work of his hands." And if anyone should say that the heavens are the contemplative powers and the firmament the creative power of God, we do not disdainfully reject such an interpretation, fanciful though it is, but we shall by no means allow it to be the true one. For dew, winter, cold, and heat, since they are commanded to praise the Creator of all, as Daniel says (Dan 3), are not to be understood as natures that perceive or that are invisible; but the consideration of them, wisely contemplated by those who have sense, completes the glorification of the Creator. For not only does the water above the heavens, as excelling the others in honour because of the beauty implanted in it, pay praise to the Lord, but the things on the earth are also invited to do the same, that is, "dragons and all deeps" (Ps 148:7). So not even the abyss, which the fabricators of allegories try to cast down to the worse part, is thought by the psalmist to be rejected, since it too sends forth hymns to the power of the Creator according to its own quality.

"And God saw that the firmament was good." He did not call it good by the approval of eyes. For the things established by God do not give us bodily delight, nor is their pleasure to be perceived in the way things that seem pleasant to mortals are perceived; but he called good the work that is weighed by the reason of his art and aims at the end of future usefulness. Rightly, then, he set forth [the plan] in the account of things produced so as to be manifest; running through, with the creative word of his power, the things made part by part, he praised them as completing the world. For a hand, an eye, and the other limbs of a bronze statue scattered here and there seem good to no one; but when they are put together in their order and receive the form of a fitting shape, they are easily recognized by any unskilled person. But the Creator of the elements knew the good of each work even before the composition of the parts; and in praising each, he directs the thought of his mind to the future outcome of the things he formed. Such, then, is God now too: the craftsman of the individual parts, their witness and herald; but a little later, when the whole world is completed, he will give it the praise it deserves. But here let the morning account of the second day find its end, so that we may give the studious hearers a respite, in which to compare with one another what has been said and take care to keep it all, by the help of memory, in their inmost hearts for their own benefit; and that, chewing the food of teaching by the practice of constant meditation, after a healthy digestion they may ask for the nourishment of the rest of the discourse. And let us grant leave in the meantime to those who work with their hands for their living, so that, when their work is done, they may again bring their minds, freed from the tangle of cares, to the evening feast. Meanwhile, may the Lord, who made great things out of nothing and has granted that these small offerings of words be brought forth by us, give you understanding of his truth, so that from visible things you may reckon the invisible, and that from the greatness and beauty of creation your mind may perceive the fitting glory of the Creator, so that on earth, in the air, in heaven, in the waters, between day and night, and in everything that is seen, you may take hold of the surest monuments of the benefactor. For neither will time be given to sins, nor will room be left to the enemy to suggest the contrary, while the Lord cleaves to your minds; to whom be glory and worship, now and always, and through all ages of ages. Amen.

There are certain cities whose people refresh themselves by feasting their eyes on marvellous shows from morning till evening; they also pour into their senses alluring songs and wanton melodies that breed excessive luxury, and, delighted by listening to them for a long time, they are never satisfied. And yet many are accustomed to call those people happy, because, leaving necessary business and the arts by which the means of life are obtained, they spend the time of life allotted to them in idleness and pleasure, busy with vain activities, not knowing that dancing approved by the basest shows provides a public and common school of vices. And lyric songs, the music of pipers, and the songs of harlots, slipping into the hearts of the listeners, what do they implant in spectators who imitate actors but infamy? Some, gripped by a frenzied passion for the circus, dispute in their dreams at night about the speed of horses, now turning chariots, now moving charioteers to another side, and they do not stop turning over in their sleep all their thoughts of the day. But we, whom the Lord, who is held to be the greatest and most wonderful craftsman of things, has called together to the display of his works, must not grow weary of looking at them, nor become sluggish in listening to the words of the Holy Spirit; but, surrounding this splendid stage of the divine work, and recalling past times in our thoughts, let us contemplate heaven raised up like a vault, as the prophet says (Isa 40:22), and the earth, very vast, founded so as to stand upon itself by its immensity and weight; the air, spread out and fluid by nature, supplying fitting and unceasing nourishment to all that breathe, parting for everything that moves and gently yielding through its softness; and water, the nourisher of bodies, established as most useful to the human race, and remaining with moderation in the receptacles assigned to it. That these things are so, you will prove from what was read just now.

"And God said, Let the waters that are under heaven be gathered into their gatherings, and let the dry land appear. And God called the dry land earth, and the gatherings of the waters he called seas." How many false charges you will bring against me in what follows, demanding how the earth can be held invisible when colour is present, since every colour is perceived by the sense of sight! And perhaps what we said does not seem enough to you, that the earth was said to be invisible not in its nature but in relation to us, because of the waters laid over it, which at that time had covered all lands. But now listen to Scripture, how it explains itself: "Let the waters," it says, "be gathered, and let the dry land appear." The veil is withdrawn so that what had meanwhile not been seen might become visible. Perhaps someone will also ask why the word turns into a command of the Creator what belongs to water by nature, namely always to tend to lower places. For as long as water is held in a level place, it is still, finding nowhere to turn aside; but when a slope presents itself, the front part bursts forth at once, and the rest of the mass follows, fleeing in haste, while what goes before is pressed by the push of what comes after; and the flow is seen to be the swifter the greater the weight of water flowing together and the steeper the place. If, then, such is the nature of liquid, the command by which he ordered the waters to be gathered into one receptacle would be superfluous. For it could undoubtedly have run down of its own accord into hollow regions by its natural impulse before it covered the surfaces; for no place of the earth is as level as the surface of water. Then, they say, how was it commanded to come together into one gathering, when we know that there are different seas, which are certainly known to be far apart from one another? To the first question, then, we shall answer this: you came to know the motion of moisture after the giving of the divine command, and that it flows around and always runs downward. For before it took its course from the heavenly authority, you did not see it, nor did you learn it from another who had seen it. So you must notice that the voice of God forms nature, and the command then given to creation provided the order for all that was to be generated. For day and night were made once, and from then until now, succeeding one another in turn, they keep the times of their courses divided in fixed portions.

"Let the waters be gathered." The nature of the waters was commanded to flow, and it never fails to obey the command. I say this looking at the fluid lot of the waters, of which some always flow, like springs and rivers, while others are gathered and still. But now I am speaking of the flowing ones. "Let the waters be gathered into one gathering." If ever, standing beside a stream, you are struck by the thought, considering by whose impulse water comes forth from the earth, or what storehouses it pours from so abundantly, or what place it is driven to reach, or how neither does the water that follows fail nor the water that went before overflow, you will surely find that all this is held by that first word, from which its everlasting flow is also supplied. So in every account always remember the first command, which says: "Let the waters be gathered." For they had to run down quickly to reach their own region, and once they had arrived, to stay in their appointed receptacles and go no further. Therefore it is said by Ecclesiastes: "The rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not filled" (Eccl 1:7). For both that the course of the waters is driven on and that the sea is held within fixed bounds is the power of the first command: "Let the waters be gathered into one gathering"; so that the water that flows in might not, when the receptacles were full, overflow and likewise flood all the bounds of the earth; that is why it was commanded to bring itself into one gathering. Therefore the sea, often stirred by winds, seething with waves and rising on high, when it touches the neighbouring shores, dissolves the force of its surge in foam, and is soon broken and draws back. "Will you not fear me, says the Lord, who set the sand as a boundary for the sea?" (Jer 5:22). For it is wonderful how sand, the weakest of all things on the earth, restrains the violence of the sea at God's command. Otherwise, what reason could have prevented the Red Sea from invading all Egypt, which certainly lies lower, and mingling with the neighbouring sea, had it not been held back by the Creator's command? For that Egypt is lower than the Red Sea we are taught most surely by those who wished to join the Egyptian and the Indian seas, of whom the first was Sesostris the Egyptian and the second Darius the Mede. I said this so that we might know the power of the divine decree. "Let the waters be gathered into one gathering": that is, let no other proceed from it, but let what is gathered be held in the first receptacle.

Then, when he said, "Let them be gathered into one gathering," he taught that there were many waters divided in various ways. For low-lying places, naturally hollowed into deeper spaces, held collected water, and plains too were full, resembling a sea, and other regions of the kind; all these were commanded to flow together into one gathering. And let no one say: if the multitude of waters then covered the whole earth, the places into which the waters were afterwards commanded to run were nonetheless full at that time; where, then, was the water that had invaded all parts of the earth to be gathered? To this we answer that when the command was given for them to come together into one gathering, the means of receiving them also came into being. For at that time there was no sea beyond Gades, nor was there that greatest sea, navigable only by the bold, which washes the island of Britain and the western Iberians; but afterwards, at God's command, a sufficient capacity was prepared so that the multitude of waters might flow together there. Concerning this, since the philosophers say that our account of creation is contradicted, on the ground that water is not, as we know by experience, collected into one gathering, we could say many things known to all; but lest it seem ridiculous to contend with such people (though they would have to object to us marshes and pools and the waters collected from rains, in order to break down the claim of our account by these), let them know that God called a gathering the greatest and complete concourse of all waters. For a well too is a man-made collection of water, the liquid having slipped down into a deep hollow. So not every receptacle of waters shows forth the name of that gathering, but that greatest and most excellent reservoir into which the whole element was suddenly brought together. For as fire is dispersed in small and different materials, giving all a necessary use, yet is wholly contained in the ether; and likewise air, though it has slipped into individual bodies, yet embraces the whole circle of the earth; so the nature of the waters, though held committed to various stations, yet has one greatest gathering, which separates that whole element from the others. For the lakes in the northern regions, or in the Hellespont, or in Macedonia, or in Bithynia, are undoubtedly called gatherings; but now we are speaking of that one which is so much more extensive than all the rest that it equals the breadth of the lands. And although no one denies that there is a multitude of waters in the smaller gatherings too, no one will rightly call them seas, even though certain marshes are tainted with the saltness of the sea, like the one called Asphaltitis in the parts of Judea, or Serbonitis, which lies between Egypt and Palestine and touches the desert of Arabia. All these are marshes; but there is one sea, as those who have travelled over all lands assert. Some, however, declare that the Hyrcanian and Caspian lakes are enclosed within themselves. And since we ought to look carefully at the geography of the historians, let us hear what is reported about them. They say that these lakes, pierced by certain hidden caverns, pour their streams into the greatest sea; whence it is also affirmed that the Red Sea flows out into the sea beyond Gades. How then, they say, did God call the different stations of the waters seas, since they came together into one receptacle? And again all the gatherings, that is, the gulfs that the circuit of the earth encloses according to its shape, are nonetheless called seas: the Northern Sea, the Southern Sea, the Eastern Sea, the Western Sea; and again each sea has its own names, the Euxine, the Hellespont, the Aegean, the Ionian, the Sicilian, the Tyrrhenian, and very many others, whose names it would be too long and laborious to run through one by one. That is why God named the gatherings of the waters seas. But the course of our discourse, passing on, has led us to this; let us return to what we began a while ago.

"And God said, Let the waters be gathered into one gathering, and let the dry land appear." He did not say "let the earth appear," lest he should again show it unformed, as being muddy, still shapeless from the flooding of the waters, and weak; and at the same time, lest anyone should ascribe to the sun the cause of the earth's drying, the Creator rightly established the dryness of the earth before the birth of the sun. For notice carefully that not only the water that lay over the earth, but also that which lay hidden in its deeper parts, flowed out in obedience to the command of the Lord. "And it was so." This addition suffices, declaring that the Creator's word was given over to its effect; although it is reported in many copies of the account of creation that "the water that was under heaven was gathered into its gatherings, and the dry land appeared": which certainly neither the edition of the other translations shows to be so, nor does the usage of the Hebrews express it. For indeed a narrative repeated about the same things after the testimony asserting "and it was so" would seem superfluous. "And God called the dry land earth, and the stations of the waters he called seas." Why was it said earlier, "Let the waters be gathered into one gathering, and let the dry land appear," when it should rather have been said, "let the earth appear"; and again, "the dry land appeared, and God called the dry land earth"? Because "dry" is the form of a property, designating what underlies the nature, while "earth" is the bare name of the thing. For as rationality is proper to man, while "man" itself is the word signifying the animal whose property it is, so dryness is the proper and chief property of the earth. The element that has properly received dryness, then, is not undeservedly named earth, just as the animal to which neighing is proper is called a horse. And this must be noted not only of the earth; in the other elements too a proper quality has been assigned to each, by which each is distinguished from the others and what it is is plainly recognized: water keeps its own quality, by which it is shown to be cold; air has moisture; fire heat. But these, as the first elements of composite things, we can contemplate only with the mind, according to the account given. Those that have slipped into bodies and are subject to sight possess qualities joined together, and none of them can be absolute or simple, since they are grasped by the eyes and the senses. For earth is dry and cold, water moist and cold, air hot and moist, fire hot and dry. And so the power of nature, called forth through these, brings it about that all things are joined to one another by tempered mixtures in turn, and each clings to its neighbouring element by a shared quality, and through the community implanted in each they are mingled with their contraries: as earth, which is dry and cold, is connected with water through the kinship of coldness, and is joined to air through water. For water, placed between them, is joined to both by a double quality, as by the stretching out of two hands: to earth by coldness, to air by moisture. And again air, by its intervention, becomes the reconciler of opposed natures, that is, of fire and water: joined to fire by heat, to water by moisture. And fire, since by nature it is hot and dry, clings to air by means of heat and shares with earth through dryness. In this way, the elements agreeing with one another in turn, a kind of circle and joined chorus appears to be completed. I have discussed these things so that the order might be clear for which the Lord named the dry land earth, and did not rather call the earth dry. For dryness did not follow afterwards, but was prior, since it completes its substance; and therefore it is rightly honoured with the privileges of this name. Hence the earth too, as principal, took the grounds of its name.

"And God saw that the water was good." The word does not mean that the loveliness that shone from the face of the sea seemed good to the Lord in every respect by the beauty of creation; rather, he looks on what has been made with ineffable wisdom. For to us indeed the sea is delightful when it begins to gleam white in settled calm, or when, ruffled by gentle breezes, it shows a purple colour to those who look at it, and when it does not beat the land with violent waves but kisses it as with peaceful embraces. Yet we must not think that Scripture said the sea seemed good to God in this way; for there good is judged not by appearance but by the reason of its making. First, because the sea is a kind of source of all the moisture that waters the earth. It is spread through hidden veins, as rocky and dug-out places prove: the sea water passing through them, when it has been held back by some mountainous obstacles, is driven by the wind that presses it, breaks through the barriers, and comes out into the light, now made drinkable, having laid aside its natural bitterness by being filtered; and likewise it takes on a hot quality when it runs through certain metals, and becomes not only warm but burning. We find this in very many islands and on various sea coasts, and it is known to happen so in inland regions too. Why have we said this? To assert that the whole earth is filled, through hidden and invisible veins, with flowing waters that take their beginning from the sea.

The sea also seemed good to God both because of the course it runs in the depths of the earth, and because it is the receptacle of the rivers and of all the waters that roll into it from every side, while it remains within its bounds. Good also because it is a kind of source and origin of the waters of the air. When it is warmed by the heat of the sun, it gives off its finer moisture in thin vapours, which, drawn up to a higher place and made cold, since they are shaded by the clouds, produce dews and rains. No one will disbelieve this who looks at kettles foaming with heat, which, though filled with water, are often left empty when a fire is put under them; and sea water itself, as sailors report, is said to be boiled down by the rays of the sun. For they catch the vapours rising from the sea with sponges and so relieve the heat of thirst. The sea seems good also because it encloses the islands, giving them no less defence than adornment; because it offers an accessible approach to fleets and supplies merchants with the means of wealth; because many things unknown to the inhabitants of the lands are learned from the reports of sailors; and because a great deal of benefit is given to human life from the sea. For what abounds with us we carry over to other provinces and regions, and from there in turn what is scarce here is brought. But how will it be possible for me to describe the beauty of the sea as it seemed to the Creator? And if the sea is good and praiseworthy before God, how should not the assembly of the catholic church be judged more beautiful, in which the diversity of every age and sex, pouring out voices of praise to God, gives back a sound like the waves of the sea; which, firmly founded in the haven of peace, bears the shaking of no storm of heretics? Therefore make yourselves worthy of the heavenly reward, preserving the beauty of this order in Christ Jesus, to whom be glory now and always, and for ages of ages. Amen.

"And God said, Let the earth sprout the grass of pasture, sowing seed according to its kind, and the fruit-bearing tree bearing fruit according to its kind, whose seed is in itself." Fittingly, then, after the earth had breathed again, having struggled free of the weight of the waters, the command was given to it to sprout first grass and then pasture, which we see happen even now. For the word then uttered, that first command, was like a law of nature, and it clung to the earth, giving it the ability to produce and bear fruit for the future. "Let the earth sprout." The first stage in the generation of growing things is sprouting; then, when it has emerged a little, it becomes grass, and when it has grown, it is pasture. And growing up little by little it forms joints, and so it develops until the seed ripens in due season. For the grassy, green appearance is common to all. "Let the earth sprout the grass of pasture." The earth was commanded to sprout by itself, needing no help from anything. Since some think that the sun provides plants and seeds with the causes of their growth, drawing what springs from the earth up from its lowest seats by the attraction of its heat, therefore the adornment of the earth's fruitfulness shone forth before the sun, so that the occasion of worshipping the sun as the author of growing things might be taken away from those who are in error, if only they could be persuaded that before the sun itself was created the earth was already adorned with its fruits, considering that the sun is later in birth than grass and pasture. What shall we say, then? That the Creator was laying up food for cattle, but held our race worthy of no provision? It is not so. For he who prepared pasture for your oxen and horses certainly supplied richer wealth and abundance of enjoyment for you, and stored up the means of your life through their nourishment. And what else should the production of seeds be understood to be than the furnishing of your provision? For there is no doubt that vegetables and the roots of wild palms provide food for human beings. And even if there is some kind of plant fitted for others' uses and not ours, yet this very thing is seen to work to our gain all the same, and the benefit of all seeds is felt to be assigned to us. This is certainly the right understanding of what has been said.

"Let the earth sprout the grass of pasture and seed sowing according to its kind." Rightly so; for in this way the order of the narrative will stand consistent, which is now thought in some way to contradict itself, and the necessity of nature's arrangement will be fulfilled. For first comes sprouting, then grass, after this the succession of pasture, which is soon accompanied by the completion of the seed. How, then, does the word declare that everything that grows from the earth has seed, when neither the reed, nor couch grass, nor mint, nor crocus, nor very many others take the beginning of their birth from seed? To this we answer that some of the things the earth produces are believed to hold the power of seed in their roots and base: as the reed, after its new growth, again sends up another offspring from the root, which will provide for the renewal of the stock in future. Not only the reed does this but a thousand others, which, growing under the earth, keep a reviving offspring in the root. Hence it is proved true that each growing thing either has a seed to renew its kind or has some seed-like power joined to it. And this is what it means by "according to its kind." For the offspring of a reed cannot be the producer of olives; rather from a reed another reed arises by the likeness of kinship, and so what the earth produced in the first generation is preserved until now by the succession of descendants. "Let the earth sprout." See how, from a small word and a very brief command, the dry and barren earth was suddenly in labour and driven to bring forth fruit; and as if it had laid aside a mourning garment and put on more joyful clothing, exulting in the dress of its own beauty, it poured forth everything it had conceived at the heavenly command. So I desire the wonders of creation to cling more deeply in your minds, so that wherever you are found and whatever kind of growing thing you stand and look at, you may receive a splendid reminder of the Creator; and above all, when you see the grass of hay or a flower, you may turn at once to the image of human nature, remembering the example of the wise Isaiah: "All flesh is like grass, and all the glory of man like the flower of grass" (Isa 40:6). For the shortness of this life, its very small joy, and the cheerfulness of mortals over their prosperity were most fittingly compared by the prophet. For today someone is seen well fed in body, strong of face, in the prime of age, roaring with strength and irresistible in his drive. The next day this man is found pitiable, either broken by old age or wasting with sickness. Another likewise is held in high regard, filled with the greatest riches, propped up by attendants, thronged by a swarm of clients and of friends, even pretended ones, surrounded by a guard of parasites or flattering relatives; going out and coming back by all ways, he gathers envy with reproach, for one who stands out cannot avoid this disease. Add to wealth civil power too, honours conferred by princes, the government of nations, the command of soldiers, heralds crying out before him with a terrifying voice, lictors attending him on this side and that and striking the deepest terror into suppliants; add floggings, proscriptions, auctions, chains, prisons, from which an unbearable fear is heaped up on those subject to him. And then? One night, an attack of fever, a pain in the side, the gasping of the lungs, drags the man away torn from among men; his whole stage is suddenly stripped bare, and all that power vanishes like a dream that has passed. Therefore the prophet aptly compared the likeness of human glory to the frailty of flowers.

"Let the earth sprout the grass of pasture, sowing seed according to its kind." Until now, then, the order of growing things bears witness to the first arrangement. For sprouting comes before all that is generated; and if anything bursts forth from a root, like crocus and couch grass, it must first sprout, and after this be seen as green hay, and so be brought to ripe grain when the stalk is already turning yellow. "Let the earth sprout the grass of pasture." When a seed has fallen on the ground and has been moderately softened by moisture and warmth, it is soon joined to the bosom of the earth, receiving from it certain generative nourishments, and sinks gradually by slipping into its veins; and, spreading very fine fibres, it breaks through the swelling of the earth above it as it grows, and, now firmly founded, it easily rises up, unfolding as many stalks upward as the roots it has stretched downward. And so the tender sprout, warmed by the vapour beneath, which has slipped in through the roots by the drawing of heat, and supplied with the nourishment of the earth, spreads part of itself into the stalk, sends part into the husk, gives part to the grains, and stretches part into the beards. And in this way, its growth completed, each part gradually reaches its own measure. So whether it is wheat, or a pulse, or a vegetable, or a shrub, it can sufficiently instruct your mind, so that you may see the wisdom of the Creator, the craftsman: how the stalk of grain is girded as with knees, so that, bound by frequent joints, it may more easily carry the burden of the ears when, bent by the weight of ripeness, they begin to bow down. And for this reason the stalk of oats is entirely empty, since it bears no weight on its head. But nature has fortified wheat quite differently, placing its grains very providently in sheaths, so that they may not be snatched away by birds; and so it reasonably set the beards on it like spears for a guard, by whose points the smaller creatures are driven off. [4] What shall I say, and what shall I leave unsaid, looking at such abundant treasures of creation? The pursuit of the better things is difficult, but the loss of what is omitted is not to be borne. "Let the earth sprout the grass of pasture." Along with things for food, harmful things too come forth at once: with wheat hemlock, with the other seeds hellebore, aconite, mandrake, and the juice of the poppy. What then? Shall we set aside thanksgiving for the Creator's generosity and accuse him of producing harmful things? By no means; considering that not everything was made for our belly. The foods assigned to you are both ready to hand and well known; but each of the things that were generated has its own reason. For it does not follow that, because a draught of bull's blood is deadly, the animal itself should not have been made or should not be seen at all, when its labour is judged quite necessary for the various uses of our life. The rationality natural to human beings will suffice you for avoiding what is harmful. For if sheep and goats have a natural sense of guarding against what is hurtful to them, discerning the harm by instinct alone, will you, who have the faculty of speech and the skill of the art of medicine searching out remedies for health, and frequent experience of things showing us ways of escape from evils, tell me, find it hard to avoid dangerous things, none of which was established idly or uselessly? For they either supply food for certain animals, or bring us relief toward health when we are sick. Starlings usually eat hemlock, and are said to escape its poison because of the quality of their bodies: for the passages next to their hearts are very narrow, and they digest what they have eaten before the coldness reaches their inner organs. Quails too use hellebore as food, and avoid its deadly poison by a certain tempering of their nature. All these things are believed to help us as well. For from mandrake sleeping drugs are made, useful for the most severe pains of the limbs. Some have soothed a most troublesome raging hunger with hemlock; some have rid the body of long-standing ailments with hellebore. So where you thought to bring a charge against the Creator, from there rather you gain an increase of praise to give him.

"Let the earth sprout." How much nourishment, then, does he say is found of its own accord in the leaves of plants, and in roots and seeds, and how much is added by cultivation and diligence! Yet he did not command fruit and seed to be produced at once, but decreed that the earth should first sprout and grow green, and then ripen seed, so that that first command might become a lesson of nature for the order of what follows. How, then, does the earth produce seeds according to their kind, when, sowing golden wheat, we often gather black? We shall say that this does not concern a change of kind, but was a certain weakness and sickness of the seed. For grain blackened by blight has not ceased to be grain, as we can know from its very name, because the extreme cold, scorching its appearance, changed it into another colour and taste. Conversely, if the field turns out fertile and enjoys a mild sky, it soon returns to its former shape. But darnel and the other bastard kinds, which Scripture usually calls tares, mixed with the food crops, are not born from the corruption of wheat, but spring from their own origin. The consideration of them is to be applied to those who overturn the Lord's commandments and do not receive the word of admonition sincerely, but, corrupted by evil teaching, dare to mix themselves with the healthy members of the church, so that the hidden ruin of their disease may secretly take root in sound minds. Yet the Lord compares the perfection of those who believe in him to the growth of seed, saying: "As if a man should cast seed upon the earth, and sleep and rise night and day, and the crop sprouts and grows, he knows not how. For the earth bears fruit of itself, first the blade, then the ear" (Mark 4:26–28). "Let the earth sprout the grass." So in the briefest moment of time the earth, beginning with sprouting so as to fulfil the Creator's law, advanced through all the stages of growth and soon brought what was growing to ripeness. At that time you could have seen all the glades shining with the green of plants, and the fields too, adorned with swelling crops, imitating in a way the image of a heaving sea by the motion of the ears. Then every kind of grass and every kind of vegetable, and whatever is shrub or seed-bearing, stood out on the earth with abundant fruits. No failure was then to be feared for the seeds; no laziness of farmers to be blamed; no intemperance of the weather; no complaint of any cause bringing corruption to the crops; no condemnation that could hinder the fertility of the land. For afterwards came sin, for which we were sentenced to eat our bread in the sweat of our face.

Meanwhile he also commanded "the fruitful tree to grow, bearing fruit, whose seed is in itself according to its kind and likeness." At the uttering of this word all the woods at once grew dense, and trees whose habit is to rise high, that is, the olive, the cedar, the cypress, and the pine, and the bushes too were clothed with leaves, and the thickets with foliage. Even those called garland plants, I mean roses, myrtles, and laurels, which did not exist before, rose up in a single moment of time, each with its own property, each distinguished from the other by the plainest proof and produced with a definite mark. But at that time the rose was without a thorn. For the thorn was added to its beauty afterwards, so that care might be next to pleasure, reminding us of the sin for which the earth was condemned to produce brambles and thorns. The earth is commanded to produce also the tree bearing fruit; but we see many trees bearing neither seed nor fruit. To this we shall say that the more useful ones deserved to be mentioned first; and then it will be shown to those who inquire carefully that all trees either bear seed or have a power like seed. For the poplar, the elm, the willow, and others like them seem to bear no evident fruit; yet if anyone examines them more closely he will find seed in them. For beneath their leaves lies a grain which those who have studied the formation of words usually call mischos; this holds the power of seed. And those that grow from the planting of branches put out roots of themselves in great quantity. Perhaps also those buds pushed out from the stock have something of the nature of seed; farmers usually tear these off and plant them to renew the kind. But first, as we said above, those trees are held worthy of mention which, sustaining our life with their fruits and nourishing man, were to give him an enviable freedom of enjoyment: like the vine, which produces wine that gladdens the heart of man, and the olive, which bears the fruit that makes the face shine, in mercy. How many other things then sprang up together at once, nature producing them! So the root of the vine has green shoots around it, spread over the ground, from which first a bud arises, which becomes a wild grape, and after this the grape. The vine too, wisely looked at, is enough to bring nature to your remembrance. For you remember the comparison in the Lord's word, in which he says that he is the vine and the Father the vinedresser. And each of us, who have been grafted into the church by faith, he called branches, calling us to abundant fruitfulness, lest we be accused of sloth and handed over to everlasting flames. Indeed he does not cease everywhere comparing human souls to vines. For he says: "My beloved had a vineyard on a fertile hill" (Isa 5:1). And again: "I planted a vineyard and surrounded it with a hedge" (Matt 21:33), meaning human souls, which he has fenced around with the protection of the heavenly commandments, setting also the guard of angels, as it is written: "The Lord will send his angel around those who fear him, and will deliver them" (Ps 34:7). Then he set up, as it were, stakes by which we might be supported, appointing in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers (1 Cor 12:28). And so, rousing us by the examples of the saints of old, he has raised us on high and has not at all allowed our mind to lie on the ground and become fit to be trampled by others. He wants us also, bound as with the tendrils of a vine, that is, with the embraces of love, and loving every neighbour, always to strive upward with the impulse of the soul, made like the shoots that, growing gradually, reach the highest tops of trees. He also requires us to undergo digging. The mind is dug when it lays down worldly cares, which make a heavy burden for our hearts. So whoever has cast off the allurements of bodily pleasure, and has despised the ambitious pursuit of accursed glory and riches, shining as if from the cultivation of digging, begins to breathe freely, every stain of earthly life wiped away. It is fitting for us also, according to the meaning of the proverb, not to run to wood in luxuriance, that is, not to live ostentatiously nor seek the honour of outward praise, but to show ourselves fruitful, displaying to the true Vinedresser diligence in good works. And you, like a fruitful olive, do not strip yourself of any hope, but always keep the green and strong constancy of faith. For so you will be seen to imitate the vigour of that tree and its fruitful abundance, if you bestow mercy most generously at all times.

But now let us return to examining the arrangement of the craftsman. How many kinds of trees then came into being! Some are fruitful, others worthless; some suited for building ships, others needed for the hearth. Again, a varied adornment is seen in them, whose properties are hard to investigate, as are the differences of each. For some are fixed to deeper roots, others to shallow and light ones; some stretch up high, each fixed on a single trunk, others are lower and put out many buds from their stocks. And those whose tops are lofty have many and deeper roots, spread around, which nature has set beneath them like foundations, by which the mass placed above can be supported. How great a diversity there is also in barks! Some are smooth and glossy, some knotty and rough; some single, others joined with many layers. And what will surprise you more, a likeness to human old age and youth is found in them. For the bark of young and vigorous saplings is drawn out and taut, but that of aging trees is wrinkled and scaly. Of these, some sprout again when they have been cut, while others wither as soon as they are lopped, as if suffering a kind of death from the injury of the cut. Many have indeed found that pines, when burned or cut, change into an acorn-bearing wood. It is known too that some, tended by the diligence of farmers, have entirely lost their natural defect. For they say that sour pomegranates or bitter almonds can be sweetened in this way: if, near the root, their trunks are bored and a wedge of pine resin is driven through the middle of the heart, it will take away all the unpleasantness of the unsuitable taste by changing it to sweetness. Therefore let no one, covered by the darkness of wickedness, despair of his own salvation, knowing that farming changes the qualities of fruits for the better, and spiritual labour is able to overcome the wickedness of every disease. And indeed we see so great a difference in the fruitfulness of trees that we cannot explain it even in words. For the distinction of fruits is found not only between one kind and another, but very great diversity is found within single kinds as well. The skill of farmers is reported to have handed down that the appearance of the male fruit is one thing and that of the female another; they also affirm that palms are of two sexes. For it is seen how among them the one called female bends its branches toward the male, as if seeking intercourse, so that it may conceive by mingling with it. So clever farmers are said to take certain buds from the male and graft them into the female; and so, as if filled with the desired union, it at once draws back its arms and returns to its former position. The same is told of figs too. For some are said to plant wild trees beside garden ones; some even tie the fruit of the wild fig to the cultivated ones to give them strength, so that they can keep their fruit from falling. The figure of this thing is believed to warn us to recognize that we must often take an example of faith even from outsiders, for the showing forth of good works. For if you see someone among the pagans or heretics, separated from the Lord's church, adorned with the cultivation of life and morals, you should strive the harder and increase your zeal more and more, so that you may come near to that fruitful fig tree, which, borrowing a fruitful vigour from the company of wild trees, has checked the fault of troublesome dropping and seized the help of its neighbour's fertility.

If, then, the account of their generation is so great that we have barely been able to set forth a few things instead of many, who could run through the varieties, qualities, and shapes of all fruits, and how much usefulness lies in each? Some ripen cooked by the sun; others fill out protected by coverings. And how is it that the leaves of trees bearing soft fruit are stronger, as those of the fig, while those whose fruit is harder have a more delicate texture of leaves, as nuts? Because the fig, on account of its weakness, rightly demands the help of greater protection, while a denser shade of leaves could have harmed the nuts. How reasonably too the vine leaf is made with a many-cleft form, so that the grape, by the part that is covered, may ward off injury from the air, and by the part that is open may receive the warmth of the sun's heat! So we see nothing made by chance, nothing without reason. There is in all things an ineffable and wonderful wisdom. What mind, or whose eloquence, will suffice to grasp all things precisely, so as to contemplate their properties and distinguish the differences of each, or to explore the secrets of causes hidden deep within? How is one and the same moisture, drawn up through the roots of plants, distributed into numerous services, nourishing the root itself in one way, the bark in another, the trunk in another, and the pith in another? And how does it now become leaf, now take form in shoots and branches, and supply the fruits with nourishment for growth? The same material also pours out certain tears through the branches; who can explain how great the difference between them is? For the tear of the mastic tree is one thing, the juice of balsam another, and another the exudation that flows from the fennel plants of Egypt and Libya. There is also a report that amber is the tear of a certain tree, hardened like stone. Witness to this are twigs or small flies which, settling in the juice of flowing amber, stuck in it as it congealed. And in general no one can give a full account of their qualities except one taught by experience: how again from the same moisture the vine produces wine and the olive oil. And not only is this wonderful, that here it becomes sweet and there rich, but that in the fruits themselves it shows a very manifold change of taste. For the quality of sweetness in the grape is one, in the apple another, in the fig another, in the date another. I want you to examine this matter still more closely: how the moisture seems most pleasant to the sense of the lips and taste when in some fruits, as ripeness comes, it grows sweet, while in others it is held harsh and bitter when it turns sour. It afflicts the sense by excessive bitterness when it is spread through wormwood or scammony. In acorns and cornel fruit it becomes astringent and hard; but in the terebinth or the nut it takes on a soft and rich substance.

But why do we pursue far-off examples, when in one and the same fig tree the moisture is now very bitter in the sap and now very sweet in the fruit, and in the vine it is harsh when it buds but delicious in the ripe grape? And how many distinctions of colours would you say there are? Indeed, if ever you look at flowery fields, you will see how the same liquid is scarlet in this flower, and purple, white, or golden in another, and shows a still greater difference of scent than of colour. But I feel that my discourse, through eagerness for contemplation, is creeping out into immense spaces. Unless I bind it and bring it back to the needs of the subject of creation, the day will surely fail me as I lay open to you the magnificent wisdom by comparison with lesser things. "Let the earth sprout the fruitful tree bearing fruit." As soon as the command was given, the ridges of the mountains grew thick with leafy trees, cultivated gardens were seen, and the banks of rivers were filled with different kinds of foliage. Some of them were appointed to adorn the tables of mortals, some to provide fodder for cattle, others are fitted for the uses of medicine; and, to speak briefly, whatever the long experience of things has gathered for us, the arrangement of the Creator, foreseeing the future from the beginning, collected the necessary things from everywhere and appointed them to be produced with the greatest speed. But you, when you see cultivated and wild plants, those of land and of water, and flowering ones, recognize the greater through the least; yet in such a way that to your own wonder you add love for the Creator, by asking how he makes certain trees always green and others bare in winter; and again how, of those that are always green, some usually change their leaves unnoticed, so that in this way they can never be stripped of their own foliage, like the olive or the pine; while he commands others to be clothed with lasting leaves, like the palm, which is believed to be content with the leaves received from its first sprouting until its very end. Consider this too: how the tree called the tamarisk is of a kind of ambiguous nature, since it delights no less in wetter places than in drier ones. Therefore Jeremiah (Jer 17:6) wisely compares changeable and inconstant characters to this shrub.

"Let the earth sprout." This small command, then, compels it to put forth all the powers it has, in each yearly course, to form the race of plants, seeds, and trees. For as a spinning top, set going by the stroke of the first blow, unfolds its winding circles in curved spaces, and once fixed on its sharp point turns itself round, so the order of nature, having taken its beginning from God's first command, passes through all the age until it reaches the common end and conclusion. Toward that end let us too hasten, filled with the fruits of good works, so that, planted in the house of the Lord, we may flourish in the courts of our most holy God, in Christ Jesus, to whom be glory and honour always, and for ages of ages. Amen.

Spectators of athletic contests ought to share the hardiness of those who compete; this is easily proved by the organizers of the sacred games, who order those gathered in the stadium to sit bareheaded, so, it seems to me, that each person may be present not only as a spectator but also as a sharer in the sweat. In the same way, one who seeks the greatest and most excellent spectacles and listens to the highest and ineffable wisdom should bring his own resources to the contemplation of the matter set before him, and share the burden of the labour with me as far as he can, considering himself present as a companion rather than as a judge, lest the discovery of the truth escape us and by my fault there be a common loss to my hearers. Why do I say this? Because the subject before us is the composition of the world, taking its beginning not from worldly wisdom but from what the Lord taught his servant Moses, speaking to him in appearance and not in riddles. So it is necessary that the most eager spectators of the greatest things should take part in the present questions with a mind not untrained. If, then, at any time under a clear night sky you have looked up at the ineffable beauty of the stars, I believe you were captivated and asked about the Creator of all things: who adorned the heaven with such flowers, and how in the things that are seen usefulness is proved greater than delight. And likewise if by day, examining with a sober mind, you have considered the wonders of the day and, through the reason of visible things, reckoned with him who is invisible, you have come altogether ready to listen, showing yourself worthy of the festival of this honourable and blessed spectacle. Therefore I will do what those do who take strangers in cities by the hand and lead them to the places they seek: I will introduce you, as those who do not know them, to the hidden wonders of this greatest city. In this city lies our ancient homeland, from which the murderer, the devil, led us away, enticed by his allurements. Here you behold the first generation of man, and the death that followed upon us, which was born of sin, the firstborn offspring of the ancient demon. There you recognize man, earthly indeed by nature, but the work of divine hands; much weaker in strength than cattle, but appointed ruler of living and lifeless things; weak in natural equipment, but raised to heaven itself by the help of reason. If we learn these things, we shall know ourselves, remember God, adore the Creator, serve the Lord, glorify the Father, revere the benefactor, and never cease to venerate the author of our present and future life, who by the riches he has given us shows also the faithfulness of those he has promised, and by the experience of present things confirms also the things that are hoped for. For if temporal things are such, what are the everlasting? If visible things are so good, what are those not seen? If the greatness of heaven exceeds the measure of the human mind, who can suffice to estimate the nature of the everlasting? If the sun, subject to corruption, is so good and great, swift in motion, ordered in its courses, having a fitting size by which it cannot exceed the moderation set for all things (and the beauty of its nature, like a clear eye, gives adornment to the world); if the sight of it is never satisfying, how beautiful will the Sun of righteousness be thought to be? If it is a loss to the blind man not to see this sun, how great a loss will the sinner suffer, deprived of the true light?

"And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth, and let them divide between day and night." Heaven and earth had gone before; light had already been made over them; day had been separated from night; the dry land had already been revealed; the water had been gathered into the station assigned to it; the earth was filled with its fruits, having sprouted so many thousands of plants and abounding in various kinds of growth. But the sun and the moon did not yet exist, lest those who do not know God should call the sun the prince and father of light, or suppose it the author of what grows from the earth. Therefore on the fourth day he said, "Let there be lights," and "God made two lights." Who commanded? Who obeyed? Do you not notice the twofold persons in these words? Everywhere, then, the doctrine of the Godhead is woven into the history by a mystical narrative. And the reason for the creation of the lights is at hand: to light up the earth. How, then, if light had gone before, is the sun now said to be established for giving light? First, let the simplicity of our speech not move you to laughter, if we do not aim at the elegance of your eloquence nor follow the arrangement of rhythmic clauses. For we are not accustomed to cultivate the construction of words or the euphony of pronunciation, but we think that the honest meaning of names must everywhere be put first. Notice, then, how by the nature of the word he declared sufficiently what he wanted: for he names them "lights" for the giving of light, which certainly does not conflict with what was said before about light. For then the nature of light was produced; but now the body of the sun was made, on which that firstborn light is carried. For as fire is one thing and a lamp another, one possessing the power to illuminate, the other made to serve light to those who need it, so these lights were placed beneath that most pure and genuine light as a kind of vehicles; though the Apostle (Phil 2:15) calls certain people "lights of the world." But the true light of the world is another, by whose outpouring the saints, illumined, became lights to souls, freeing them from the darkness of ignorance by teaching them the truth. So too this visible sun shines, kindled by that original brightness.

And let it not seem incredible to anyone that we said the brightness of light is one thing and the body underlying the light another. First, because composite things are divided into two parts, namely the receiving matter and the quality that comes upon it. As, then, natural whiteness is one thing and what is white another, so the things mentioned are seen to differ from each other by nature, but are joined by the Creator's power. And do not tell me that it is impossible for these to be separated from each other; for I do not claim that the separation of light from the sun's body is graspable by me or you, but that it is held divisible by us in thought alone. Clearly, at the Creator's will these can easily be separated from their nature. For it is entirely impossible for us to distinguish the heat of the sun from its brightness; but God, wishing to turn his servant aside by a wonderful sight, set the flame in the bush in such a way as to show only the power of its brightness, its burning laid aside; as the psalm too testifies, saying: "The voice of the Lord who divides the flame of fire" (Ps 29:7). Hence also, in the recompense for the sins we have committed in life, a certain more hidden reasoning teaches us that the nature of fire will be divided: its light will be assigned to illumine the righteous, its burning will serve to consume sinners. We can also easily gain confidence in what we are seeking from the changes of the moon. For when it wanes, its whole body is not used up at all; but now laying aside the light set in it, now receiving it back, it shows us certain appearances of its own growth and diminution. That its whole body is not used up when it wanes, what we see bears witness. For in clear air, free of cloudy vapours, you can watch the waning moon, when it is round in shape, when its globe, on the side that is dark, is circumscribed by just such an orb as when it is full of light; looking at it, you see it plainly whole and complete, made manifest by the part that shines. And do not tell me that its light is borrowed, since it diminishes when it turns toward the sun and grows when it moves away from it. For it is not our purpose to discuss this now, but only that its body is one thing and the cause of its light another. Understand something of the same kind, then, about the nature of the sun, which seems to differ from the moon only in this: that the sun never lays aside the light once received and implanted in it, while the moon, often stripped of its light and clothed with it again, can easily confirm by itself what has been said of the sun. These lights, then, were appointed to divide between day and night, whose natures he then set apart from each other by contrariety, so that they might be without blame toward each other, and darkness might have no fellowship with light. For what shade is by day, darkness is at night. And as every shadow is cast by bodies placed under light, stretching toward the west in the morning, turning toward the east in the evening, and leaning to the north at midday, so night too withdraws backward, driven back by the rays of light. What else must its nature be understood to be than the shadow of the world? For as, on a bright day, a shadow at once accompanies someone standing in the sunrise, so night is produced when the air nearest the earth is shaded; and this is what it says: "God divided between the light and the darkness." For darkness almost always flees the coming of light, since from their first generation estrangement from each other was naturally fitted to them. And now he commanded the sun to run through the spaces of the day, and appointed the moon, when it has completed its circle, as ruler of the night; and by a fixed measure these lights succeed each other in turn. For when the sun comes forth, the moon, if it is full, is at once led to its setting; and again, when the sun has set the bounds of its course, the moon begins to rise. And if in other phases the moon's light does not match the length of the night, this does not concern the present question; we assert only that when the moon is full it holds the rule of the night, surpassing the stars by its own brightness and lighting up the earth, and shares the measure of time equally with the sun.

"And let them be," it says, "for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and for years." You will find that the noting and observing of signs is necessary for human life, as long experience teaches, provided that you do not search into them more than you should. For we can learn many things about coming rains, and very many about the vapours of the earth and the movements of winds, whether they come in parts or blow everywhere at once, and whether they will come violently or gently. One of these signs is that which the Lord shows us, saying that a storm is coming when the sky begins to be gloomy with a fiery red (Matt 16:3). For when clouds come up, the darkened rays are seen with a reddish, blood-like colour, the density of the air presenting such an appearance to our eyes; not yet dispersed by the force of heat, and thickened more and more by the vapours continually rising and by the increase of waters, it threatens a sure storm to the regions over which it has gathered. The same happens when the moon is ringed, or when the halo, as it is called, surrounds the sun: it announces either a quantity of waters or the roaring of winds to come; or when those called mock suns are seen moving about it, they portend certain events in the regions of the sky. Likewise those streaks of rainbow colour that are shown beneath the morning clouds signify heavy rains and storms, or some disturbance of the sky in any case. Those who have studied this science are said to have noted very many signs in the waxing or waning moon, asserting that the air nearest the earth necessarily changes according to the moon's phases and qualities. For when it is three days old, if it appears slender and not with blunt horns, it declares stable and settled fair weather; but if it is reddish and thick in its horns, it threatens excessive rains and the violence of the south wind. Who does not know how much benefit the observation of these things brings to human beings? Those about to sail can keep their fleet in harbour, foreseeing future dangers; the traveller too, made cautious by the gloom of the sky, waits for a time of calm; and farmers, giving anxious care to their seeds and plants, instructed by the signs mentioned, wait for the fitting opportunity. What of the fact that the Lord foretold that portents of the dissolution of all things will be seen in the sun, the moon, and the stars, saying: "The sun will be turned into blood, and the moon will not give its light" (Joel 2:31; Acts 2:20)? But these are signs of the consummation of the world, as we said.

But those who try to stretch their leaps beyond the ditch turn the course of the discourse before us to the doctrine of nativities. For they say that our life hangs on the motion of the heavenly bodies; therefore the Chaldeans assert that the configurations of the stars bear on human fortunes. And the simple saying of Scripture, "for signs," they expound as it seems good to them, applying it not to the change of the air or the quality of the seasons, but to the lot of human life; saying that the combination of certain moving stars, when they come together with the stars that move in the zodiac circle in such and such a configuration, for example, usually produces a certain nativity, and again, if their position is different, it composes contrary decrees. Concerning these it may perhaps not be useless, for the sake of opening up the question, if I begin by going back a little in the course of the account. I shall say nothing of my own, but to refute them I shall use their own statements, so that those who have been seized by error may receive remedies for the injury they have taken, and the rest may find some protection against suffering the like. The inventors of the doctrine of nativities, having found by long experience that many of the configurations escape them, reduced the measure of time to the narrowest compass, so that even in the smallest interval, as the Apostle says, "in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye" (1 Cor 15:52), there is a great difference between one nativity and another; asserting that one born at this point will be king of nations and ruler of peoples, obtaining the greatest power and much wealth, while one born at that moment will be a beggar and a vagrant, going round to people's doors for his daily food. For this reason they divide the circle called the zodiac into twelve parts, since the sun takes thirty days to pass through the twelfth part of the sphere called aplanes, that is, the unwandering. And again they divide each section of thirty parts into twelve spaces, and again distribute each of these portions into another sixty, and count sixty sixtieths of those sixty. Arranging the nativity of those born in this way, let us see whether they can keep this precision within the measure of time. As soon as the infant has come out of the womb, the midwife must look and say whether what has been born is a boy or a girl, and she waits for the cry by which she takes the sign of the little one being alive. How many sixtieths would you say have passed while this is being done? Then, while the birth of the child is made known to the astrologer, how many points do we say have slipped away while the messages are carried between? And if it happens that the one taking the hour of birth stands outside the doors of the chamber, the water clock must be watched, so that the course of the hours, whether by day or by night, can be calculated carefully and without any break. How many sixtieths, then, will be thought to have passed in that very time? For the star must be found, not only in which part of the twelfth division it stands, but at which point of the portion divided twelve times, or rather at which moment of the sixtieths, among which we said the lot of the decrees was divided; or, to search out the truth completely, at which of the sixtieths that are reckoned again from the first sixtieths. And they affirm that this so minute and incomprehensible finding of time must be made for each of the planets, so that it may be known what position it held toward the wandering stars, or what configuration they held among themselves when the infant was born. For if the hour has not been carefully observed, and even a little of that most precise reckoning happens to be changed, the whole observation is thrown into confusion. Those who have given themselves to the study of this inexplicable discipline deserve laughter; but much more those who gape after them eagerly, as if they knew something.

So they are accustomed to foretell the fortunes and even the looks of each person, declaring that this one will be curly-haired and lively, because his hour is placed in the Ram, for such is the appearance of that animal; and that he will have great power, because the Ram is a leader. He will also be a magistrate and given to gain, because that beast easily regains, without trouble, the wool it has shed, nature supplying it. One born under the Bull will be tyrannical and laborious, and also servile, for the bull is accustomed to bow its neck to the yoke. One born under the sign of the Scorpion will be given to wounding, as being like it; and one born at the hour of the Scales becomes just, because of the balance kept in the scales. What could be more ridiculous than this? The Ram, from which you borrow the nativity for human beings, is the twelfth part of the heaven; when the sun stands in it, it touches the heavenly signs; the Scales or the Bull likewise are a twelfth portion of the zodiac. How, then, while asserting that the principal causes of the life of mortals come from there, do you shape the characters of those born from earthly beasts, and say that the man of the Ram will be generous, not because that part of heaven produces such characters, but because such is the nature of a sheep? You urge us, then, on the strength of the dignity of the stars, or rather you try to persuade us, to give you our assent by way of dumb beasts. But if the sky itself has the properties of characters taken from animals, it too is subject to necessities not its own, since it has obtained the principles of causes drawn from four-footed beasts. And if you say this is absurd, you will pronounce it much more absurd that you should dare to bring assertions about things that seem to have nothing in common with us. These arguments of theirs are like spiders' webs: if a gnat or a fly settles in them, it is held entangled, but when something stronger falls in, it soon goes through and breaks the weak threads.

Yet they are not content with this everywhere, but go further astray. For they attach to the necessities of the heavenly bodies the things placed in the freedom of our will, that is, virtues and vices. Although it is ridiculous to contradict them, yet since many have fallen through this seduction, it seems fitting to me not to pass it over in silence. First of all we ask them to acknowledge whether the configurations of the stars do not change a thousand times every day. For the stars called planets are always moving and running about; some follow one another with swift steps, others, moving more slowly, often look upon one another and hide from one another within the same hour. The greatest force in a nativity, as they say, is whether a good star or an evil one looks upon the one being born. Now it often happens that at a time when a good star presides, the astrologer, failing to find the time because of ignorance of one of the minute portions we mentioned above, describes the child as lying under an evil daemon, to use their own words, in which there is great madness but greater impiety. For the more malign stars transfer the causes of their own wickedness to their maker: if wickedness were in them by nature, the maker would surely be the author of malignity. But if they are very evil by choice, then first they must be thought to be living creatures serving their own will, moved by an unbound and free impulse to whatever pleases them, since to accuse lifeless things exceeds all measure of madness. Then, how irrational it is to distinguish good and evil not by the worth of each, but to define something as becoming best or worst by the quality of its place or its aspect to another! And when a star turns a little from its configuration, it is said to forget its own malignity. So much for this; but at every moment of time, as they say, they pass into one configuration after another. Among so many thousands of such changes, how many decrees of royal birth must be thought to be formed every day! Why, then, are princes not produced every day? Or why among them is the succession of the paternal rule always kept? Because no one, of course, refers the fortunes of his children to the configuration of the stars, since the kingdom is handed to them not by the fate of nativity but by the right of birth. Did not Uzziah beget Jotham, and was not Ahaz born of Jotham? And yet none of them fell upon an hour of servile condition. Then, if we obtain the beginnings of virtues and vices not from our will but from the necessity of nativity, lawgivers are superfluous, as I see it, giving us commands to follow or avoid; superfluous too are judges, honouring the upright with praises and punishing the wicked with penalties; and the boldness of the murderer or the thief must be judged innocent, since even if they had wished to hold back their hands from the crime, they could not have, because of the unavoidable impulse of necessity. All craftsmen who seek the means of life by the labour of their hands must be thought vain. The sweat of farmers too is superfluous, since abundance of fruits could come to them even without working. And the merchant would grow rich at leisure, if nativity brought him money even against his will. And the hope of Christians, which is great, would be taken away and utterly perish, since justice would be practised in vain and wickedness condemned in vain, if we are not allowed to do anything at all by our own decision. For when the force of nativity and the decree of fate press upon us, the examination of a just judgment finds no place at all. Let it suffice to have said this against them. For you do not need longer discourses, being strong in soundness of mind, nor does the time allow the bounds of the discussion to be extended further.

But let us turn the discourse rather to what remains. "Let them be," it says, "for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and for years." We have already spoken of signs. By seasons we understand the four parts of the revolving year: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. These, succeeding one another in turn, are regulated by the arranged courses of the lights. For winter comes when the sun lingers in the southern regions and draws out the darkness of night for a longer space around the climate we inhabit. So the air nearest the earth becomes cold, and all the cloudy vapours, gathered together, produce rains, snows, and ice. But when the sun, returning from the southern quarter, holds the middle circle of the heaven, it then divides the time equally between days and nights. And the higher it is carried above the earth, the more it gradually produces a mild temperature, through which spring comes on; by its benefit shrubs and trees put forth leaves, and all animals of land or water, stirred by generative warmth, extend the propagation of their kind by the succession of offspring. From there the sun soon turns toward the summer line and passes through the northern borders, making the days longer for us; and lingering longer in the air, it makes the air blazing and hot and the earth drier, from which the desired means of ripening seeds and fruits is supplied. At that time it is hotter and makes the midday shadows shorter, since it looks on our region from a very high place; and the days are longer when the shadows are short, just as conversely the days are short when the shadows are longer. This is how it happens with us who are called heteroscii, that is, having shadows on one side, and who live in the northern parts. For there are some who for two whole days each year are entirely without shadow, when they stand under the midday sun; the sun, placed right over their heads and lighting them equally from every side, lets their shadows fall in no direction at all. Even the water in their wells can scarcely receive the faintest light of the sun into its bed; for this reason some call them ascii, that is, shadowless. Those who live beyond the spice-bearing lands shift their shadows to both sides. For only those who seem to inhabit our region are believed always to cast their shadows away from the south, that is, from midday... [Others], who throw them both ways, are named amphiscii, that is, two-shadowed, by some. All these things come about as the sun travels to the northern parts. From this we must consider how great the heat of its rays is, and how many effects it has on human beings. After this comes the autumn season, which, holding equal portions of cold and heat, hands us over without discomfort to the coming of the following winter, as the sun returns again from the northern parts to the southern region. These are the changes of the seasons which, serving the courses of the sun, are believed to govern our life. "And let them be," it says, "for signs and for days": not that the sun should make the day, but that it should rule the day. For night and day were made long ago, before the lights were created; as the psalm also declares, saying: "He set the sun to rule the day, the moon and the stars to rule the night" (Ps 136:8–9). How, then, does the sun have rule over the day? Because, carrying the light around in itself, when it comes to the circle we inhabit, it dissolves the darkness and provides the day. So no one is mistaken who calls day this air lit by the sun's rays, and holds that the measure of daytime is the time it lingers, as they think, in the hemisphere above the earth. "And for years too," it says, these signs are appointed. When the moon has completed the spaces of its course twelve times, it makes a year; yet it requires one month to be inserted, so that the full concurrence of the hours may be more exactly gathered, as the Hebrews of old observed the year, and the most ancient of the Greeks. But the solar year is the name for the sun's ordered course, as it revolves from a certain sign back to the same along its own tracks.

"And God made two great lights." The term "great" is twofold: one sense is absolute, the other assigns greatness to what is greater in respect of something smaller, as when we say a great horse or a great ox. For such things receive this testimony not from the vast size of their bodies but from comparison with another. How, then, shall we take the sense of the term "great" here? Shall we take the first sense, comparing lesser things to greater, as an ant or some other animal small by nature is ranked below the largest by comparison? Or rather are they rightly called great lights because of their huge size? I think it should rather be understood so. For they are not called great because they are greater than the other stars, but because the size of their orb is so great that the brightness shining from them sufficiently lights up the whole air and, stretched out everywhere, reaches all lands and seas. In whatever part of the sky it stands, rising or setting, it appears equally to the sight of all mortals. Its greatness has a very sure proof: that not even by comparison with these lights is the breadth of the earth determined, so that by this the sun and moon might be understood to be smaller or greater. For things placed far off always seem small to our eyes, but when we come near we more easily find how great they are. But the sun is never said to be farther from anyone or nearer; it looks on all that lies beneath it from every side with an equal balance; the Indians and the Britons see it alike. For as it sinks to its setting it is not felt by those who live in the East to lose any of its greatness; nor does it appear smaller as it rises to those placed in the West; nor when it holds the middle axis of the sky does it change its appearance for either side. So do not let its apparent smallness deceive you, nor think that because its orb seems a cubit across to those who see it, it is truly such. For the size of things looked at always depends on the stretch of the intervals; the sharpness of the eyes does not attain the length of the intervening space by looking, but is spent as if failing, and reaches what is seen more by estimate than by sight; and so, because of its own feebleness, it thinks great things small, ascribing its own weakness to what it sees. Clearly, then, the eyes are deceived and do not have a faithful judgment. Remember your own weakness, and you will take a proof of what has been said from yourself. If ever you have looked from the high top of a mountain at the plain of the fields below, did you not judge the yoked oxen, so large, or their ploughmen, to be like ants? Likewise, when placed on a lofty lookout you turned your eyes to the sea, what did the islands look like to you? Did they not present to you an image of the tiniest doves? Or were not huge ships, seen far off with white swelling sails, thought to be black? For this reason, namely, that the sense of the eyes, as we said, weakened by the extent of the air, cannot fully grasp what is seen. For hollows of very great rocks, cut deep, are thought to look round and full, since sight, taken up by the projecting edges on every side, cannot reach the middle of the hollow as it fails. So too the eye does not perceive what the shapes of bodies are, but people think towers that are square to be round. It is certain, then, that at longer distances we receive a confused, not a definite, sight of bodies. So also the great lights, according to the testimony of Scripture, are many times greater than they appear.

This too is a probable proof of their greatness: that though the stars are countless in number, the brightness that comes from them cannot cut through the thickness of the night. But the sun, its light poured through the world, breaks the darkness of night not only when it is seen, but even when it is expected and before it lights up the lands; it surpasses the stars in brightness, and dissolves and disperses the air nearest the earth, congealed with cold and mists; from this the morning breeze and the dewy moisture arise in fair weather. And since the earth is very vast, how could it be wholly lit by rays in a single moment of time, unless a most abundant light were supplied to it from the very great orb of the sun? Notice here the wisdom of the Creator, how he gave its immensity a moderate force of heat, so that immoderate burning might not scorch the earth, nor a complete denial of heat make it unfruitful. Understand things in keeping with these about the moon too. Its body is bright, yet its size is not always visible, but now it is seen full in its globe, now half-full, now shown diminished, and it marks its waning on both sides: for it is found dark on one side when it waxes and on the other when it wanes. There is indeed a more hidden reason, declaring the arrangement of the Creator, the craftsman, by which the variation of the moon gives us an example of our own nature: that nothing in human affairs remains lasting and permanent, but things produced from nothing, when they have grown to something and been raised to the full measure of their age, gradually waste away and are dissolved. From the consideration of the moon, then, we are taught to notice mortal things, and, grasping their changeableness in thought, we must take care not to be lifted up by prosperity and aim at pride or insolence, nor trust in temporal power, nor be exalted by possessions or riches, which are very uncertain; but let us chastise the desire of the body, which is most unstable, and give our diligence rather to the soul, whose good always remains unmoved. If perhaps the moon saddens you, failing as it gradually lays aside its light, the soul should affect you more, which loses through the vice of intemperance the honour it received from divine power, never keeping a firm purpose, but constantly turning about, as being supported by no bars of constancy. For truly, according to the proverb, "the fool changes like the moon" (Sir 27:11). And I think that from the changes of the moon no small formative influence is conferred on the animals to be created and on all the other things the earth produces. For their bodies are disposed one way when the moon is full and another way when it wanes: sometimes they appear looser and empty when it wanes, sometimes whole and full when it waxes, since it secretly pours into them inwardly a certain moisture mixed with heat. Those who sleep in the open under a shining moon show that this is so: when they get up, they find their heads soaked with a great deal of dew. And fresh meat, if it lies under the moon, is soon corrupted with liquid putrefaction. The brains of cattle show the same, and the entrails of sea creatures, which are moister, and the pith of trees: none of these could the moon bring to its own quality, unless it excelled in the greatness of its power, according to the testimony of Scripture.

The motion of the air too is governed by these same changes, as the new moon attests, which, often after a long spell of fair weather, suddenly stirs up masses of clouds and disturbances. The ebb and flow of the straits shows this too, as does the alternation of the Syrtes near the Ocean, which the inhabitants of those places report are driven according to the moon's phases. The straits too usually turn their streams gently to either side at all other times; but when the moon is born, they cannot rest at all, but always surge with violent agitation until the moon appears again, bringing calm to the stirred-up whirlpools. Likewise the western sea undergoes frequent advances and retreats, now washing the shores with its waves, now leaving them. So it is drawn back as if by certain breathings of the moon, and again overflows at its impulses. I have discussed these things to show the greatness of the lights, and because nothing of the spiritual precepts, not even a single syllable, can be idle, though the word has certainly disclosed nothing of the more hidden matters. For whoever does not idly examine their properties and powers can find by thinking many things about the size and distances of the sun and moon. Therefore each should rather blame his own weakness, so that the magnificence of creation may not be thought measurable by human words. But from the few things said, it is fitting to consider how great and of what kind are those we have passed over. So do not judge the moon with your eyes, but rather by reason, which can come nearer than sight to finding the truth. Old wives' tales and laughable ones have spread everywhere, that the moon is called from its seats by magic chants and drawn down to the earth. First, how can she, whom the Most High himself made firm, be moved by the force of songs? Then, what place would receive her as she descended? Yet do you want to take a proof of her greatness from small signs? The cities placed throughout the world are separated by long distances from one another. Their streets that face the East all receive the moon's light equally. Now, unless the moon were seen face to face by all of them, it would light up only those alleys placed opposite it, and would not visit at all those beyond its breadth, as coming at an angle. A lamp lit in a house also shows this: if many people stand around it, the shadow of those in front falls straight, while those of the others bend to either side. So, unless the body of the moon excelled in immensity and size, it would never reach all at once. For when it rises from the solstitial parts, it lights equally those who inhabit the cold region of the northern pole and those who live in the lower parts of the southern quarter under the zone of the sun, embracing them with its summer strength, and so gives us the surest sign of its greatness. Who, then, can contradict and claim that its body is not immense, when it stretches over so many and such great distances of lands? So much for the greatness of the sun and moon. May he who has given us the understanding to know from the smallest things of creation the infinite wisdom of the craftsman grant us also to receive from greater things the greatest thoughts about the Creator, although in comparison with him the sun and moon are believed to have the measure of ants. And therefore, although they are not worthy for the contemplation of the divine greatness to be taken from them, we seem to be instructed by certain [faint] and dim parables, as we sometimes compare smaller animals or plants with huge ones. But now let us be content with the series of what has been told: I giving thanks to him who granted me this small gift of a slender discourse, and you praising the giver of spiritual nourishment, who has fed you in the present as with barley bread, that is, with the slightness of our voice, and may he feed you in the future according to the measure of each one's faith, granting us the revelation of the Spirit (1 Cor 12:7); to whom be glory in Christ Jesus, now and always, for ages of ages. Amen.

"And God said, Let the waters bring forth creeping things with living souls, and flying things flying under the firmament of heaven." After the formation of the lights, the water too is filled with living creatures, so that this element also might be adorned. For the earth had long since received its fitting beauty from its own plants; heaven too had taken on the flowers of the stars and had been made lovely as with two eyes, that is, by the conjunction of the greatest lights. It remained that a proper adornment should be given to the waters as well. The command came, and at once lakes and rivers were made most abundant, each in its own kind and nature; the sea too was so filled with the brood of different swimming things that the muddy marshes and shallow pools did not keep the power of generating idle or ineffective. Frogs, flies, and gnats undoubtedly swarmed from them. For what is seen now is proof of what happened then. So all water was compelled to serve the creative commands. For the ineffable and magnificent power of God at once showed living and moving the life of creatures whose kinds no one can even describe, and the moment of quickening followed close on the command given to the waters. "Let the waters bring forth creeping things with living souls." Now for the first time breathing animals capable of sense are generated. For although shrubs and trees are said to live, since they have obtained the power of nourishment and growth, they are not to be understood as animate. And for this reason he said, "Let the waters bring forth creeping things." Every kind of swimming creature, whether it moves on the surface of the waves or dwells in the deep pools, has certainly received the nature of creeping, while its body is drawn through the water, although some use feet and steps. And though many of them are ambiguous, like seals, crocodiles, frogs, and crabs, yet swimming is chief for them. Therefore, "Let the waters bring forth creeping things." In these very brief words all kinds are contained. For what is not included in the command of creation? Whether you mention those that bear live young, that is, seals, electric rays, dolphins, and the like, or name the egg-laying ones, as are almost all kinds of fish. The word of command is small; rather, not a word but only a moment and impulse of will; but its meaning is as manifold as the differences among fish can be. To follow them all in words is no less laborious than if you tried to count the waves or to say how many jars the sea holds. "Let the waters bring forth creeping things." Among them are fish of the open sea and of the shore, of the deep and of the rocks, fish that go in shoals, monstrous ones, huge and tiny, and the greatest and the smallest are held under the same power of the command. When he said, "Let the waters bring forth," he showed how great the kinship of swimming creatures with water is. For if they are drawn out onto land for a little while, they die; for they have no breath by which they can take in the life-giving air. For as air is given to land animals, so water to fish. And the reason is plain: we have a porous and open lung, which, drawing air through the expansion of the chest, tempers the inner heat by ventilating it; but they have a folding partition at the throat, now taking in water, now pouring it out, which fulfils the office of breathing. Fish have their own lot and their own nature, a different food, and a fixed condition of life. Therefore none of the water creatures becomes tame, nor allows itself to be handled by human hands.

"Let the waters bring forth creeping things with living souls." He commanded the origin of each kind to be brought forth now as a kind of seed, for he kept the multitude for their offspring afterwards, when they would need to increase and multiply. So there is one class of those called shell-bearing, like conches, scallops, sea snails, and thousands of different oysters; and another of those called soft-shelled, that is, lobsters, crabs, and the like. There is also another class, of those called in Greek malakia, that is, whose flesh is softer and looser, like cuttlefish, octopuses, and the like. And among these again there is a great difference. For sea serpents, morays, and eels, which are born in muddy rivers and marshes, are joined by likeness of nature rather to venomous snakes than to fish. There is also another class of egg-layers and another of those that bear live young. The weasel-fish and the hake bear live young, and all those without scales, which the Greeks call selachia. And the greatest part of the sea monsters, the dolphins, and the seals bear live young; they are said, when frightened by some cause, to take their newborn young back into the womb to protect and cherish them. "Let the waters bring forth creeping things according to their kind." One kind is that of huge fish, another of tiny ones. And within these again there are many differences, divided according to the quality of the kind: they have their own names and distinct foods, unequal size of body, and are separated from one another by different form. Who, then, of the watchers for tunny could explain to us the difference among so many, although they claim that on seeing very great shoals of fish they can mark not only the kinds but even the number? And who among those craftsmen who live on the shores and grow old in seaside lodgings will be able to disclose to us precisely the knowledge of each? For those who fish in the Indian sea know some fish, and those who search the Egyptian sea others. The islanders know others, and the Moorish fishermen others. But that first command and ineffable power produced them all alike, the small and the greater. Great is the diversity of their way of life, and very great the distinction in the succession of each kind. Many fish do not sit on their eggs, as birds do, nor build nests, nor rear their young with labour; but the water receives the egg and makes a living creature; and in each kind the offspring remains unchangeable into another nature and unmixed; it is not as with the mules of the land or certain birds, whose stock is corrupted by adulterous mixing. No fish is armed with teeth on one half only, as we see sheep and oxen are; nor does any fish chew the cud except the parrot fish, as some have reported. All fish are thick-set with very sharp rows of teeth, so that their food, kept long in the mouth, may not flow away; unless it were torn and quickly passed to the belly, it would easily be lost and scattered by the waves.

Their food is fitted to each according to its kind. For some feed on mud; some are content with plants that grow in the water; but most are satisfied by devouring one another, and among them the smaller always becomes food for the greater. And if it happens that one who had caught a smaller is consumed by the bite of a stronger, both are thrown together into the one belly of the last. As if we human beings did anything else when we oppress our inferiors by power! Or how does a man who, inflamed with love of riches, has swallowed the poor he has caught in the insatiable jaws of his own greed differ from that last fish? Another man was holding the property of a poor man taken by force; you, surrounding him with threats and terrors, took a portion of the patrimony he had kept, and so you proved more unjust than the unjust and more grasping than the robber. Beware, then, lest the same end befall you as the fish: the hook, or the net, or the basket. For we too, defiled by wicked crimes, cannot escape the final punishments. Moreover, having learned that tricks and snares lurk even in weak animals, I would have you escape the frauds of the crafty. They say the crab desires the flesh of the oyster, whose capture is difficult for it because of the covering of shells with which nature has enclosed the softness of its flesh; that is why it is called shell-skinned. So, because the shells are hollow, the oyster, folding them together, easily defends its inner parts, and so the attacker's assault is made vain. What, then, does the enemy contrive? When he sees the oyster in sunny places gladly opening itself to the sun, he takes a small pebble and secretly places it beside it, so that because of the obstacle the oyster cannot close its coverings; and so what he could not achieve by strength he obtains by cunning. This, then, is the wickedness of creatures that have neither reason nor any voice. But I want you, having contemplated the crab's profitable contrivances, to abstain from harming your neighbours. For such is one who goes to his brother with a deceitful mind, or lays waste the goods of his relatives, or delights in others' misfortunes. Stop, then, imitating what is condemned; for poverty with truth is preferred by the wise man to the greatest wealth. I will not pass over the cunning of the deceitful and thievish octopus, which, when it embraces a rock with its outstretched tentacles, takes on its colour; and many fish, swimming up there unwarily as if drawing near a plain rock, are deceived and at once offer themselves to the wicked creature as an easy catch. Such are those who constantly fawn on the powerful and change with the variability of their minds; not keeping to one purpose, they show themselves now one thing and now another, practising modesty with the chaste and luxury with the lustful, and in general adapting their manners to whatever each person's mind may be. They are hard to avoid, because of the wickedness that lurks hidden in the pretence of service. The Lord called such men ravening wolves, pretending to be simple sheep in their clothing (Matt 7:15). Flee, then, such variability of character, and pursue rather truth, sincerity, and innocence; for the viper too is spotted, and for this the Lord condemned it to creep on its belly. The righteous man has nothing feigned, like Job; therefore the Lord "makes those of one manner dwell in a house" (Ps 68:6). "This is the great and wide sea; there are creeping things without number, living things small and great" (Ps 104:25). Yet there is in them a wise and measured arrangement. So we must not blame all fish, but also praise and imitate some of them. For see how each kind keeps to the regions assigned to it; none occupies the territory of another, but each is content with its own seats. And certainly no surveyor distributed dwellings for them to defend, nor marked them out with walls, nor set boundaries to be observed; but the benefit was given to all in common. For this bay feeds one kind of fish, that one another; and those that abound in this place are less plentiful on other shores, not because they are separated by rugged mountain ridges or kept from crossing by intervening rivers, but because the law of nature, supplying to each equally what is necessary as each one's use requires, has bound all by the observance of its decree.

But we are not like this: for we boldly overstep the boundaries of our ancestors, cross the glades of our neighbours, join house to house and field to field, and mutilate the rights of others (Prov 22:28). The sea monsters know the lodging granted them by nature, which is situated in the farthest parts of the sea, where no land at all is seen, and which is entirely unnavigable. For what it is like has not been learned even from historical report, since no one dares to cross there. In this place, then, these monsters, which are as large as mountains, dwell, troubling neither cities nor islands. So each kind is compelled to inhabit its own home in the stations given it by nature, as in regions of the earth. Certain fish, as if by a common decree of citizens, are sent out abroad and take up the labour of travelling; all at once, as if at a given signal, they depart to distant places. For when the season for spawning begins, roused by the laws of nature, some from one bay and some from another soon set out toward the parts of the northern sea. When you see them returning, packed in the densest mass, you will think a most violent torrent is flowing past along the shore of the Propontis, as they pass on to the Euxine Sea. Who, then, drives them on? What authority of a ruler? What edicts posted announce the time appointed for them? Who are their leaders? Do you not see the divine ordering filling all things and spread even through these small ones? Fish do not resist the laws of God, and men do not receive saving teaching. Do not despise fish because they are mute and irrational; fear rather that you may be judged more irrational than they, resisting the commands of the Creator. Listen to the fish, who lack only the uttering of a voice; for by certain signs they are seen to be rational, since for the sake of the immortality of their kind they are compelled to undergo a longed-for journey. They do not use words, but they have the law of nature clinging firmly to them and showing what must be done. "Let us go," they say, "to the northern sea, for its water is sweeter than the other seas, since the sun, lingering there a short time, does not draw up with its rays all the drinkable waters." For sea creatures too delight in sweeter waters; so fish are often seen coming from far off the sea and going up through the rivers. Therefore they seek the Pontus more gladly than other bays, because it is more convenient for them for producing and rearing their offspring. When they have sufficiently done what they intended, they all return home together in crowds. And what the reason is, let us hear from these silent ones. Because the northern sea is shallow and sloping, and therefore exposed to the violence and stirring of winds: when storms arise it is shaken from its very bottom, so that the sand from below is sometimes mixed with the topmost waves. It is also very cold in winter, since it is filled with many very great rivers. When they have enjoyed it in the summer months, frightened again by the harshness of the coming winter, they betake themselves to the deeper places of the sea, which are calmer.

I have watched these things and marvelled at the wisdom of God: that irrational animals are provident guardians of their own safety and understand what is fitting and what is harmful for them. What, then, shall we say, who are honoured with reason, invited by promises, instructed spiritually, yet arrange our affairs more irrationally than fish? They have even a concern for knowing the future; but we, corrupted by unbelief in the age to come, spend our life in the foulest acts and unlawful pleasures. Fish run across so many stretches of sea to find what is useful. What will you say at last, with sloth clinging to you, which is the prince of wickedness? Let no one plead ignorance: natural reason is implanted in us, both for seeking the friendship of good things and for avoiding the harm of hurtful ones. I will not depart from the examples of sea creatures, since we have set these examples before us to examine. I heard one of the shore-dwellers report that the sea urchin, though most worthless and contemptible, often becomes for sailors a sign of coming calm or storm. For when it senses that blasts of wind are imminent, it places itself under a stone and, supported by it as by the fluke of an anchor, avoids the shaking of the storm; it lets itself be pressed down for a while by the weight above it, provided it is not tossed by the waves. When sailors see this sign, they know that the roaring of the winds will soon be stirred up. And certainly no astrologer or Chaldean, gathering the quality of the air from the rising of the stars, taught the sea urchin; but the Lord of the winds and storms has stamped clear traces of his magnificent wisdom even on this tiny animal. So nothing is improvident, nothing neglected, with God: that sleepless eye watches over all things and is present to all, bringing remedies of salvation. If he has not left the sea urchin without a share in his care, will he not look upon you and your affairs, O man? "Husbands, love your wives" (Eph 5:25). Even if a long stretch of lands between you should seem to separate you for a time, yet let the covenant of nature and the yoke of blessing be for you an undivided union. The viper, though the fiercest of serpents, goes to mate with the moray, and, signalling by its hissing that it has come, calls her out of the depth of the sea to come to the marriage union; and she at once obeys and is joined to it. What, then, does this discourse want? That even if a husband is harsh and held to be fierce in character, the wife must still bear him, on no pretext breaking the bond of affection once contracted. "But," you say, "he is quick-tempered or cruel." Yet he is your husband. "A drunkard." Yet he is joined to you by nature. "Hard and implacable." Yet he is the more precious part of your body.

Let the husband too hear the admonition that suits him. The viper spews out its deadly poison out of reverence for the marriage; will you not lay aside the fierceness and bitterness of your mind, compelled by the modesty of marriage? Perhaps we shall also find the example of the viper fitting for us in another way, since the union of the viper with the moray is rather an adultery of nature. Let those, then, who lay snares for other people's marriages recognize to what kind of beast they are compared. So there is always some purpose by which the church may be built up; and for this reason I urge that the lusts of the shameless cease, being chastised by the examples of sea and land. Here both the evening hour and the weakness of my body compel me to end my discourse. For there would be many things that we ought to add to our treatment, especially since the hearers are eager, about the things born in the sea that are most worthy of wonder, or about the sea itself: how its water is congealed into salt; or how that precious stone called coral is a plant while it is in the sea, but as soon as it has been brought out of it into the air is changed into stone; or why nature has placed in the most worthless of creatures, oysters, the pearl of great price, so that the poor fisherman finds, shut up in a shell along the shore and the rough crags, what kings greatly desire; or why sea pinnas nourish a golden wool; or why the shellfish supply emperors with purple, which surpasses the beauty of all flowers by the loveliness of its colour. "Let the waters bring forth." What was made that is not necessary? Or what was given that is not best for our life? Part of them serves the needs of human beings; other creatures claim wonderful contemplation for themselves; some are terrible, to restrain our sloth. "God made the great sea monsters": not that it is called great because it is larger than other small fish, but because by the hugeness of its limbs it equals lofty mountains, and is often thought to be an island when it raises itself to the surface by gentle swimming. Yet it does not dwell on frequented shores or in inhabited places, but is said to inhabit the Atlantic sea. Such beasts, then, were formed to inspire fear and terror in us. And when you hear that a tiny fish so slows and holds back huge ships, swelling with the fold of their sails and flying over the sea with a favourable wind, that they are made motionless for a long time, as if fixed by roots in the deep, will you not take from this smallest animal too a proof of the divine power? For not only the dogfish or the swordfish or the whale is to be feared for its form; but the sting of the stingray, even when dead, and the sea hare are guarded against with equal fear, carrying swift and unavoidable destruction. This being so, the Creator's providence wanted you always to be watchful, so that, trusting in him, you might escape all harmful plagues. But now, coming back from the depths of the sea, let us return to the land. For the wonders of creation, meeting us one after another, have like waves with frequent and alternate tossings swamped our discourse. And I shall wonder indeed if our mind, occupied with greater matters, does not flee again to the land, as Jonah fled into the sea. So the course of our discussion, entangled in many thousands of wonders and forgetful of its own measure, seems to me like those sailing on the deep who, not steering their course to a fixed place, do not know how much distance they have covered by sailing. We have proved that this is what has happened to our discourse, which, while it wanders widely through the paths of creation, does not grasp the multitude of things related. But although the assembly of those present is eager to hear, and the account of the Lord's wonders seems most delightful to their hearts, we here make an end of speaking, intending on the next day to pay the rest of the interest. Now let us all together give thanks for what has been said, and ask for the supply of what we have explained too little; and may he make you remember even at your meals what our address brought forth in the morning or in the evening, and may the memory of it cling to you even when you rest in sleep, and may you chew over in the night too the sweetness you received by day, so that you may say, "I sleep, and my heart is awake" (Song 5:2), meditating day and night on the law of the Lord, to whom be glory and honour, now and always, and for ages of ages. Amen.

"And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living soul according to its kind: four-footed animals, and creeping things, and beasts according to their kind. And it was so." The command came, advancing step by step, and the earth received its own course. There he commanded the waters to bring forth creeping things with living souls; here, "Let the earth bring forth the living soul." Do you think, then, that the earth is animate, and will room be given to the foolish-talking Manichaeans to grant a soul to the earth? By no means: because he said "Let it bring forth," it did not bring out what was in it; rather God, who gave the command, also gave the earth the power to bring forth. For when it heard that it should sprout the grass of hay and the fruitful tree, it did not bring forth only grass of hay hidden within itself, nor did it bring up palms, oaks, or cypresses hidden in its bosom; but the divine word is truly the creator of growing things. "Let the earth sprout": not that it should bring out what it had, but that it should receive what it did not have, God supplying it with the power of working. So too now: "Let it bring forth a soul": not one stored up in the earth, but one conferred on it by God through his command. Then the argument can be turned against the Manichaeans: if the earth brought out the soul it had, it was itself left soulless. But their detestable teaching is well known. Let us see rather why the waters were commanded to produce creeping things with living souls, but the earth a living soul. We think, then, it is because the nature of swimming things is thought to have a life in some way imperfect, because the waters are thicker. For indeed hearing is slower in animals living in water, and sight duller, since they see through water; and they have no memory, no imagination, no recognition of those near them. The divine word, then, declares that the bodily life of water creatures governs the movements of their soul. But in land animals, which have received a more perfect life, the soul holds the rule over the body. For their senses are livelier, and these animals, while taking the greatest care of present things, also carefully keep the memory of past ones. So we must consider that the water produced bodies of fish that are animate (for it produced "creeping things with living souls," as Scripture shows), but in land animals a soul ruling the body was commanded to be generated, since they received more of life-giving power. Although land animals too are irrational, yet each of them signifies much about the feeling of its soul by its natural voice. For they show by their voice gladness and grief, hunger, separation from their own, and various troubles, while water creatures are not only mute but also untameable and unteachable, and utterly unmanageable by human beings for any fellowship of life. "The ox knows its owner, and the ass its master's crib" (Isa 1:3); but a fish could never recognize the one who supplies its food. The ass understands even the accustomed voice of a man; it knows the road it has often walked, and sometimes becomes a guide to its driver when he has lost his way; it is so keen of hearing that none of the land animals can be compared to it. The camel always has a tenacious memory of injuries, and is heavy and persistent in anger. If it has been struck, it hides its pain for a long time, and when it finds an opportune time, it at once repays the injury done to it. But none of the sea monsters imitates it. Hear, then, angry men, who cultivate the remembrance of an injury received long ago as if it were the greatest virtue, what beast you are like, when you keep your own bile in your hearts like a spark buried in ash, until, finding an occasion, you stir up the stings of resentment, like a little fire fed with tinder, into a flame.

"Let the earth bring forth the living soul." Why does the earth produce the living soul? So that you may learn the difference between the soul of a beast and that of a man. A little further on you will learn how the soul of man was constituted; but now hear about the soul of dumb animals: that according to Scripture the soul of every animal is its own blood. And blood when congealed usually turns into flesh, and flesh when corrupted returns to earth. Rightly, then, the soul of beasts of burden is perishable. "Let the earth bring forth the living soul." See the sequence of soul to blood, blood to flesh, flesh to earth. And again, undoing these, go back through the same steps, from earth to flesh, from flesh to blood, from blood to soul, and you will find that the soul of beasts is earth. Do not think it older than the substance of their body, nor expect it to survive when the body is dissolved. Flee the anxious chatter of the philosophers who are not ashamed to assert that their own souls and those of dogs have a like form. For they even profess that they were once women, fish, and shrubs. But if they ever were fish, which I would not believe, yet while they wrote these things they were more irrational than fish. "Let the earth bring forth the living soul." Why, while my discourse was running on freely, I suddenly fell silent for some time, I think some of those present are wondering; although I do not think the most attentive hearers are ignorant of the cause of the silence, since by glances and nods to one another they have brought us back to the memory of what we left out. For we nearly passed over undiscussed a certain part of creation, and not the least. "Let the waters bring forth creeping things with living souls according to their kind, and flying things flying under the firmament of heaven." We spoke above about swimming creatures, as far as the evening time allowed; today we are passing to the examination of land animals. But meanwhile, in the middle of our account, the birds escaped us. So we must imitate forgetful travellers who, when they have left something precious at an inn, go back, though they have covered the greatest part of the road, bearing the labour their negligence deserves; so we too must return by the same path by which we came. For what we left out is not contemptible, being the third portion of the animal creation. For there are three kinds of animals: of land, of air, and of sea. "Let the waters," it says, "bring forth creeping things with living souls according to their kind, and flying things flying under the firmament of heaven according to their kind." Why, then, did he give birth to the birds too from the element of the sea? Because there is a kind of kinship between birds and fish. For as fish cut the water with the motions of their fins, pressing forward, and direct their turns with the rudder of the tail, so birds are believed to break through the air with their wings as if swimming. Since, then, both kinds have the one property of swimming, the same kinship from the water belongs to them. Their difference is this: no bird can be without feet, since they get their food from the earth and so necessarily enjoy the service of feet. To the birds of prey sharp claws are also given, suited for carrying off their prey; to the others the service of feet is given both for seeking food and for the rest of the management of life. A few birds have useless feet, suited neither for walking nor for hunting, like swallows and bee-eaters, whose food is supplied only from the air. But the swallow usually flies low and almost touches the ground, so that by this it seems to make up for the use of feet.

There are indeed many kinds. If anyone wished to describe them in the way we partly described the multitude of fish, he would find one general name for all birds, but very many differences among them in form, size, or colour. For they are distinguished by a very great diversity of habits, activities, and food. Some have chosen to use various names for them, so that by unusual marks of new and unheard-of naming the property of each kind of bird might be recognized. But for us the meaning is sufficient for contemplating the quality of each kind, together with the common usage of Scripture, which distinguishes clean and unclean. For one kind is that of those that eat flesh, with a form suited to their habits: they have curved claws, a hooked beak, and swift flight, so that the prey may be caught more quickly and, torn by their feet, provide easy food to the captor. Another species is that of those that feed on seeds, and another of those that take for food whatever chance offers. And among these again there is a very great difference. For some are gregarious, the birds of prey excepted, none of which associates with others except for mating. Others live in common, like doves, starlings, cranes, and jackdaws; of these some have no leaders and govern themselves, others are held under direction, like cranes. There is also another distinction among them, by which you may see some to be migrants and others natives. Some, compelled by winter, depart abroad for the sake of food. Very many become tame and patient, except the weaker ones, which because of their excessive timidity cannot bear the handling of a hand. Some live among human beings, dwelling in the same houses with them; others delight in lonely places, like mountains. There is also among birds a great difference of voices, and each has its own property. For some are talkative and chattering, others silent; some tuneful and loud, others shrill, with no song at all. Some are naturally imitators or are trained by human teaching. Others have a single, never-changing sound of voice. The cock is wanton, the peacock attentive, the dove lustful, as is the domestic hen. The partridge is crafty and jealous, and sometimes maliciously helps hunters in the capture of others. And in general there is a manifold distinction of activities and habits among them.

There are also certain civic animals, if indeed it belongs to civic life to bring the work of individuals to one common end, as can be seen in bees. They have a common dwelling and a common flight, one labour for all, and, what is greatest, each carries out its own task under kings and leaders. They do not dare to seek the open fields before they have seen their prince take flight. Their king is not appointed by the people, for the votes of an unskilled multitude often raise the unworthy to the summit of rule; nor is the kingship granted by lot, for the outcomes of the urn are irrational and often award the insignia of power to the lowest; nor are the royal sceptres handed down by inheritance from parents, since the children of princes are easily corrupted by pleasures and luxuries and become senseless and foolish. Rather, by the judgment of nature, the one who is worthy receives the insignia of rule, surpassing the others no less in size of body than in gentleness of character; and he has a sting, but does not use it to harm others. So nature has silently prescribed certain laws for them, by which they are restrained from inflicting torments on suppliants. But the bees themselves, if they have not followed the ordinances of their rulers, are punished by their own repentance; for if they sting someone, they leave their life together with the sting in the wound. Let Christians hear this, who are commanded to repay no one evil for evil, but to overcome evil with goodness. Imitate, then, the ways of bees, which, troubling no one and seizing no one else's property, build their combs from flowers, and store in waxen cells the honey gathered with their mouths from the dewy moisture that settles on the leaves of trees. For the honey that is first gathered is more liquid; then, gradually, as time goes on, it is digested and returns to its own thickness and sweetness. Not undeservedly, then, do bees obtain the glory of such praises, since antiquity called them laborious and wise. So diligently do they store their own food, whose use gives remedies of health to kings and private persons alike. And so wisely do they build their storehouses of honey. For in a thin membrane they build close-set cells adjoining one another, so that their density, held together by the finest texture of joining and supported as if by certain bars, contains the whole work. Each opening, bound by a mutual tie, is supported by another and shut off by a very fine partition of compartments, which are arranged in two or three layers above one another. For they did not choose to make straight or single depths of cavities, lest the liquid, pressed by its own weight, should leak out. Learn how the pursuit of geometry is surpassed when compared with the most wise bees. For the tubes of the wax are bounded by six angles and as many sides, and yet they are not set straight on one another, lest the bottom should be strained if it lacked the help of joints; but those six lower angles serve as a seat and a kind of support for those placed above, so that they may bear the weight above them tolerably and preserve the liquid stored in each cavity.

Who, then, could carefully set forth all the properties of birds? Or how cranes take turns keeping watch at night: while some of them refresh their bodies with sleep, others protect them by keeping awake; and when these have completed their appointed time of watch, they give a cry and begin to rest, while others succeed by lot. They keep this order in flight too, being obliged in turns to fulfil the task of leading. Storks are not far from these, endowed with a reasonable prudence. For they all arrive at one time, and likewise at one signal all depart together to distant lands. Crows accompany them, escorting them honourably as they set out, and, as it seems to me, giving them help when they are about to fight against certain birds. Of this there is sure proof: first, that the crow is not seen at all at that time; then, that they return wounded, showing very plain signs of battles. Who, I ask, commanded them the laws of hospitality? Or who ordered them under threat not to abandon the storks with their company when they were ready for the march? Let greedy men hear this, who deny kindness to strangers who arrive, shut their doors, and do not allow them to come under their roofs at night or in winter. And the generosity shown to old storks by the young would be enough to make the children of men lovers of their parents, if they chose to notice it. For who is so foolish as not to think himself branded with disgrace when he is ranked below irrational birds in the practice of filial piety? They stand around their parents, worn out with age, whose feathers have fallen out from age, and warm them with their own plumage, bring them food, and in flight, as far as they can, put themselves beneath them on this side and that, relieving the weariness of old age by supporting them with their wings. This has become so widely known among all nations everywhere that today the repayment of a kindness received is called among the Greeks antipelargosis. Therefore let no one, excusing himself on the pretext of poverty, despair of his own life, even if he has no means at home, when he contemplates the ingenious swallow. In building its nest it carries straw in its mouth, but being unable to carry mud with its feet, it wets the tips of its wings in a river, and then, rolling in dust, seems to supply the use of mortar. Little by little, joining twigs to one another with mud placed between, as if with glue, it rears its chicks. If anyone gouges out their eyes, their mother has a medicine handed down to her by nature, by which she soon restores the sight of her young to health. These things will urge you not to turn to wickedness on the occasion of want, nor, placing your hope of living in the worst arts, to become empty of goodness and without share in it; but to flee to God, who, since he has given such great things to the swallow, how much greater things will he give to those who implore him with the whole intention of their mind? The halcyon is a small bird accustomed to breed on the sea shores; it lays its eggs on the very sand at the time when the sea is stirred by many heavy blasts of wind; yet all storms and tempests are then calmed for seven whole days, during which this bird is said to sit; and for the rearing of the chicks, after they have come out of the eggs, God, the giver of great things, added another seven days, which sailors observe carefully and call halcyon days. These things are prescribed for you, so that you may pray to God without doubting for saving remedies. For what wonderful thing would not be done for your sake, who were made in the image of God, when you see the greatest and most fearful sea, for the sake of a tiny bird, made calm in stormy weather, bridled by divine command?

They say that the turtledove, if it is ever separated from its mate by some mishap, never unites with another, but, the memory of its first marriage remaining, refuses the contract of a second union. Let women hear how among irrational birds the continence of widowhood is preferred to repeated marriages. The eagle is said to be unjust in rearing its own young. For when it has hatched two, it beats one with blows of its wings and throws it to the ground, and keeps and cherishes the other. So, because of scarcity of food, it is compelled to disown the one it begot. Yet the bone-breaker does not let it perish, but takes it up, adds it to its own chicks, and nourishes it carefully. Such are some human parents, who on the pretext of poverty expose their children, or do not set an equal share of inheritance among them. Since they gave them equal causes of being born, it would be just for them to give them also an equal portion for living. Do not, then, imitate the ways of birds of prey, which, when they see their chicks now confident in flight, drive them headlong out of the nests and throw them out, bestowing no further care at all on them. On the other hand, the affection of the crow for its young is praised: it follows them when they fly and supplies food generously. Certain birds do not use the help of males in rearing and cherishing their young. Some of those that fly higher are altogether without intercourse, like vultures, which they say generate without mating, especially since they are long-lived; for they affirm that their life lasts a hundred years. Let this part of the history of birds, then, be noted by you, so that when you see some people laughing at the ineffable mystery of the catholic faith, as if it were impossible and contrary to nature for a virgin to give birth while her virginity was kept intact, you may consider that he who deigned to save those who believe through the foolishness of preaching has also provided us with countless reasons drawn from nature for faith in wonders.

"Let the waters bring forth creeping things with living souls, and flying things flying above the earth under the firmament of heaven." They were commanded to fly above the earth because food for all comes from the earth. He said "under the firmament of heaven" because of what we discussed above. "Heaven" we must understand here as named from "seeing": for in Greek it is called ouranos, from horasthai. For in comparison with the ethereal body, this air above us is made condensed and thick from the vapours of the earth. You have, then, the sky adorned, the earth most beautiful, the sea most rich, the air filled with birds: all of which were brought from nothing into this life by God's command. And there are many other things that the discourse has now deliberately passed over, lest by lingering longer on the same things it seem to exceed the measure of discussion. But you, reckoning all these things over with yourself and searching intently for the wisdom of God that is in all things, never cease from wondering at his delights and glorifying the Creator. You have also birds of night and of day. Bats and owls shun the light. So if ever sleep does not overcome you, the examination of their way of life and the property of their living will suffice to move you to proclaim the wisdom of the Creator: how the nightingale keeps watch as it sits on its eggs, drawing out its song all night long; how bats are no less four-footed than winged, the only ones of all birds known to have teeth; they are said to bear live young, and to fly in the air not with feathers but with a kind of skinny membrane. They also have by nature a great mutual love for one another; for like a fisherman's chain they cling to one another in links, something we see does not easily happen among human beings, some of whom, separated from the company of others, delight in singularity and solitude. How too the professors of worldly wisdom are like the eyes of owls: for their sight is keener at night but is blinded when the sun has risen, just as these men's sense, though very sharp for contemplating vanity, is dull for the search of the true light. By day it is easy for you to draw wonder at the Creator from every side: how the domestic cock drives men to their labours and works, and, crying out with a clear voice, announces the sun coming from afar. And how watchful and provident the race of geese is, and how quick to sense secret attempts! They are said once to have saved the city of Rome from the night ambush of enemies who were trying to enter secretly by hidden approaches and to seize the citadel; the geese quickly betrayed them by their cackling. In what kind does nature not show its own wonders everywhere? Who announces to vultures the coming death of men? When men are about to wage war against one another, flocks of vultures at once follow them, and from the array and equipment of the arms they understand what outcome there will be. This is not far from human reasoning. How shall I tell you of the expeditions of locusts? At one signal they go out from their own homes and pitch camp in a broad plain, and do not touch what lies below them until the divine command is given them. How too the cormorant suffers an insatiable appetite for eating, by which it gains a remedy of health for the wounds of its belly. O wonder of heavenly power, which has turned the madness of hunger into the use of medicine! And how much reason there is in the songs of cicadas, which sound more loudly under the burning sun, driven by the drawing of the air that slips through their chest as they breathe! But now I feel that our discourse is no less overcome by the wonders of birds than if I tried to outrun their swiftness with my own feet. When you see bees and wasps, consider that they have no breath or lung, but are always nourished from the air. If they are touched with oil, they die at once, since their breathing passages are closed; and if you sprinkle them again with vinegar, they revive, the passages of their veins being opened. So God has made nothing superfluous and nothing lacking for our benefit. Again, if you wish to examine the kind of water birds, you will find another arrangement in them. For they do not have split feet like the raven, nor hooked ones like the eagle, but broad and webbed, so that they may easily float on the waves, pushing back the water with the strokes of their feet as with oars. And if you consider how the swan, stretching its throat on high, draws its food from the very bottom, you will be able to notice the wisdom of the Creator, who gave it a neck longer than its feet for this reason, so that, reaching down into the deep as if letting down a line, it may find the food hidden there.

Looked at simply, the words of Scripture seem to be a few syllables: "Let the waters bring forth flying things flying above the earth under the firmament of heaven." But if the force of the words is considered, then the wonder-working of the Creator is declared, who long foresaw the future differences of birds and distinguished them from one another according to their kind. The day would surely fail me if I tried to tell you all the wonders of the air. But the earth calls us to look at beasts, cattle, and serpents. For it is ready to show kinds of four-footed animals and plants like the fish and birds: "Let the earth bring forth the living soul." What do you say, you who do not believe the apostle Paul about the resurrection, when you see certain creatures of the air change their own shape, like the horned Indian worm, which first transforms itself into the form of a caterpillar, then becomes a cocoon, and does not stay in that shape either, but, growing feathers of softer and broader membranes, becomes winged? So you, ladies, when you sit unwinding their works, that is, the threads that the Seres send here for making delicate garments, remember the transformation of this animal, so that you may take a clear example of the resurrection, and may not doubt at all the remaking of the body that Paul expounds. But I feel that I am exceeding the measure of discussion. For if I look at the multitude of things related, I shall seem to have slipped into infinity in my speech; but if I turn my eyes to the diversity of creation, I think I have not even made the beginning of the account. Yet it is not useful to let you go in haste. For what will you do until evening? You are certainly not pressed by guests at a meal, nor does the preparation of banquets warn you to go away, since it is a time of fasting. So, if you please, let us turn the abstinence of the body into the pleasures of the soul. You have often obeyed your bodies; let us at least assign these days to the uses of the soul, as it is written: "Delight in the Lord, and he will give you the requests of your heart" (Ps 37:4). If you love riches, spiritual wealth is at hand for you, that is, "the judgments of God, true, justified in themselves, more desirable than gold and precious stone" (Ps 19:9–10). If you are a lover of good food and a glutton, you have the words of the Lord, "sweeter than honey and the honeycomb" (ibid.). Now if I dismiss you and break up the assembly, some of you at once run off in haste to the dice, where there is swearing and violent contention and the greed of gain, and a filthy demon stands by, now raising up this one with the exultation of victory and making his opponent sad, now showing that one lively and proud. What good is it to fast in body if the soul is burdened with many thousands of wickednesses? And as for one who does not play at dice but is idle, what vanities does he not bring out of his mouth, or what accursed thing does he not take in with his ears? So idleness without the fear of God is a teacher of wickedness. And indeed I presume that some benefit is gained by you from what we have said. But if not, yet staying in this place will keep you free from sin. And the longer we keep you in the Lord's church, the more we separate you from thoughts of evil. What we have said is enough before the most just Judge, if he looks not at the abundant riches of creation but at the smallness of our ability, or at the measure of the gladness to be taken from present things. Let this, then, be the end of the morning feast, lest a fullness taken in beyond measure bring you disgust for the evening banquet. And may the Lord, who has filled all things with the abundance of his creation and who in all things has given us eternal monuments of his wonders, fill our minds with spiritual joy in Christ Jesus, to whom be glory and honour, now and always, and for ages of ages. Amen.

Tell me, I beg, how the morning table of our discourse seemed to you. For I like to compare my slenderness to some poor man giving a banquet, who, longing to show the generosity of his spirit abundantly, falls short, held back by lack of means, and so tries to serve his poor fare, such as it is, all the more lavishly, and makes himself a laughing-stock to his guests. So it happens that his attempted liberality is not free from the shame of reproach. Something of this kind is true of us too, unless you think otherwise; yet however our things stand, they will not be belittled by you. For the guests of that time did not reject Elisha as a bad host (2 Kgs 4:38–41), though he refreshed them with wild herbs. I am aware of certain rules of allegory, not which I made up myself, but which I learned from reading the volumes of others, by which those who will not agree to the common sense of the Scriptures say that water is not water but some other nature, and interpret fish, serpents, or beasts not according to the reason of truth but according to their own will, like interpreters of dreams, who, when various images have been seen in sleep, declare what will come to pass according to their own wish. But I, when I hear "grass," understand what is said. Likewise fish, four-footed animals, or plants, I take as they are reported: "For I am not ashamed of the gospel" (Rom 1:16). For although those who have written much about the world have argued about certain shapes of the earth, describing it now like a sphere, now like a cylinder, now like a disc, gathered equally on all sides, and hollow in the middle, the writers of cosmography have slipped into all such opinions, each overturning the doctrines of the other. Yet I am not led to say that our account of creation seems inferior for this reason, that the servant of God said nothing about its shapes, and did not say that the circuit of the earth holds so many thousand stadia, nor measured how far its shadow stretches in the air when the sun runs its course beneath the earth and, coming near the moon, causes its eclipse. About all these things he wisely kept silent, knowing that things that do not concern us are useless to us. Should we for this reason think the spiritual words less valuable than the vainest assertions of the philosophers, and not rather glorify God, who freed our mind from superfluous questions and arranged that everything be set forth to stir up and build up our souls? Hence some, ignorant of the matter, seem to me to strive by wicked seductions and false persuasions to cast over the divine Scriptures a certain colour of respectability by arguments of their own. What else must this be understood to be than that such men profess themselves wiser than the spiritual words, and rather establish their own sayings under the pretext of interpretation? Therefore let it be understood as it is written: "Let the earth bring forth the living soul of cattle, beasts, and serpents."

Notice, then, the word of God running through all creation. It began long ago, but it is still at work and hastens toward its end, until the world receives its consummation. For as a ball, when it has been pushed by someone and meets a downward slope, is carried along faster, driven by its own roundness and the steepness of the place, and cannot stop before it comes down to level ground, so the nature of things, set in motion by God's command, passes everywhere through the making of things born and dying, and keeps the offspring of each kind equally by likeness to itself, until it can reach the appointed end. For it makes horse succeed horse, lion lion, eagle eagle, and, keeping each animal by the succession of those that follow, leads them on to the end and conclusion of all things. No time will be able to change the properties of animals, but, as if the nature had been established only lately, it is carried along fresh through time. "Let the earth bring forth the living soul." This command remained in the earth, and in no way ceases to serve the Creator. For while there is no doubt that certain creatures are born from the descendants of those first made, we see others even now formed and given life from the earth. For when watered by rains it produces not only cicadas and very many thousands of other flying creatures, most of which lack names because of their smallness, but we also see mice and frogs generated from the earth. Indeed, around Egyptian Thebes, if heavy rains fall in summertime, the whole region is soon filled with countless mice. And it is quite certain that eels are born in no other way than from mud: their kind is renewed neither by egg nor by any other birth, but, as we said, they obtain the origin of their generation from slime. "Let the earth bring forth the living soul." All beasts are earthly, and so they are bent toward the earth. But man is another, a heavenly plant, who differs from cattle as much in dignity as in the bearing of his form. Their head is bent downward and looks toward the belly, and follows what is pleasant to its appetite; but your head is always raised to heaven, your eyes look on things above. But if you too defile yourself with the pleasures of the body, obeying the luxury of the belly and of its lower parts, you have been compared to the senseless beasts and become like them (Ps 49:12). Another care, and a most fitting one, is yours: to seek the things above, where Christ is (Col 3:1). It is fitting for you to be borne higher than earthly things, so as to order your life as you were born. "Let your citizenship be in heaven" (Phil 3:20); your true homeland is the Jerusalem above; you have as fellow citizens and companions the firstborn enrolled in heaven (Heb 12:23).

"Let the earth bring forth the living soul." The soul of four-footed animals, then, was not laid up long before under the earth and then suddenly cast out and leapt forth, but was created together with the command. They have one kind of soul, and all their beauty lies in their shape; each is distinguished by various properties. Oxen are heavy and steady, asses dull, horses hot with desire for females. The wolf is untameable, the fox crafty, the deer timid, the ant industrious, the dog grateful and mindful of friendship; and qualities of character too have been fitted to the births of each, as anger is inborn in the lion, and a solitary way of life and avoidance of its like. For, like a tyrant of the beasts, lifted up by the vice of natural pride, it shuns the company of others; it does not feed on daily food, and will not return even to the remains of its own catch. Nature has given it a very great power of voice, so that certain four-footed animals, though swifter in running, are terrified by its roar and fail. The leopard is fierce and sharp in its attack, and has a body suited to the motions of its spirit. The nature of bears is more sluggish, their mind harsh and sly, and covered no less with fat than with deceit. If we wished to extend the discourse further and set out how much care for preserving their own safety is supplied to many animals without anyone's teaching, perhaps we would be stirred to zeal for our own protection; but I fear that we may be thought inferior even in imitating beasts. A bear, often pierced with a deadly wound, uses every contrivance to heal itself, chiefly by stopping its wounds with a certain plant of drier nature. The fox too has often been caught applying pine resin to itself as a remedy. And the tortoise, when it has filled the gullet of its belly with vipers' entrails, is said to escape the plague of the poisonous food by the remedy of marjoram, which is contrary to serpents. The snake, by feeding on fennel, cures the most severe pains of its eyes. And as for the foreknowledge of beasts about future changes of the sky, what reasonable prudence is it not believed to surpass? The sheep, when winter is approaching, crops grass more greedily, as if showing that it is refreshing itself more fully to endure the scarcity of the coming storm. And oxen, when they have been shut in for a long time in winter, sensing a disturbance of the air by natural understanding, all together look out from the stall, changing their expression. Many men have observed that the land hedgehog makes two openings in its den, so that when it is pressed by north winds it may move to the southern side, and again when the south wind blows it may open the northern hole. What, then, does Scripture signify to us human beings by these signs? Not only that we should contemplate through all things how great our Creator's kindness toward us is, but also that we should consider that, since dumb beasts have such great foresight of the future, we ought by no means to defile ourselves with the pleasures of the present life, but direct our intention to the age to come. Will you, then, O man, not labour in this world so as to lay up for yourself the means of future rest, when you see the ant, mindful of winter, diligently gathering its food in summer? It is no less diligent because it does not yet experience the dangers of winter; rather, with every effort and watchful care, it labours and works, and, running about, tries everything so as to store up sufficient food for itself; and with wonderful prudence it takes care that what has been gathered is not spoiled. For it cuts the grain with its teeth, lest it begin to sprout and provide it with useless food; and if the seed itself has been moistened by the vapour of the earth, it dries it in the sun. Yet it does not always do this, but only when it senses that the fair weather will be settled. Indeed, you will not see rain sent from the clouds while the ant has put out its seed to dry under the sun. What speech, then, can comprehend, what hearing take in, or how much time suffice to explain all these wonders? Therefore let us too say with the prophet: "How great are your works, O Lord! In wisdom you have made them all" (Ps 104:24). So that excuse will not help us, by which we think we can defend ourselves, saying that we did not learn what is profitable from books, since we are believed to have received the choice of useful things by the teaching of the natural law. For you know the good you ought to do to your neighbour, and the evil you would not wish to suffer from another. No art of healing, no experience of herbs, showed beasts the remedies to be sought; but each animal naturally knows how to look after its own safety and to seize an ineffable diligence by inborn prudence.

Yet there are among us too certain kinds of virtues which we obtain not from human teaching but from the handing down of nature. For as no instruction teaches us to hate sickness, but we have a spontaneous horror of everything believed to grieve us, so there is in the soul a natural duty to avoid what is harmful. Every evil is a disease of the soul, and virtue brings the principle of health. Hence some have well defined health as the steadiness of the natural motions. Who will not be judged mistaken in asserting this of the vigour of the soul? For the soul by nature always seeks what is its own; and therefore chastity is to be praised by the prudent, justice pursued, wisdom followed, courage admired. These things are more natural to souls than health is to bodies. "Parents, love your children; children, do not provoke your parents" (Eph 6:4). Has not nature commanded this same thing? So Paul urges nothing new, but tightens more closely the bonds of nature. So great is its force in affection that even the wolf fights for its cubs. What will a man say who both despises the command and scorns nature, when as a youth he disfigures his father's grey hairs with insults, or as a father, having entered a second marriage, grieves the children of his former union over the inheritance? The love of wild beasts between parents and offspring is unfeigned, because God who created them made up by the benefit of sense for what he gave them less of in reason. So it happens that, with so many thousands of sheep present, a lamb let out of the fold at once recognizes its mother's voice, runs to her leaping, and seeks the fountains of milk. And even if the mother happens to be rather dry, it is content with her alone and passes by the udders of others, however abundant and full. And the mother too recognizes her own young in so great a multitude. Yet the voice is one in the different animals, the colour one, the smell the same, as far as we can gather by our sense of smell; but they have a sharper perception than man, by which each recognizes its own. The puppy has not yet formed teeth, and yet it tries to drive off attackers with its mouth. The calf's horns have not yet come up, and already it knows in which part its weapons for fighting will be. These things, then, show us that natural prudence does not use the handing down of teaching, and that nothing is disordered or improvident in things, but all show in themselves the surest sign of the wisdom of the Creator, who equipped the beasts so for the defence of their own safety. The dog indeed lacks reason, but it is believed to possess a sense equal to reason. For what some, sitting at leisure through a long life, could scarcely discover, that is, the worldly philosophers (I mean the snares of syllogisms), the dog is said to achieve by a natural gift. For, tracking the trails of wild beasts keenly, when it sees the paths cut across in many directions, it interrupts them all by running about, uttering only no articulate voice; for by what it does it clearly shows where the beasts it is tracking have gone. It leaves no place unexplored, even where there is no suspicion of a trail, until, having gone over all by smell and unravelled the deceptive paths, it finds the lair. What more do those do in their demonstrations who sit at leisure marking the dust with a pen, and of three propositions take away two and find the truth in the one that remains? And the dog's memory of a kindness done to it puts to shame what man ungrateful to his benefactor, when many dogs, their masters killed in a deserted place, have died after keeping watch a very long time? Others, when their masters were slain, revealed the murder, and brought the guilty before the courts, carrying out the accusation by barking. What, then, will those say who not only do not love God, their Creator and shepherd, but even have his slanderers as friends, eat with them at the same table, and allow the giver of the feast to be torn by the sacrilegious words of blasphemers?

But now let us return to the contemplation of creation. Weaker beasts are more fruitful, namely hares, deer, and wild sheep, so that their kind may not easily be destroyed when consumed by flesh-eating beasts. But those that devour others are less fertile. Indeed the lioness scarcely becomes a mother of one lion: for at birth it tears its mother's womb with its claws, like the viper, which comes forth only by eating and tearing its mother's belly, paying its parent a fitting reward for such a birth. So nothing in [created] things is improvident, nor is anything without the care proper to it. And if you examine more carefully the very limbs of beasts, you will find that the Creator gave them nothing superfluous and denied them nothing necessary. To flesh-eating beasts he gave sharp teeth, since they needed such for the service of the kind of food appointed for them. And to those to whom he gave teeth on one side only, he arranged that they should have receptacles for much fodder, so that the part first taken in runs back from the stomach to the teeth, so that it may more easily be ground by chewing the cud and be digested without labour. For not without cause did he give certain animals a gullet and stomach providing necessary uses. The camel has a long neck for this reason: so that, being equal to its legs, it may easily reach the food it seeks. But the neck of bears is short and pressed into the shoulders, and likewise that of the lion, the tiger, and similar beasts, whose food is not grass and who have no need to bend to the ground, since they feed on flesh. What shall we say of the elephant's trunk? Since it is the greatest of all beasts and terrible to those who see it, it was fitting that it be formed with huge limbs. If its neck had matched their size, it would be immovable, bent downward by its very weight. But now its neck and head are joined to the spine by a few bones, and it has a trunk that does the service of a longer neck, taking food and drawing up water. And its legs are joined by no knee joints, so that like columns they may support the heaviness of the weight placed on them. For if its legs had been slender and shaky, it would undoubtedly suffer constant dislocations of the joints, as they would not be able to lift such a mass when it got up. So you see how, like bodily towers, they are placed in front of the battle line in time of war, or set against the enemy like living mountains to break through their defences. If the foundations of their steps were not equal to their size, so great a bulk could not be carried at all. The elephant is said to live three hundred years and more, and, as we said, to bring food to itself by the service of its trunk, which, like a winding and slippery serpent, is bent this way and that. So the saying is true that asserts that nothing too little and nothing superfluous is found in creation. Yet God commanded this very beast, so huge, to be subject to us, so that it understands what it is taught and endures when it is beaten, plainly declaring that all things were subjected to us because we were made in the image of God; and that we can contemplate his inestimable wisdom not only in the largest animals, but consider the same wonders in the smallest little creatures too. For as I do not so much wonder at the peaks of great mountains, because, being near the clouds, they endure the heaviest storms with constant winds, or on the contrary at the hollows of caves, because they not only escape the roaring of the winds by which the heights are shaken but also rejoice in a perpetual mildness of climate: so in the form of animals I am not so much amazed at the vastness of the elephant as at the mouse, which is frightening to the elephant, or at the very fine sting of the scorpion, which the craftsman's wisdom has hollowed like a pipe, so that through it it may inject poison into those it wounds. But let no one on this account blame the Creator, that he set venomous beasts in our life. For so someone might also accuse the teacher of children who, compelling them to keep the duties of discipline, chastises their wantonness and impudence with threats and blows.

Rather, we understand that harmful things point us to the confession of faith. For if you trust in the Lord, "you will walk upon the asp and the basilisk, and you will trample the lion and the dragon" (Ps 91:13). Remember how Paul, when he was gathering sticks, was bitten by a viper and received no harm, for this reason: that this most holy man was full of faith. But if you are unfaithful, you should fear not so much the serpent as your own unbelief, by which you have made yourself liable to perdition. But now I feel that I am being pressed for the debt concerning the birth of man, and I hear the voices of the hearers murmuring in their hearts, that we teach what our things are like but do not know ourselves. It is necessary, then, to remove that cloud which darkens the senses of men; for truly, of all things the hardest is to know oneself. For not only does the eye, looking at things outside, fail to see itself, but the mind itself too, contemplating others' faults sharply enough, is slower in recognizing its own vices; hence now too our discourse, having run quickly through others' acts, is duller and slower in examining what we are. And yet we can reckon the Creator not so much from the composition of the elements as from our own formation, if only each is willing to look at himself wisely, as the prophet says: "Your knowledge has been made wonderful from me" (Ps 139:6); that is, while I look at myself, I learn the power of your ineffable wisdom. "And God said, Let us make man." Where now are the Jews, who, when in the preceding words the light of the Godhead was shining as through certain chinks, and the second person, mystically declared but not yet clearly seen, resisted, saying that God speaks to himself, since he himself said and he himself made: "Let there be light, and there was light"? Their follies, which they now bring forth, were indeed ready to hand then too. For what smith, carpenter, or shoemaker, standing alone in his workshop with no partner of his art present, says to himself, "Let us make a sword," or "let us put together a plough," or "let us make a shoe," and does not rather silently begin the form he has designed in his mind? For it is vain chatter that any man should strictly command himself to do something, like a judge or a censor. Though what will those who crucified the Lord not say, having tongues trained to lying, even if the present word has utterly closed their mouths? "And God said, Let us make man." Until, then, there existed one who could be taught, the proclamation of the Godhead was hidden in the deep. But when the creation of man began to be awaited, faith was revealed and the doctrine of truth shone out clearly. Hear, you Jew who resist Christ, how he addresses the partner in the making of the world, through whom he made the ages, who upholds all things by the word of his power; but your mind does not receive the words of piety. For as wild beasts, when shut in cages, gnaw the bars with their teeth, showing their own bitterness, yet cannot satisfy their fury, so the Jew, the adversary of truth, constrained in the narrowness of his bonds, asserts that there are many persons to whom the Word of God went forth. For they say that he said to the angels, "Let us make man." A truly Jewish fiction, and a fable worthy of their faithlessness! Not to receive one, they confess many; they join servants to the Son by sharing his dignity, make our fellow servants the authors of the formation of man, and want to make the angels equal to the perfecter of man, though it is absurd that any creature could be equal to its maker. Let us consider also what follows: "Let us make man in our image." What do you answer? Is the image of God and of the angels one? For the image of the Father must necessarily be the same as that of the Son, yet in such a way that the form is understood as befitting God, that is, consisting not in bodily shape but in the divine property. Listen, you too, who come out of the new circumcision, carrying on the worship of Judaism under the pretence of Christianity. To whom does he say "in our image" if not to the brightness of glory and the stamp of the Father's substance, who is the image of the invisible God (Heb 1:3)? He speaks, then, to his own image, who said, "I and the Father are one" (John 10:30), and "He who sees me sees my Father also" (John 14:9); to him he says, "Let us make man in our image." For where there is unity of image, nothing can be unlike. For he did not say "in our images"; as Scripture also testifies: "God made," it says, "man"; not "they made." He wisely avoided now a multitude of persons, so that, while he confounded the Jew there, here he might exclude the rite of paganism. Therefore he mentioned the unity, so that you might recognize that the Son is together with the Father, and might avoid the danger of a multitude of persons. "In the image of God he made man." Again he brings in the person of the co-worker. For he did not say, "He made in his own image," but "in the image of God." In what man is appointed to have the image of God, or how he receives the likeness of the Godhead, will be told in what follows, Christ granting understanding; for now it is enough to have said that the image is one. But why did it enter your mind to blaspheme so sacrilegiously as to say that the Son is unlike the Father? O ungrateful mind! The likeness of God which you yourself have received, you do not allow your benefactor to have. And what you have received from heavenly grace you want to be your own, but you do not allow the likeness implanted by nature in the Son to be shared with his begetter. But now the evening time bids us be silent, the sun having long since sunk to its setting. Therefore let us end here too the course of our discourse, content with what has been said. For we have discussed in the present only as much as can sharpen your attention. A fuller treatment of the questions set before us we shall give you another time, with the Holy Spirit's assent. So now, rejoicing, furnish your tables with the memory of what has been related, in place of abundant dishes and various fruits. Let the impious be confounded, let the Jew blush, let the righteous rejoice in the proclamations of the truth; let the Lord be glorified, now and always, and for ages of ages. Amen.