Apologia in hexaemeron

Of our father among the saints Gregory, Bishop of Nyssa, an Apologetic to his brother Peter, concerning the Hexaemeron. Prologue. These things you do, O man of God, commanding us to dare the undareable, and to set our hands to such matters as not only to succeed in them is impossible, but not even to attempt them—at least in my judgment—is blameless. For of the things philosophized by the great Moses in the creation of the world by divine inspiration, those which seem, according to the ready surface meaning of what is written, to be contradictory, you have commanded us to bring into a coherent sequence by some following line of thought, and to demonstrate that the holy Scripture is in harmony with itself—and this after that God-inspired contemplation of our father upon the present subject, which all who have known it admire no less than the things philosophized by Moses himself; and, I think, they do this well and rightly. For the relation that the ear of grain has to the grain, being from it yet not being it—or rather being it in power, but differing in size and beauty and variety and shape—the same relation one might say the thoughts worked out by the great Basil through more laborious contemplation hold to the voice of the great Moses.

For those things which he spoke in few and easily encompassed words, our teacher, by his lofty philosophy, increased and made not a stalk but a tree, according to the one likened to the kingdom of the mustard seed, which grows into a tree in the heart of the cultivator, so that it becomes on every side spreading with thoughts, and extended in place of branches with doctrines, and raised to height by the aim of piety, so that even the lofty and heaven-traversing souls, which the Gospel calls birds of heaven, are able to nest in the greatness of such branches. For a kind of nest of the soul, as it were, is the assent concerning the matter under inquiry, resting upon itself the unstable busyness of the mind, like some much-wandering flight. How then is it possible for such and so great a tree of words to plant against it the brief fragment of our thought? Or this indeed neither do you command, nor would I ever accept it—that our labor be set in opposition to the diligence of our father and teacher? But just as farmers work wonders, devising a diversity of fruits in one plant; and the manner of this cultivation is as follows: having stripped off a small leaf from another tree together with the bark underlying its base, they fit it by a cut into another larger plant in one part, so that that which is inserted, fattened by the natural moisture of the larger plant, may grow up into a branch.

In this way I too, having threaded my own thought, like some brief shoot, into the moisture of the great tree by the wisdom of our teacher, will attempt to become a branch of that tree, being grafted in as far as is possible for me into his thoughts, and being watered by the supply of the starting point granted to us from there. For I think that certain people have not rightly understood the aim of the works he labored over concerning the Hexaemeron, on account of which they bring accusation that the knowledge concerning the sun has not been given clearly to them—how after three days the luminary is fashioned, nor with the other stars, so that it would be impossible for the measure of the day to be distinguished into morning and evening, unless the sun altogether, setting, made evening, and rising, made morning. Likewise they also do not accept the creation of the two heavens, saying that even if the Apostle mentions a third heaven, the difficulty nonetheless remains in this matter: because, when in the beginning one heaven had come to be, and after these things the firmament, but another heaven—that is, a second creation—was not recorded by Moses, it is unproven to conceive of a third heaven in addition to these two, since neither did another come to be after the firmament, nor does the account of the beginning permit one to think beforehand of anything older. For if heaven came to be in the beginning, it is clear that creation began from then; for it would not have been named a beginning by the account, if it had another beginning of itself lying above it; for that which is second in order is neither a beginning nor is it called so. But indeed Paul has also made mention of a third heaven, which the creation does not have.

Is the mention of the second [day] also here among the things sought? Those, then, who bring forward these and similar things do not seem to me to have considered the aim of our father's teaching, who, discoursing to so great a congregation in a crowded church, made his exposition necessarily adapted to those receiving the word. For among so many hearers, there were many who understood even the loftier discourses; but far more numerous were those unable to attain to the more subtle examination of the meanings—private individuals and artisans occupied with their bench-work, and the people among the women untrained in such learning, and the youth of the children, and those more advanced in age; all these needed such discourses, those accompanied by some easily grasped guidance of the soul through the visible creation, and the beauties in it leading them by the hand to the knowledge of the Maker of all things. So that if one judges what was said by the aim of the great teacher, nothing is lacking in what was spoken. For he did not set forth his discourse in a more contentious manner, passionately wrestling with the objections of the inquiries, but was wholly devoted to the simpler exposition of the words, so as to set before them the discourse suited to the simplicity of the hearers, while also in some way ascending with his explanation for the hearers of greater things, displaying the varied learning of external philosophy. So that it was understood by the many, and admired by the superior.

But if you, as on Mount Sinai, leaving the great multitude below and raised in understanding above the others, are eager to enter in with the great Moses into the darkness of the contemplation of hidden things, in which he, having come to be there, both saw the unseen things and heard the words of the unutterable things, and you seek to know the necessary order of creation—how, when heaven and earth had come to be, the light awaits the divine command in order to become light, while the darkness was even without a command. And if light had no need at all to illuminate the underlying air and to divide time into night and day, what was the use of the construction of the sun? And if the earth came to be with the heaven from the beginning, how is what has come to be unformed? For to form and to make seem to differ in no way in meaning. If, then, to make is the same as to form, how is what has been made unformed? And also the questions raised about the liquid substance, that it is not possible for the fluid to rest above the heavenly vault in the spherical shape. For how would the moisture settle upon the convex surface, when by every necessity the fluid flows down from the ever-culminating point of the sphere toward the sloping parts of the shape? And how, when the underlying surface is unstable, will it hold its stability in itself, always slipping from its own base? And how will it not be scattered, since the swiftest revolution of the pole altogether drives off what rests upon it? But indeed, that the liquid nature is consumed also seems unconvincing to those who contradict.

Because the bodies of water are always seen in equal measure, in springs and rivers and lakes—except for those springs that have a shallow supply of water and gush forth from the leaping down of rains or snows, which in the manner of a torrent both cease and increase with the inflow from above. But in the case of those where the stream flows everlastingly, with no decrease or increase occurring, it is necessarily agreed that none of the moist substance is consumed. For it is not possible that what is consumed should remain in equal measure toward perpetuity; but neither would fire, if it were truly consuming of water, have remained at its own measure, without increase and without nourishment. For it is not possible that the nature of fire should not increase together with the matter being consumed. If, then, you, busying yourself with these and such matters, you who stretch out toward all things lofty, and the things that lie in the darkness of Moses' vision, are eager to see them yourself by your own understanding—not looking to another, but to the grace that is in you, and by the spirit of revelation that is made manifest to you through your prayers, to search out the divine depths. But since, according to the apostolic law, we must yield to one another through love, and it is proper to praiseworthy servitude to bring the commandments into action, I will attempt, as briefly as possible, to uncover the understanding concerning these things, using your prayer as an ally for the discourse. But let this be testified by me before the undertaking: that we are in no way setting ourselves in opposition to the holy Basil regarding the things he philosophized about in the creation of the world, even if the discourse should come to another interpretation by some sequence of reasoning.

But let those things be maintained, and let the second place be assigned to the divinely inspired Testament alone; while our own efforts, undertaken in a scholarly manner as in some exercise, let them be set before those who meet with them, with no harm accruing to anyone from these things, if anything in what is said is found contrary to the common opinion. For we do not make our discourse a dogma, so as to give an occasion to those who slander; but we confess that we are only exercising our own mind on the thoughts set before us, not laying up an explanatory teaching for those who come after. Therefore let no one demand of my discourse that it grapple with the objections brought against us from the Holy Scripture, and from those things interpreted at hand by our teacher, whatever seems not to agree with common opinions. For it is not my purpose to devise some advocacy for the contradictions that appear from the surface; but let it be granted to me to examine the meaning of the sayings with authority, with a view to my own purpose, if perhaps it may become possible for us, with God's assistance, while the wording remains in its own signification, to conceive some connected and consequent contemplation in the creation of things that have come to be: "In the beginning God made," it says, "the heaven and the earth," and the rest, as many things as the account of the cosmogony contains. These, then, are the things that came to be according to the Hexaemeron. But I think it is necessary, before the examination of what is written, that this be acknowledged in our discourse: that in the divine nature power runs together with the will, and the will becomes the measure of God's power; and the will is wisdom.

But it is the property of wisdom to be ignorant of nothing—how each particular thing should come to be. And with knowledge, power is naturally joined; so that at the same time it knew what ought to come to be, the effective strength of things ran together with it, bringing the conceived thought into actuality, and in nothing falling short after the knowledge, but inseparably and without interval the work is displayed together with the counsel. For the counsel is at the same time a power, both pre-counseling how things that are should come to be, and furnishing the starting points for the existence of the things conceived. So that all things in God are conceived together with respect to creation: the will, the wisdom, the power, the substance of things that are. Since this is so, no one would any longer be at a loss, inquiring about matter and seeking the how and the whence—such things as one may hear people saying: If God is immaterial, whence is matter? How is quantity from the unquantified, and the visible from the invisible, and from the unmeasured and undefined that which is altogether bounded by some bulk and magnitude? And all the other things that are seen concerning matter—how or whence did he produce them, who has nothing of such a nature in his own being? For there is one solution to each of the objections raised by us concerning matter: neither to suppose the wisdom of God to be powerless, nor the power to be without wisdom, but that these are with one another, and that both are shown to be one, so that each is seen together with the other at once and in the same respect. For his wise will was made manifest by the power of the things being accomplished, and his effective power was perfected in the wise will.

If, then, wisdom and power are in the same thing and according to the same, it neither is ignorant of how matter might be found for the construction of the things that exist, nor is it unable to bring the conceived thing into actuality. And being able to do all things, with his wise and powerful will he cast down together all the things through which matter is constituted for the working out of the things that exist: the light, the heavy, the dense, the rare, the soft, the resistant, the moist, the dry, the cold, the hot, the color, the shape, the outline, the interval. All these in themselves are concepts and bare thoughts. For none of these is matter in itself, but when they run together toward one another, it becomes matter. If, then, by the one who surpasses in wisdom and power, and knows all things and is able to do all things, we perhaps somehow approach the lofty voice of Moses, who says that in summary (for this is what Aquila rendered instead of "in the beginning") heaven and earth were made by God. For since the prophet has made the book of Genesis introductory to the knowledge of God, and it is Moses' aim to lead by the hand those enslaved to sense perception, through things that appear, toward the things that lie above sensory comprehension—and by heaven and earth the knowledge that comes through sight is defined for us—for this reason, as encompassing the things that exist, the account named the last of the things known to us through sense perception, so that by saying that the things that encompass were made by God, it might include everything contained within the extremes; and instead of saying that God made all things that exist all at once, it said that God made heaven and earth in summary, that is, in the beginning.

The meaning of the two words is one—both "beginning" and "head." For by each of them alike the instantaneous is made clear; for in "head" it sets forth that all things came to be all together, while by "beginning" is shown the indivisible and undivided. For the beginning is foreign to every notion of extension. As the point is the beginning of the line, and the atom of the bulk, so also the indivisible is the beginning of temporal extension. Therefore the instantaneous foundation of things that exists from the ineffable power of God was named by Moses "beginning," that is, "head," in which the whole is said to have been constituted. He mentioned the extremes of things, and by silence he indicated the middle things together with the extremes. And I call them extremes because of human perception, which neither slips down into the things beneath the earth nor crosses the heaven. Therefore this is what the beginning of the cosmogony is supposed to mean: that God cast down together, in an indivisible instant, the starting points and causes and powers of all things that exist, and in the first impulse of his will the substance of each of the things that exist ran together—heaven, aether, stars, fire, air, sea, earth, living creature, plants.

These things were seen by the divine eye, displayed by the word of power—by that eye which, as the prophecy says, "knows all things before their coming to be." But with the power and wisdom that were cast in together for the perfecting of each of the parts of the world, a certain necessary sequence followed in a kind of order, so that fire came forth first and appeared before the other things observed in the universe, and thus after it came that which necessarily follows what went before, and third after this, as the artistic nature compelled; and fourth and fifth, and the rest of the succession in order, not appearing by some spontaneous coincidence, according to some disorderly and random motion. But as the necessary order of nature requires the consequent in things that come to be, so he says each thing came to be, philosophizing about natural doctrines in the form of a narrative. And he ascribes certain commanding utterances of God to each of the things that come to be, doing this well and in a manner befitting God. For everything that comes to be by a certain sequence and wisdom is, in a sense, a voice of God. Therefore we do not know what the essence of God is; but having grasped in mind the very Wisdom and the very Power, we believe that we have received God in our thought. For this reason, when the whole came to be, before each of the things that complete the whole was shown by itself, darkness was poured over the whole.

For the light of fire had not yet appeared, hidden in the parts of matter, just as pebbles remain invisible in the darkness, even though they naturally possess in themselves the power to give light, producing fire through their collision with one another; and when the spark flashed forth from them, those pebbles too became visible by its brightness. In this way all things were invisible and unseen before the light-giving substance came forth into the open. For just now, all at once, in the single impulse of the divine will, the whole had come to be without distinction, and all the elements were mingled with one another; the fire scattered everywhere was obscured, blocked by the abundance of matter. But since its power is swift and easily moved, at the very moment the grant was given by God to the nature of things for the generation of the world, it leapt forth before all the heavier nature, and immediately all things were illumined by the light. And what came to be according to the principle of wisdom, by the power of the Maker—as the commanding word of God—was mentioned by Moses: "God said, Let there be light, and there was light." For with God, according to our understanding at least, the work is a word. Because everything that comes to be comes to be by a word; and nothing irrational, accidental, or spontaneous is conceived among the things that subsist from God. But one must believe that a certain wise and skillful principle is implanted in each of existing things, even if it is beyond our sight. What, then, did God say? Since such a utterance is indicative of a word, we will understand it in a manner befitting God, as I think, referring the spoken expression to the principle implanted in creation.

For thus also the great David explained such utterances to us, saying: "In wisdom you have made all things." For the imperative words of the creation of beings, which Moses recorded from the divine voice, these David called the wisdom contemplated in the things that have come to be. Hence he also says that the heavens declare the glory of God—clearly meaning the artistic wisdom manifest in them through their harmonious revolution, which becomes instead of speech for those who understand. For having said that the heavens declare and the firmament announces, he corrects those who hear the words too crudely, and perhaps those who expect from the declaration of the heavens both a sound of voice and articulate speech, in what he says: that "There are no speeches, nor words whose voices are not heard," in order to show that the wisdom contemplated in creation is a word, even if it is not articulate. And again, when Moses said that certain extended utterances of God came to him in the working of wonders of the signs in Egypt, the Psalmist explained it more loftily than according to the common supposition, saying: "He set in them the words of his signs, and of his wonders in the land of Ham." For by this voice the Psalmist clearly hinted that by a certain word the productive power of each of the things that come to be is brought into activity, as though the word were not in utterances, but the power directed toward the signs was thus named.

Therefore here too the illuminating power of the nature, in its swift and nimble motion, ran ahead and separated itself from things of a different nature, and all that was encompassed was illuminated by its radiant power. But by what principle the substance of fire accomplishes these things, it belongs to God alone to say, who implanted the illuminating principle in its nature; and the great Moses also testifies to this through his own writing, where he says, "And God said, Let there be light"; by these words, as I think, he is granting that the work of light is a divine word, surpassing every human conception. For we look only at what comes to be, and receive the wonder by perception. But where fire, having its dwelling place, is suddenly begotten—whether leaping up from the collision of pebbles, and from what sort; or from what other thing rubbed against itself; and what is the power that consumes what is encompassed by it, yet illuminates the air with flame—we are able neither to see nor to form any conception about this; but we say that in God alone lies the principle of this paradoxical wonder-working, in him who made light to be begotten for fire according to the ineffable principle of his power. As Moses testifies in his own account, that "And God said, Let there be light, and there was light; and God saw the light that it was good." For it belongs truly to God alone to see how that which is so good should come to be; but the poverty of our nature sees what comes to be, yet is able neither to see nor to praise the principle according to which it comes to be.

For the praise belongs to things that are known, not to things that are unknown. "God saw," then, he says, "the light, that it was good, and God separated between the light and between the darkness." Again, what comes to be necessarily, according to the sequence of nature, in a certain order and harmony, Moses refers to divine activity—teaching, I think, through what has been said, that all things were foreknown in the wisdom of God, the things that would come to pass according to what follows by some necessary order. For when the illuminating substance that had been sown throughout the whole had run together toward what is akin to it, and had been gathered together all around itself, necessarily the things that were placed in front of the rest of the matter of the elements were overshadowed, and the overshadowing was darkness. This, then, which came to be in accordance with what follows—so that no one might refer it to some spontaneous chance—Moses says is the work of God, who deposited this power in the things that came to be. But indeed that the nature of fire is sharp, upward-tending, and ever-moving is clear to everyone from things that appear. And the things that the account suggests we understand from this beginning by consequence have been written down historically by Moses in the form of a narrative: "And there was evening, and there was morning." For who does not know that, since creation is understood in two ways, into the intelligible and the sensible, the whole zeal of the lawgiver now is not to expound the intelligible things, but to show through the things that appear to us the ordering of things in the sensible realm?

Since, then, fire, when the whole was being constituted together, was shot forth from the elements of other natures like an arrow, and in the upward and light movement according to nature it darted out ahead of the whole; and having passed through perceptible substance in an equal thought, it could not bring its motion straight onward, because the intelligible creation has no fellowship with the mingling of perceptible things, and fire is perceptible. For this reason, when fire came to be at the outermost boundaries of creation, it necessarily makes its motion circular: it is driven to be borne toward the whole by the power implanted in its nature, but there is no place for straight carriage. For all perceptible creation is encompassed by its own boundaries; it passes through the outermost limit of perceptible nature, in which it moves with ease, since the intelligible nature, as we said earlier, does not receive the course of fire within itself. For this reason Moses, having followed with his mind the motion of fire, says that the light that came to be did not remain in the same parts, but, encompassing the thicker substance of existing things, in the vehemence of its motion it exchanges places through its circuit, giving light to the unilluminated and darkness to the illuminated. Perhaps this succession occurs at temporal intervals in the lower region—I mean of light and darkness. Again Moses assigns to God the naming of day and night, nothing of what follows

having come into being spontaneously, or allowing one to understand that it received its beginning from something else. For this reason he says: "God called the light day, and the darkness he called night." For since the illuminating power is by nature unable to remain still, when the light had passed through the upper part of the circle and its motion was toward what lies beneath, of necessity the region above was overshadowed by the fire's running underneath, the denser nature, as is likely, blocking the ray. The retreat, then, of the light he named evening. And again, when the fire had run around the circle beneath and brought the ray back to the upper regions, he called what was happening morning, thus naming the dawn. But let us briefly take up the account again, so that the passages cited from the divine Scripture may also contribute to the sequence of the interpretation we have given. For the account of the world's creation said at the outset: "In the beginning God made the heaven and the earth." And we understood this to mean that the account presents the constitution of existing things all at once, indicating what is within from what contains it. For the middle parts are certainly included in the extremes. And the extremes, with respect to human perception, are heaven and earth. For by these on either side human sight is bounded. Just as, then, the one who said, "In his hand are the ends of the earth," also included the middle parts in the encompassment of the ends, so too Moses has made the indication of the material foundation of the whole world through the extremes; and we say that the words in between contribute to this understanding. For it is written: "But the earth was invisible and unformed.

so that from this it is clear that in potential all things were present in God's first impulse toward creation, as though a certain seminal power had been cast down for the generation of the whole, but in actuality each individual thing did not yet exist. For the earth, he says, was invisible and unformed. This is equivalent to saying that it was and was not. For its qualities had not yet converged upon it. And the proof of this understanding is that the word says it was invisible. For the invisible has no color; and color is, as it were, a kind of effluence of the shape at the surface, and shape does not exist without body. If, then, it was invisible, it was certainly also colorless. With this is contemplated the shapeless; with that, the incorporeal. Therefore, in the mass of the world's foundation, the earth was among existing things, as were all the others. But it awaited the formation that comes through the arrangement of qualities, which is to say, coming to be. For by saying that it was invisible, the word indicates that no other quality either was contemplated concerning it. And by calling it unformed, it grants us to understand that it had not yet been compacted with bodily properties. This understanding is made clearer through the writing of Symmachus and Theodotion and Aquila: the one saying, "And the earth was idle and indistinct"; another, "Empty and nothing"; and the other, "Nothing and nothing." For by these, according to my account, it is made clear: by "idle," that it was not yet in actuality, but had its being in potential alone.

But through the indistinctness, [he means] that they had not yet separated from one another and that each of the qualities was not known separately by itself, but that the whole was seen in a certain confused and indistinct quality, with neither color, nor shape, nor bulk, nor weight, nor size, nor any other such thing being contemplated in the subject by itself according to its own principle. The same thought is indicated to us by both "void" and "nothing." For he signified the receptive capacity of the qualities by the word "void," so that through this we may learn that the Creator of the whole beforehand cast down a capacity receptive of the qualities; but this was a certain empty thing and had nothing in itself before it was filled with the qualities. And the third account, as having been brought in from the philosophy of Epicurus, I think should be left unexamined. For he too says something similar about the first principle of existing things, but with empty sound, indicating nothing by such phrases the unstable nature of atoms, which is the same as "nothing" and "nothing." But let us proceed again to what follows in the contemplation, how, when fire once for all traversed the outermost boundary of sensible nature, the firmament comes to be in sequence; which he says is the boundary between the waters above and those below.

For I think that no solid and resistant body—whether one of the four elements or something else besides these, as the philosophy from outside imagined it—is to be contemplated in the firmament, but that the extremity of sensible substance, which the nature of fire, by its ever-moving power, circles around, was called "firmament" by the Scripture, by comparison with the eternal, incorporeal, and invisible property. For who does not know that everything solid is compacted by some resistance? And what is compact and resistant does not remain free of the quality of weight; and what is heavy by nature cannot be upward-borne. But the firmament lies above the whole sensible creation; therefore the sequence of the argument does not permit us to conceive anything thick and corporeal concerning it, but, as has been said, by comparison with the intelligible and incorporeal, everything that belongs to the sensible kind is called "firm" even if by its natural subtlety it escapes comprehension. Accordingly, [it is firm] in a manner consistent with what was encompassed by the circuit of fire; and what was encompassed was the limit of material substance; being once bounded by its own proper limit, it was named "firmament" because of its material nature, by comparison with the things that underlie it. And it received the name "heaven," just as he also gave the name "day" to the light and "night" to the darkness. And the separation of the waters, which was divided by the mediation of the firmament, is neither alien to this understanding and is consistent with the Scripture. For it is written in the sequence of what has been said, after the account concerning the earth:

that "Darkness was over the abyss, and the Spirit of God was borne over the water." We consider, then, that the Spirit of God is as far removed from being darkness as it is also alien to every evil. And it is possible to cite countless voices of Holy Scripture concerning this, that God is both true light and dwells in unapproachable light. But the Spirit of God is the same in nature as God himself; and if the nature of God and of the Spirit is one, and God is light, then the Spirit of God would certainly be light as well. And light in light certainly makes those things on which it is borne to be light. But the water over which the Spirit of God was borne is something other than this downward-flowing nature of fluid waters, which is separated by the firmament from the heavy and downward water. And if Scripture also calls that "water" over which, through the higher contemplation, we consider the fullness of the intelligible powers to be signified, let no one be estranged by the homonymy. For God is also a consuming fire, but the account is pure of the material meaning of fire. Just as, then, when you learned that God is fire, you understood him to be something other than this fire, so too, having been taught that water is borne by the divine Spirit, do not understand the downward nature that flows down to the earth. For the Spirit of God is not borne over things lowly and unstable. Therefore, so that the meaning may be revealed to us more clearly, let us briefly take up the sense of what has been said.

that the firmament which was called heaven is the boundary of the perceptible creation, and that after it a certain intelligible creation succeeds, in which there is no form, no magnitude, no position in place, no measure from intervals, no color, no shape, no quantity, nor anything else of all the things observed beneath heaven. And let no one suspect that through this figurative language I am introducing confusion into the contemplation of the text, so as to agree with the conjectures of those before us who have contemplated such things, and to say: the apostate powers are called the abyss, and the ruler of the darkness of this world is understood as the darkness above the abyss. May I never so transgress as to conceive of evil as a work of God, since the divine word clearly says in summary that "And God saw all things whatsoever he made, and behold, all things were very good." But if all things that God made are good, and the abyss and the things around it are not outside of what has come to be from God, then these too are good in their own principle, even if it is an abyss, even if the light that is implanted in existing things does not yet shine around it. Therefore, having heard "abyss" from the Scripture, I say that the multitude of waters is signified. For the psalmody also defines it thus, saying: "The abysses were troubled, a multitude of the sound of waters." And having heard the darkness around it, I understood that the illuminating power implanted in the nature of existing things had not yet appeared. And being taught by the Scripture that the separation of waters was made through the firmament, I do not think I am doing anything outside of what is fitting, understanding the separation in the case of water also according to its literal signification, so as to think and be persuaded that the nature of each is different;

that it is upward-tending and light, and lighter than the lightness of fire; so that, remaining above the hot substance, it is neither changed along with the motion of the underlying subject, nor restored to a contrary order by the heat, but itself remains undiminished, and allows no passage through itself to the fire running beneath. For how could the immaterial become a place for the material? And the other is this water, whose nature we know both by eye and by touch and by taste. For whatever is also borne downward, and is seen to be transparent, and is known by taste through the quality inherent in it—the nature of the thing known does not compel us to transfer this to some other conception. But that water which is spoken of, which is neither seen nor flows, nor is contained at all by any of the things in which the moist nature is naturally held, but is outside place, and unmixed with every quality known by sense—I think no one of those who have examined how to judge would suppose it to be anything other than common water, being carried by conjectures toward the intelligible substance, both because it is borne along by the Spirit of God, and because it is believed to be above the heavens, and because it remains outside all things known through sense. For from the things examined we have conjectured this, that everything that is moved is enclosed within the intelligible nature, and has its turning about itself. And the boundary of things moved is the limit of the dimensional nature, after which the intelligible and non-dimensional nature is found pure of local and dimensional properties.

The outermost limit, then, of perceptible substance, beyond which there is nothing of the kind that is known among things that appear, this, we say, is indicated by the name "firmament," the Scripture confirming our understanding, which says: "And God separated between the water that was under the firmament and the water that was above the firmament." For by these words it is shown that this water was not even originally mingled with that water, but in the sharing of names the nature was unmixed, in that it says not that it "came to be under" or "was above" the firmament; and what was under the firmament was something else above. And if the one is immediately confined in darkness toward the lower position, while the other is not in darkness—for what is in the Spirit of God is altogether in light, and has been separated from the darkness, and at the same time was above the firmament that was shown in between—let the discerning hearer judge whether our account in what has been said has in any way missed the fitting conception. These, then, are the things we have surmised concerning the first constitution of existing things, and how in the power of substance light is not second among existing things, even if the Scripture says that darkness is recorded before the light, and whatever we have thought conjecturally about the firmament, and about the difference of the waters, whose nature, divided into the downward-tending and the light, instills in us the corresponding conceptions about each of the things spoken of homonymously—these and the like are they. But since the waters were separated from one another, both the visible and the intelligible, and a middle boundary was shown

The heaven, which is said in the beginning to have been made together with the earth and all the things brought into being for the construction of the world, but now was completed and named in the display of the firmament, which was defined by the circuit of fire—and the second revolution of the light again in turn darkened and illuminated the underlying substance. And this too was named, in accordance with the preceding sequence, and this was called day. And necessarily and consequently the nature of number also entered into the creation. For number is nothing other than a composition of units. And everything that is contemplated within a determinate boundary is called a unit. Since, then, the circle is on every side complete, bounded within itself, the account rightly named the one circuit of the circle as one, saying: "There was evening, and there was morning, one day"; and again the other likewise as one. And combining both, it made two. And thus the account brought together the generation of number with the parts of the creation, marking the sequence of order by the names of number. For "there was," it says, "evening, and there was morning, the second day." Since, then, these things came to be, again the nature of existing things, proceeding in order, works out what necessarily follows upon what has come before; and a divine command precedes this work as well, Moses everywhere securing our understanding that nothing of existing things came to be without God, so that the wonder concerning each of the things that have come to be might have its reference to the one who made them.

For when all the light-bearing and fiery substance had been separated from the others by its own qualities, the construction of the air is passed over in silence, although it was reasonable that this too should be treated in the second place after the ascent of fire, since there is a certain kinship between it and fire in respect of lightness, in comparison with the lightness observed in fire; and then after this to give an account of the heavy nature. But Moses speaks of the latter; he passes over the air in his account, not as though it contributed nothing to the completion of the whole world, nor as though it had been separated from the power of the elements, but perhaps because the air, by the softness and pliancy of its nature, is receptive of each of the things that exist, displaying the things that exist in itself, having no color of its own, no shape, no surface, but being formed into shape by alien colors and shapes. For it becomes bright by the illumination of light, and again grows dark when shadowed; but in itself it is neither bright nor dark; it clings to every shape, and is dyed by every kind of color, and is suitably disposed to every motion of the things carried in it. For it yields without resistance to the thing carried, on either side, and of its own accord, being parted by the bulk of the moving object on this side and on that, it gives way to the rear. But also the liquid, when a vessel pours it out, whatever it happens to contain in itself, then parts as it is poured out, and of its own accord enters in again to the interior of the vessel toward the emptying space; and countless such things demonstrate the soft and pliant nature of the air.

Since, then, the life of human beings consists in this, and nearly the whole power of living, and the activity of the senses, have their strength in the air—for we both see and hear through it, and in like manner we also perceive things smelled through it, by the drawing in of breath, which is the most essential of the activities of life; for the one who has ceased to breathe has altogether ceased to live—for this reason the wise Moses left unexamined in natural philosophy the element that is our constant companion and kin, with which we are nourished from birth itself, considering the innate and natural relation of our nature to the air to be a sufficient teacher of this part; but the things that appear in it in the creation, how each of them came to be, he sets forth in his account. For when the second day had passed, again the wise and harmonious order of things that came to be, which separates the water from the earth, is called the voice and command of God; for truly everything that comes to be in wisdom is the word of God, not articulated by some vocal instruments, but uttered through the very wonders among things that appear. For while the earthy quality was still mingled with the watery nature, whose else was it to compact the earth by its own qualities, so that, when all its parts were pressed together toward their kindred, it squeezed out from it in the dense and compressed mass the moisture lying within it, and the water is separated from its mixture with the earth and gathered around itself, held in check by the hollows of the earth? Since, then, such a thing is truly of divine power and wisdom.

For this reason Moses says that the word of God led the way for the wonder, setting forth a certain imperative utterance—or, as I judge concerning this, he demonstrates through this utterance from Exodus the word that is embedded in the nature of creation. For he says, "God said, Let the waters be gathered into their gatherings, and let the dry land appear." Do you see the necessary order of nature—how, when the water is drawn away from the earth, what has been separated from the moisture becomes dry, and how, when the moisture is no longer mixed with the earth in a muddy way, the water is necessarily enclosed by certain receptacles, so that it does not come to destruction through the fluidity of its nature, with nothing confining its diffusion? But it seems to me that it is not untimely to make mention again of the waters above the heavens. For if here the earth is necessarily shaped for the reception of the waters, enclosing their fluidity as in certain bays, and providing stability to the unstable nature of the waters by its own firmness—how could water, if it is truly water, stand upon what is unstable, and remain undiffused upon what is convex? For if we suppose the nature of the two waters to be one and the same, it is entirely necessary to think that what we see in the case of these applies also to those; therefore the back of the heaven is cleft into channels, being rent in fissures like what happens on the earth at the separations of cliffs, so that the water may be held fast in the hollows.

What then will they say when the circular revolution of the vault inclines toward the lower region what is now above—will they perhaps devise certain lids for the circles, so that the water, becoming suspended, may not flow out from the hollows? But he says that fire is consuming, and has need of some material that continually nourishes the flame, so that it may not be extinguished, being consumed upon itself through lack of that which kindles it. But I, even if the great voice of our teacher is in agreement with such an assumption, will ask those who encounter this not to be displeased if, looking to what follows, I am wholly subject to those who preside in the contemplation of things that are. For our teacher also had as his aim, not altogether to legislate his own assumptions to his hearers, but that through his teaching some approach to the truth might arise in those who are taught; and we, therefore, having been exercised in the lessons left behind by him, look to what follows. And this would be the case, if the argument attains what is fitting, being referred to the wisdom of the teacher. What then do we reckon concerning the objection that has been raised? For we observe the corresponding qualities not only in fire and water, but also in each of the elements one may find some conflict in their properties against their opposites. For just as in the elements mentioned, heat opposes cold, and dryness opposes moisture, so again along the other diameter, in earth and air, the qualities in each stand opposed to one another in opposition.

Solidity and porosity, resistance and rarity, heaviness and lightness; and whatever other properties are in each of these in a particular way, are known from their opposites. Just as, then, in these cases it is not possible to say that the one is nourished by its opposite—for neither is the lightness in the air increased by the consumption of the heavy, nor does the density of the earth activate the rarity of the corresponding element, nor do the remaining 92 peculiarities around the earth, through their own consumption, nourish the qualities of the air—so one might say that the moist and the cold are by opposition to the hot and the dry, yet these are not nourished by each other's destruction, nor does each of them have the power of being in the other's not being. For in that way neither would exist, if the persistence of both had its power in the destruction of the two; for equal in each is the power to destroy the other, and always the annihilation of the prevailing one becomes that of the remaining one; and that the argument is true, it is possible to learn this from experience itself. For when fire has seized upon some material, and then water is brought upon it, it is clearly possible to see the destruction of these two in each other; for the prevailing one among them makes the other disappear, each perhaps yielding to the dominion of the one approaching. But as long as the power is evenly balanced in both, either the destruction is wrought by both upon each other equally, and neither is nourished by the other, but the two vanish into each other. As, then, in the case of beasts that devour one another, it is not natural for both to live through each other, being destroyed by each other—

Thus also the opposition of the moist to the dry would preserve neither of them in existence, if indeed the destruction of the one nourishes the other. But it seems to me that it would be well for our argument to be understood rather in the following way, in accordance with what follows: since all things that God made are exceedingly good, I say that the perfection of the good must be contemplated in each of existing things. For the addition of "exceedingly," through its intensive signification, clearly indicates what is without defect unto perfection. For just as in the generation of animals one may see countless differences among the kinds in them, yet by the universal principle of the acceptance of existing things we say that it belongs to each equally to be exceedingly good—not, surely, that the acceptance is in relation to what appears, so that the centipede and the land frog and the creatures generated from the decay of mud would have their "exceedingly good" in that sense; but the divine eye does not look to the comeliness of things that have come to be, nor does it define the good in a certain fairness of color and beauty of form, but in each thing's having its nature perfect in itself, inasmuch as it is. For it is not by not being an ox that a horse can be, but in each of these nature preserves itself, possessing its own resources for its own continuance, not in the corruption of nature, but having them for the power of existing. Thus even if the elements are disposed differently toward one another, nevertheless each in itself is exceedingly good. For in itself, according to its own principle, it is completed in the good. The earth is good.

For the earth does not need the destruction of the air in order to exist, but it remains in its own qualities, preserving itself through the natural power implanted in it by God. The air is good—not in the non-existence of the earth, but in that it itself, by the powers that naturally reside in it, suffices for its continuance. So too water is exceedingly good, and fire is exceedingly good, each fulfilled in its own qualities, and by the power of the divine will, according to its own measures of the first creation, remaining continually. "The earth," it says, "stands forever"—neither diminishing nor increasing. The air is kept within its own bounds, the fire is not lessened; how is water alone of all things consumed? And further, in comparison with existing things we see the fiery substance and power to be great; and this is clearly brought to demonstration by those who have philosophized about the heavenly bodies—that the sun is many times greater than the earth; so that not even for a great distance does its shadow reach the air, being contracted into a cone shape in the impact of its rays by the surpassing magnitude of the sun. If, then, this is so small when compared with that, so that all the water together with the whole earth, measured against it, is a mere fraction of the sun's magnitude—for how long a time would this little amount have lasted for consumption by so great a fire? But in fact we see the sea forever flooding at the same level, and the flow of rivers remaining within their own measures. Surely...

That no portion of the moisture is consumed is attested by such an experiment. But just as at the first the fire did not have its origin in the destruction of the moisture, but subsisted by the same power—and this was so at the first constitution of the element—so also its continuance will be preserved forever, the moist nature in no way being troubled for the fire to remain. But, he says, we often see the earth made wet by rain, and then, when the sun has warmed the underlying substance more intensely, that which was recently soaked becomes dry. Where, then, he says, is the moisture in these things, if the heat of the ray does not entirely consume it? Is it, then, as if the water in a mixing vessel were changed into something else, and the full vessel suddenly became empty? But since it is not in this one, do they say that what comes to be in another does not exist at all? For whatever happens here, one who supposes the same in that case will not miss what is probable. For it is equal both for the moisture to pass over from this hollow to the other hollow, and for the dampness of the earth, having been drawn out, to be carried up to the air, the moisture naturally filtering upward when the heat of that which lies above draws it to itself in fine particles from the earth. And a proof of what happens is that, when thicker vapors are often sent up from the depth of the earth, a certain cloudy accumulation seems to well up, and the thickness of the vapors becomes so great that it is even reachable by the eyes.

At some point the exhalation of moisture may also become more finely divided, so as to be equalized with the air in a way by its fineness, and not be made visible to the eyes before it collapses upon itself—the exhalation of such moistures—and thus becomes a cloud through compression; so that the fine and vaporous moistures for a time float upon the air because of their lightness and ride upon the winds, but if the greater affinity of the moisture, having gathered together toward itself, becomes heavy, then falling out of the air onto the earth it becomes a drop. Therefore heat did not consume what it drew up from the earth, but from these things the cloud was formed, and the cloud, compressed, became water; and this again, mixed with the earth, was raised up into vapor, and the vapor, having become cloud, became rain. And from this again the earth brought forth the vapors; and those, thickened in the compacting of the clouds, flowed down, and what flowed down was again sent up through vapors, and thus a kind of cycle is made, turning back upon itself, and always revolving and winding through the same things. And whether you speak of plants or of shoots, all are carried around in the same cycle. For the moisture through plants or seeds ran up together with the shoots; then, as much of it as is earthy following along with it, having been left behind in the bulk of what is nourished, when the underlying subject is dried by what surrounds it, it is again evaporated toward its own kind. And the air, being rare in its own parts and finer than the fineness of the vapors, sends forth all that has come to be in it toward what is akin to it.

For in this way both the dust, even if it is scattered far throughout the air, is given back again to the earth; and the moisture is not destroyed, but finds what is altogether akin and connatural to itself, wandering in the air, and having adhered to it and been increased through the advance of like things, it swells again toward the formation of a cloud, and thus through drops is restored to its own nature; so that everywhere the elements of the world, contemplated elementally in the whole, are preserved at the same measure which the wisdom of the Creator at the first appointed for each of existing things, for the harmony of the whole. But I know the objection that runs counter to this argument; for it is often possible to see, in more intense heat, certain clouds scattered through the air, and if one should gaze upon them more intently, he will in some way refute this argument, which says that nothing of the moist nature is consumed. For the clod-like portions of the cloud, scattered in many places through the air, are first diminished in bulk, being dried up by the excess of the heat; then also into

is utterly destroyed, scorched by the heat, so that not even a small remnant is left, the flame having dried up the moisture. But this can no longer be accounted for by the theory of vapors. For the region above the clouds, which lies over this turbid and windy air, admits nothing of the heavier elements within the subtlety of its own nature; but all vapors and all exhalations have as the limit of their upward motion the thickness of the air around the earth in that part, which by nature they cannot penetrate upward. For nothing of the more coarse-grained substances would be left behind in the subtle and ether-like region. Thus, then, those who have recorded the peaks of certain exceedingly great mountains say that they are always above the clouds and inaccessible to the winds, and that flight up to them is impossible for birds, no less than life in the air is for creatures under the water, so that it is clearly demonstrated through all these things that there is a certain boundary in the air toward the region above, which sets the limit of standing for all the more coarse-grained exhalations from the earth; for this reason, even up to the season of summer, the snow on the peaks remains unmelted, the condensation of vapors continually cooling the air in that part. But also the fiery furrows, which some call shooting stars, the wise men in these matters explain as coming from the same cause: whenever, by the force of certain winds, something of the thicker and more material air is poured over into the ethereal place, it is immediately set aflame upon coming up; and according to the impulse implanted by the wind, the flame flows and is carried along.

When the breath is extinguished, the flame is carried away with it. Therefore it is not possible to say again that vapors are formed in the breath when the cloud vanishes, so that through them one might hope, by analogy with what was said above, for the return of the moisture that was taken up; one must agree with those who hold that the moisture is burned up and reduced to non-being. But I am persuaded that the moisture in the vapors is destroyed by the excess of heat, judging it vain and contentious to fight against what is evident. Since, however, it is fitting not to grow weary in tracking down the truth from every side, even while these things happen, I say that the measure of the moist nature is preserved undiminished, and that what is consumed is always in every way replaced by what is lacking. What makes this supposition firm for me is this: in the working of fire among us, we learn through experience that fire does not feed on all the qualities of matter, but on that which it lays hold of; for example, in the case of the matter of olive oil, since it has been separated from the cold quality, in this matter the moisture is easily drawn out by the heat of the fire and becomes flame. But olive oil is not only changed into flame by the fire, but also the moisture of the fire that was produced from the olive oil, it says, after the fire becomes dry dust; which the soot from the lamp clearly shows, blackening the region above the flame; and if this were to happen more extensively, some mass would also be left behind in the place blackened by the soot.

From this it is clear that the oil, dried up by the fire into fine and invisible particles, is changed, and thus comes to be in the air, and from there settles down upon the earth. That the fine dispersion of the soot is in the air is shown by the fact that the nostrils of those who breathe this air become blackish. And often even what is exhaled from within the chest is seen to be black, because it too is stained with the color of the soot that rushes in together through the breathing of the air. Therefore it is clear from these things that the liquid part of the oil has been changed into dryness, but the bulk of its matter has not been destroyed into non-existence, having been scattered through fine and invisible particles into the air. What then we have learned in the case of this liquid through the operation of things that come to be—that only the liquid is changed into dryness, and the material element is not utterly made to disappear—if one considers this also concerning the whole, he will not miss what is probable; for it is clear that the whole is composed of parts. And what we have learned in the part, this we have also been taught concerning the whole. But that moisture is one in kind, not even one of the contentious would contradict. But indeed, fine dust, having been burned up by fire, became moisture; therefore also every liquid, when it comes to be in fire, changes the quality in its particles, being transferred from the moist to the dry, and is not utterly made to disappear.

Since, then, the cloud is a composition of vapor, and vapor is the fine-particled exhalation of moisture, it is altogether necessary that when the cloud has been scorched by the flame, that fine and indivisible bulk of the vapor, even if it no longer preserves the moist quality, should nevertheless not pass, in respect of its underlying subject, into annihilation, into that which is dissolved into nothing. For four things are observed in vapor: the moist, the cold, the heavy, and its quantity. Of these, whatever is opposed to fire is destroyed by the power of the prevailing element; for neither the moist nor the cold, when it comes to be in fire, remains such. Quantity, however, is akin to the substance of fire; for fire is also observed in quantity, and quantity does not fight with quantity. If, then, the quantity of the vapor is preserved, having been separated from the quality according to moist and cold; and the quality according to weight, being essentially present in the nature of vapor, has been preserved together with the quantity (for weight naturally belongs equally to moist and dry things); then our mind would no longer grow weary in following the sequence of what comes to be, so as to recognize how water, having become earth, through the vapors changing their quality, attains to a nature of the same kind. For the dry and the heavy would be proper to the quality observed around the earth, into which the vapor, having been burned up, has been transformed. And it seems to me well, having taken this beginning, not to break the continuity of the examination to which the inquiry advances through probabilities, guiding us by the hand toward the truth.

For it seems that the sea also remains within its own bounds at all times for this reason: that, little by little, of the addition always being made to it through the waters, the drawing off through vapors into what lies above takes place by the warming heat, the heat drawing up the fine-particled part of the nature of the liquids, as a cupping-glass does. But in inland and more northerly regions, the coldness of the surrounding air seems to contradict the argument—on the grounds that, since the sea in these parts is not intensely warmed, the emission of vapors is idle. This objection can be met with a twofold reasoning. First, that the sea is one and wholly continuous with itself, even if it is divided into countless expanses, nowhere broken apart from its connection with itself; so that, if the southern part, through the continual presence of heat, should overflow, the perception of the diminution that has occurred there would come to be in the chilled parts, the flow of the waters automatically running down, by the downward tendency of its nature, toward what is always in motion. Then, too, the fact that the whole sea is salt, being made so from all the water through the emission of vapors, bears equal witness; for dryness is proper to the nature of salt. And if this quality is mixed equally into the whole sea, then the saltness will likewise work its own effect in every part. For every nature altogether works what is suited to its own power. For just as fire burns, and snow chills, and honey sweetens, so also salt dries.

Since, then, the drying nature of the salts is everywhere mingled with the seas, divine wisdom having foreseen this for the ease of the giving up of vapors (for the brine, by the dryness inherent in its nature prevailing over the moist, somehow squeezes out and drives from the sea all the finer part of the water), it is nothing outside the likely that one should suppose the expenditure of the moist is equally made from every side, the air drawing the sea up through the vapors. But indeed that all the moisture in the air becomes cloud, and that from there the rains flow down upon the earth, both the preceding argument has shown and the prophecy teaches, attributing such a work to God, in the words where it says, "He who calls up the water of the sea, and pours it out upon the face of the earth," and many other things. And that all the clouds are baked out by the heat lying above them, and are utterly scorched away, this too we have learned through its operation. It remains, then, not to pass over the objection that arises for us in consequence of what has been said. For someone, following what has been examined above, will say: According to the example of the oil we have learned that the material part of the underlying substance is not destroyed even after the baking, but passes over into the air, losing its taste through the operation of fire. But when the moist has been consumed by the contrary quality, how is it possible for the moist nature to remain forever undiminished, the hot substance always scorching away the moisture in the vapors and changing it into a dry quality, as the theory has shown in what follows through the things examined?

If, then, the liquid is given off as vapor, and the moisture becomes easily overpowered by the heat, being divided through the vapors into fine and indivisible particles, it is entirely necessary, as the liquid changes toward the dry quality, to think that saying more true—that there is a certain abundance of waters which always replenishes what is consumed by fire. Perhaps one might also take some testimony from Scripture for such a supposition: the opening of the cataracts of heaven, when the earth had to become submerged, with the water exceeding every mountain peak to the greatest depth. But I say that the scriptural contradiction can be reconciled through another Scripture; for I know the loose usage of divine utterances in scriptural custom. What does "to open" signify, and what is indicated by "to close"? For it is clear that what is closed is opened, and what is opened is closed. Since, then, when a vapor once prevailed in the times of Elijah, Scripture says thus: "Heaven was closed for three years and six months"—this, I think, is what the word of Scripture means by the cataracts of heaven having been opened, in that they were closed in the season of drought. But indeed then, through the prayer of Elijah, a cloud appearing from the sea opened heaven for them through the rain. Therefore he clearly demonstrates through these things that not even then was the firmament of heaven split apart, so as to burst the rain down from the waters said to lie above it; but he calls "heaven" the air around the earth, which sets the boundary for the vapors' standing still, which is the limit of the most finely divided nature of what lies above.

after which nothing of the heavier substances has any power for ascent—neither cloud, nor wind, nor vapor, nor exhalation, nor the nature of birds. What is above the head Scripture customarily calls heaven, speaking of "the birds of heaven" flying through this air. But even if these things are so, the argument has not yet resolved for us the other question: how the transformation of vapors into the dry does not diminish the liquid, which is consumed by the heat prevailing over it. For these matters it would be well to discover another sequence of reasoning that accords with the contemplation of the argument; for perhaps through more diligent application it may come about for us not to miss the fitting understanding of the matter under consideration. I heard the prophecy recounting the greatness of God's power through the wonders in creation, where it says: "Who measured the water with his hand, and the heaven with a span, and all the earth with a handful? Who set the boundaries by weight, and the valleys by a balance?" By these words I think the prophet clearly teaches that each of the elements is circumscribed by its own measures, the encompassing power of God—which he names hand and handful and span—specifically confining each of existing things within its proper measure. If, then, heaven has been measured by the divine power, and the water by the hand, and all the earth by the handful, and the valleys are weighed in the balance, and a manifest weight is appointed for the mountains, it is entirely necessary that each remain at its own measure and weight,

neither increase nor diminution can occur in the things measured by God and encompassed by him. If, then, prophecy testifies that neither addition nor diminution befalls the things that exist, each certainly remains forever at its own measure, while the changeable nature observed in existing things—changing all things into one another and altering each into the other, and again from that one, through change and alteration, leading it back once more to its original state—[is at work]. But that this moist vapor, having persisted in the flame, passes over into the earthy quality, being changed to the dry by means of the baking—this has been moderately understood in the preceding arguments in the example concerning oil. It is fitting, however, to consider what follows: whether, when the matter of the vapor has been altered to the opposite quality, it is possible for that remnant of the vapor to remain above—whatever the argument understands that which has been transformed through the baking to be, [namely] toward the finer and more invisible. But indeed I think it is possible to conjecture about that too through the examples familiar to you. For not even here does the fine-particled nature of the soot remain forever suspended in the air, but by the rarity of the air it is diffused toward what is akin to it, being tinged upon earth and walls and the woods of the roof.

Accordingly, it is consistent to hold the same opinion about that as well: that the vapor, borne upward by the winds into the region above, which is fiery, and in the change of its moist quality, preserved its material element, but having become dry was drawn down to its kindred element and was restored to earth. For a power that draws things to their own kind is implanted by nature in each of existing things, so that not even is such an opinion outside what is consistent—that the vapor, having become dry and earthy in quality, was mixed with the dryness of the earth. If, then, the whole nature of the moist substance had been oily, the baking would certainly have turned the color of such vapors toward black in the coarser part of the quality; and what happened would have been evident to all, being shown by its receiving the form. But since the finest and most transparent part of the nature of waters comes to be in the vapors, and these, according to the account previously demonstrated, having deposited their moist quality in the fire, were changed toward the dry—it is entirely necessary to think this pure and airy, since the concept at some point grasps that it also exists, that which by its fineness escapes comprehension. But if someone thinks perception more trustworthy than the comprehension of reason, and seeks to behold with the eye those indivisible and invisible masses, it is possible for one who wishes to see the air dense with such particles, whenever, having been poured in through a window, it makes that part of the air more manifest, as much as the ray of light illuminates. For what is unattainable to the eyes in the rest of the air, this is seen through the beam, whirling in the air in infinite multitude.

Therefore, whoever keeps his eye fixed on these things will find that the motion of those fine particles always flows downward. And what is shown in a part of the air is a proof that such a thing exists also in the whole, since the whole is continuous with itself, and the whole is completed from its parts. But if the motion of these fine and indivisible particles always flows down through the air to the earth, and it is clear that the ethereal form is not scattered abroad, broken up into these (for the nature of fire does not undergo the breaking and diffusion into fine particles), it is entirely necessary to believe that the matter of those things descends, whose ascent the account observed by means of the vapors, so that being moist they are drawn up by the hot nature, but having been burned and become earthy, they are no longer held in check by the fire, but are restored again to the earth. And just as, when the food within us has been altered by digestion into some fine quality, whatever part of the body it falls upon through distribution, what is distributed becomes an addition to that part, and since the difference of the members in the constitution of the body is varied, in the dry...

and to the moist, and to what burns and what cools; from whichever of these the portion of nourishment comes, that becomes whatever the underlying subject is by nature (for what prevails at the right time appropriates to itself the fineness of the exhalation); in the same way, the addition that is always being made to the earth becomes imperceptible through those indivisible particles. For having been fused with every underlying subject, whatever the receiver may be in essence, it was changed to that nature, and became a clod in a clod, and sand in sand, and stone in stone, and in everything everything, whatever of the harder things it happened to receive, was changed to what prevailed. But if someone thinks the resistance of stone is hard to accept for such an addition, even if the argument has consistency, nevertheless I think there is no need for me to fight against those who hold these views. For the theory will have nothing plausible in it, if, through winds from what does not contain it, the earthy influx from above falls down upon what is fused with it. But perhaps someone will say that our argument does not look to its own aim, but proposed to demonstrate that the moist nature remains at its original measure forever, and that it escaped notice while constructing something contrary. For whether what is exhaled remains in the fire, or having dried up returns again to the earth, in either case the diminution of water will be equal; and none the less, by this construction, the abundance of the moist is shown to be necessary, because it is always and entirely consumed.

Therefore it would be necessary, with a view to this argument, to understand again the nature of existing things, so that through it the contemplation might be made a smooth path for us toward the proposed goal. What, then, is nature? None of the things observed elementally in the constitution of the terrestrial world has been made by the Creator of all things unchangeable and immutable; but all things are in one another, and are held together through one another, the changeable power, by a certain cyclical rotation, changing all earthly things into one another, and again leading them back from one another into themselves. Since the alteration itself is ceaselessly at work in the elements, it is necessary that all things pass into one another, both departing from one another and again, in equal measure, encroaching upon one another. For none of these would be preserved in itself, unless the admixture with what is of another kind held its nature together. How, then, could one say that the power of change and alteration travels in a circle through the four? For not all things come to be through one another, nor does the cycle of alteration, moving through each of existing things, proceed through an even course; but water is drawn up toward air through vapors, and the vapors, having nourished the flame, have again been reduced to earth, becoming, as it were, a kind of ash after their association with fire; and the earth, having received these, brought the course of alteration to a halt within itself. For it has not yet been examined whether the nature of water has its generation from earth. Therefore it remains for this inquiry, whether it is possible for earth to be changed into the nature of water. And certainly no one will charge us with idle talk, since we are investigating, by whatever means it was possible, the consequentiality in what has been said.

We observe, then, that many dry things are moistened spontaneously by some natural property, as one may see in the case of salts, both those that are mined and those that are formed from some liquid that has been evaporated by fire, whose distinctive property is dryness, yet if any moisture settles upon them, they become wet and change the dry element within them toward a moist quality. In this way I have also learned that the nature of honey becomes in a certain manner dry through boiling, and again from some circumstance dissolves back into the moist. But let these matters be set aside; for it is better to give the sequence of the argument from some necessary starting point. We do not recognize a single quality in each of the elements, through which the underlying subject is completed and separated from its counterpart, but each is apprehended in different qualities, of which some are incommunicable with one another, while others are contemplated equally, being related properly and harmoniously to the qualities that are at war with one another; for example, in the case of earth and water, dryness and moisture are unmixed with one another, but coldness is present equally in each of these, uniting in a certain manner through itself the things that are at war. Again, water is separated from air by the opposition of the heavy to the light; but the moist, contemplated equally in the nature of each, mediates between them. Again, air is separated from fire, opposing it by the battle of the hot against the cold; but it shares in the quality of the light, and the community of quality becomes, as it were, a reconciler of their natural opposition.

Next, fire has been separated from earth by weight and lightness, but dryness is common to both, and through it things that are set apart become in some way at peace with each other. And why do I begin the examination from this point? Because coldness is likewise observed in earth and water and air, but it is more closely allied to the moist, somehow preserving in itself the nature of water, and through its antipathy to the hot it blunts the harm that comes from the dry. Therefore, just as dryness is implanted in the hot, and it is not possible for fire to be shown to be in the one element alone, so it is reasonable to say that coldness is united with the moist, because each of the qualities observed in fire must also have its corresponding quality in water, so that moisture contends with dryness, and heat with cold. If, then, coldness has been shown to be equally contributory with moisture to the nature of water, it would follow to reason that, since the cold quality is naturally present in earth as well in potential, water is also in earth, and earth in water. For the natural pairing of the moist with the cold does not allow the one to be wholly separated from the other; but even if at some time each of them should happen to be alone by itself, it is not precisely only itself, but in potential the combination of both is seen in the one. For just as, when the moist has been diffused into the air, cooling also followed upon the particles of the moist vapors—

Thus, conversely, since cold dwells in the depth of the earth, moisture is not left behind by its companion quality either, but the cold power, naturally situated in the earth, becomes, as it were, a kind of seed of the nature of moisture, always by itself producing the quality joined to it, while the altering activity, through excessive cooling, changes the earth into the generation of water. But if someone should demand from us the reason how the alteration effects the change of the solid into the moist equally, we shall be at a loss, as also in all other cases. For how is water diffused toward air, the downward-borne riding upon the light? Or how has alteration changed weight into lightness? That these things happen we grasp by perception, but we are unable to set forth the works of nature by reason. But if someone should accept experience as testimony for such a supposition, we shall readily demonstrate it, bringing forward well-diggers as witnesses of the account. For when, having dug through the waterless earth, they proceed downward with their work toward the waters that are found in the depth, they do not immediately encounter the composition of water, but first they conjectured that the earth partook of some moisture to the touch; then, having advanced through the depth toward what is more chilled, they find the clod more muddy; after this, as the work deepens toward what is more chilled, a faint sweat appears; then, when some passage has been cut beneath the bottom of the stone, where it is more likely that the sun's heat no longer penetrates, being prevented by the density of the stone—

At that time certain thin veins of water were opened up through the working, from which, as the moisture is drawn in a circle around the depth of the compacted mass, the well is supplied with water. What therefore happens here in relation to the man-made cavity, when the moisture pressed together from all sides around the well has been compacted, this is likely to happen in every place, and that which is always drawn together through the thin moisture is channeled through certain veins into the broader passages, once the thin flow has already united with itself. Thus, then, water is generated, with the cold moistening the earth, and the moisture composed from the cold, perfecting the entire nature of water in itself. Hence, once it has gathered and become a stream, it opens up the earth wherever it finds an easy path. And this is called a spring. A proof that coldness leads the generation of waters is that the regions toward the north and more thoroughly chilled are abundantly supplied with waters. For the sunny and southern regions would equally be soaked with waters, if the absence of cooling did not hinder the generation of moist things. And just as water from rain, gathered from the confluence of drops, becomes a torrent, but if one were to look at the drops themselves by themselves, what appears in each will be small and as nothing—so too is the quantity of moisture that is always composed in thin form from below; when the gathering of the thin particles from many streams becomes one, such a thing is discharged into the nature of a river.

But one who sets aside these suppositions, from where would he think the ever-flowing rivers are supplied? Would he perhaps suspect certain lakes within the hollows of the earth? But these too, if they do not have an inflow, will certainly be emptied in a short time, so that he will of necessity suppose that other lakes lie above them; and the sequence of the argument will seek to fill up those others as well; and even if he supposes that other lakes lie above those, he will necessarily investigate from what sources the filling of the others comes. And thus the argument, proceeding indefinitely, will nowhere come to a stop, placing lakes above lakes—so that the lakes nearest the springs may not fail, until it reaches the sources of the last ones, through which the generation of water takes its beginning. Whatever, then, it is reasonable to discover as the cause of the first nature of water, it would be far more reasonable to conceive this in relation to the constitution of springs, and not to imagine subterranean lakes, from which immediately the downward tendency of the nature of water stands in opposition to the argument. For how will it flow upward, when its nature has its own motion downward? Then, too, the continuous outflow of such great waters gives grounds for estimating how great the size of those lakes must be, so that what pours forth so much over so many ages remains unemptied, with nothing from within replacing what goes out. But it would be clear from what has been examined that the river is not lacking in the supply of water, since the earth is transformed for this purpose.

The bulk of the earth is not diminished by what passes out from it, since the ever-occurring transformation of dry vapors continually replenishes what is being diminished from the bulk. When these things happen, the mutual change of the elements would no longer seem to us to limp, but the argument is bound together by consequence, looking to each one's turning toward the other as the generation of that into which it has changed, and from that again the restoration to what it was at first. For example, water drawn up toward air through vapors became air; the air, having been moistened, was dried out in the scorching heat above; the earthy part was separated from the moist by the nature of fire; this, having come to be in the earth, was transformed into water through the cold quality; and thus it remains uninterrupted, with nothing added and nothing in excess, but persisting continually in its original measures. Therefore, the sequence of what has been examined grants that the waters above the firmament are to be understood as something other than the moist nature, if indeed from what has been said we have understood that the nature of fire is not nourished by the consumption of moisture.

For it has been shown in the examinations already made that heat is not nourished by cold, but is quenched by it; and moisture is destroyed by dryness, not increased. But it is time to turn our contemplation to the other of the matters under inquiry—how, after the third day, all the luminaries in the heaven were made. That, then, a certain divine and commanding word precedes each of the wonders that come to be, Moses thus historically teaching us the lofty things of the doctrines, we have examined in the preceding discourses, in which we observed this: that the divine voice is not a command that comes about through words, but the artistic and wise power of each of the things that come to be, by which the wonders among existing things are wrought—this is and is called the word of God; and that, when the whole fullness of creation had been established at once in the first will of God, the order that necessarily follows according to the wisdom implanted in existing things has, for the manifestation of each of the elements, the sequence of the divine commands. For Moses, gathering all together in the first subsistence of the sensible creation by a comprehensive utterance, indicated the whole when he said: "In the beginning God made the heaven and the earth." Having therefore said that he made the fullness of things that exist, he then marks out in order, in a certain natural sequence, the manifestation of each of the things that come to be, by his account. The light, then, came to be along with all things, but it did not at once appear before all things, until the lightless parts of creation, obstructing the illuminating power, remained—

At the same time as the impulse for its ordering was given by God to creation, the fiery and illuminating power of creation appeared first in the light and easily moved quality of its nature, leaping forth before the others. And for a time it was all gathered upon itself and revolving around the whole; but after this it is again distinguished by its own parts into things akin and suited to it. For it is clear from what is seen that the power of the illuminating nature is not one; but while in the generic sense one would not err in naming as light that which is gathered from all things, since the divine word too at the beginning signifies the whole by the singular term, commanding that light, not lights, come to be. But if one looks to the things that appear, one will observe a great difference of the illuminating power among existing things. Whence also the Psalmist says: "To him who made the great lights alone." And, "There is one glory of the sun," says the Apostle, "and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; for star differs from star in glory," as there is certainly a great difference in respect of light. For if all things that Paul enumerated are naturally illuminating, and each is apprehended in some peculiar power and glory, it would be well for all things to be named one light according to the generic sense, but to contemplate the unconfused and divided difference among them. And if these things are so, I think our supposition would not miss the sequence, if we suppose that Moses understood this: that at the beginning all the illuminating power, gathered upon itself, became one light.

But since there was a great difference in the fine and easily moved, observed in the nature of the whole by more and less, the three-day interval of time sufficed to make the distinction of each of these from one another clearly and without confusion, so that the extremely fine and light and purely immaterial part of the fiery substance should come to be at the outermost edge of the sensible creation (which the intelligible and incorporeal nature succeeds); while all that is slower and more sluggish should be compacted about itself within the enclosure of the fine and light; and this again was divided sevenfold according to the difference of the property lying within it, all the kindred and homogeneous parts of light having grown together with one another according to their kinship, and having been separated from those that are of a different kind. Thus, then, as many of these parts as were sown in the illuminating substance of the sun's nature, having run together with one another, became one great thing; and in the same way also in the case of the moon and of each of the other wandering and fixed stars, the concurrence of the parts of each with those of like kind made one of the things that appear; and so all things came to be. And the great Moses was content, having named in these matters only the more familiar things, the great luminary and the lesser, to call all the rest generically by the name of stars. But if the coarseness of our mind grows weary, do not

Being able by its fineness to follow along with the divine wisdom, let no one be surprised, looking at the poverty of our nature, for which it is a thing to be loved not to miss nothing, but to be able to attain even one thing. And I say this with my eye on that question: what is the reason for this three-day interval, so that so great a time sufficed for the distinction of each of the things observed in the light. For it is clear that there is certainly some reason, even if it be beyond our contemplation, according to which the measure of this time contributes to the distinction of the light-giving substance—by the measured extension of time and by the quantity of the activity of fire in its motion, the separation of the lights being divided in the particular nature of the luminaries, so that these countless differences of the lights each be assigned to its own position, appointed there by its natural particularity, where the natural power implanted in each led it, no disorder or confusion having arisen in these things, because the inviolable order has been determined in them from divine wisdom, according to the natural particularity implanted in each—so that those things which are more upward-tending than every upward-tending substance occupy the highest region.

And in those [arrangements], again either to be placed in the middle, or to become some southern [region], or toward the north, or to occupy the intervening space, or to fill up the Milky Way, or the zodiacal circle; and again in this, to work out either this or the other outline of the star; and in the star again, that each of the stars situated in the figure should not have its position here or there by chance, but an evenly distributed peculiarity implanted in it has led it to remain there in unchangeable fixity, held together by the power of its own nature, according to the wisdom of the Maker. These are the things, and things like these, at which the mind grows dizzy as it looks, and passes condemnation on its own sluggishness, being unable to discover the reason how the three-day extension of time sufficed for the distinguishing of so many stars, or how, on account of the boundless underlying of the earths beneath the fixed sphere in the middle of the whole interval, the great wisdom of God appointed the nature of the sun, so that we might not live wholly in darkness, the radiance shining forth from the stars being consumed by the intervening interval before it comes to us. For this reason he set the radiant power of the sun's nature so far above us, that the ray is neither dimmed by the great distance, nor is it painful by too close an approach; or how the more material and coarser body—I mean the lunar body—was drawn down from the things above to the lower region, and circles the region around the earth; whose nature is somehow seen to be in the middle, partaking equally of the unradiant and the illuminating power.

For the thickness of its substance blunted its native brightness, yet by the counter-illumination of the sun's ray it is not entirely estranged from the illuminating nature. But the poverty of our nature is unable to see the reason of the wisdom that appears in each of existing things; nevertheless, with respect to the order set forth by the lawgiver in the creation of existing things, to observe a certain sequence in what has come to be—this, I think, is possible for those who look with moderate understanding toward what follows, to comprehend somehow by certain conjectures. Let us then take up the sequence of what has come to be. And it is this: when the universal and generic light had appeared before the others because of its mobility, there followed the delineation of the firmament, bounded by the circular revolution of fire. And when the light nature had been separated from the heavier things, the heavy qualities are accordingly distinguished from one another, separated into earth and water. And when the lower nature had been set in order, the fine and light and lofty substance, because it does not possess entire homogeneity with itself, is distinguished in the intervening interval of past time from the common mass into its kindred properties, in which the countless multitude of stars, spread out according to the natural property implanted in each part, toward the

It runs back to the very summit of creation, and each thing comes to be in its own place, neither ceasing from its ceaseless motion nor being moved from the position in which it is. But in these things the order possesses immobility, while nature possesses ceaseless motion. Next, the body that holds the second rank after the swiftest motion, in its own course, occupies the circle below; and again in the third and fourth and up to the seventh, in proportion to the nature of their speed. Each one descends by just so much below the one above it, as its nature is slower in motion than those situated above it. These things, then, come to be on the fourth day—not that the light was then created, but that the illuminating property was gathered around that which is by nature suited and proper to it; and the other stars also appeared, and those observed in greater bulk among the rest, the sun and the moon, of which the one had its generation and the beginnings of light in the first casting down, while the constitution of each (since everything that is moved is certainly moved in time, and the concurrence of the parts with one another requires some interval of time) was perfected in the three days; so that nothing outside the sequence has been written by the great Moses in the arrangement of things that exist, if—when all things had been materially laid down beforehand at once by the power of the Creator for the constitution of things that exist—the partial manifestation of the things observed in the world was perfected in a stated interval by some natural order and sequence: at that time the light appeared all at once, but now the whole illuminating nature was distinctly made visible, of which the sun and the moon are also part.

And just as in the case of things that possess a fluid power, even if all things flow, they are not in every way of the same kind in relation to one another, but there is a certain difference in each toward the other—for example, in oil and mercury and water—if someone pours all these together into one vessel, after a short time has elapsed, he will first see the mercury, because it is heavier and more downward-tending than the others, coalescing with its own parts, even if these happen to have been scattered everywhere; next the water gathering together to itself; then the parts of the oil floating upon all the underlying substances and standing together around themselves—so, I think, one ought also to conjecture concerning the present contemplation, changing only this much of the illustration, namely that what here in the case of fluids comes about through weight, we should consider in the case of the upward-tending nature in the reverse way. For since all things were being borne upward by lightness at the very first foundation of existing things, as each had speed according to the power implanted in all by nature, it was fitting that all things running equally together should rush together, and thus be separated from one another according to the difference of speed, of those that were naturally alike and capable in the same way. Therefore, just as in the illustration the separation of these fluids did not produce the materials by the distinction, but revealed each one clearly distinguished from the other, though they had come to be and were poured into one another, so also after the three-day interval of time, the illuminating nature and power of the sun did not come to be, but being diffused throughout the whole, it was separated to itself.

If someone should also demand from us an account of the third heaven, which Moses did not write but Paul saw, and having come to be in it as in some inner sanctuaries of wisdom, heard things unspeakable, we say this: that that third heaven is not outside the things we have examined. For it seems to me that the great Apostle, who stretches himself out toward all things that lie before, having passed beyond the boundaries of the whole sensible nature, slipped into the intelligible condition, his contemplation of intelligible things not being strictly bodily. For he himself also indicates this by his own account, saying, "Whether in the body I do not know, or outside the body I do not know; God knows—such a one was caught up to the third heaven." Therefore I think Paul called that the third heaven which is the outermost limit of the sensible world, having divided the whole visible order into three parts, and according to the custom of Scripture having named each of these parts a heaven. For the word of Scripture, in a certain loose use of terms, names one heaven the boundary of the denser air, up to which both clouds and winds and the nature of high-flying birds are borne. For it also speaks of clouds of heaven and birds of heaven; and it does not simply call this a heaven, but also with the firmament. For it says, "Let the waters bring forth creeping things of living souls, and birds flying upon the earth according to the firmament of heaven." Then it names another both heaven and firmament, the one observed after the fixed sphere, around the inner region, in which the planets of the stars travel.

For it says, "God made the great lights, and set them in the firmament of heaven, to shine upon the earth." Now it is clear to anyone who has in any way examined the ordering of the universe, how much these things have been placed beneath the upper motion, and he calls the very summit of the perceptible world, which is the boundary of the intelligible creation, both firmament and heaven. So the one who desires things beyond reason, and looks, as he also enjoins us, at none of the things that are seen—because the things that are seen are temporary, but the things that are not seen are eternal—wherever his desire lifted him up, there he came to be, raised up by its power. This is what he sets before him as desirable, and instead of saying, "I know a man who has passed through the whole perceptible creation and come to be in the sanctuaries of the intelligible nature," since from childhood he knew the sacred writings, he signifies the name by the voices of the Scriptures, calling the third heaven the passage through these three parts that are observed in the universe. For he left the air behind; he passed by the circling motion through the midst of the stars; and he crossed over even the outermost encompassing of the ethereal bounds, and having come to be in the stationary and intelligible nature, he knows the beauties of paradise, and heard things that human nature does not utter. These things, O man of God, we have answered you concerning the matters proposed to us by your understanding, neither transforming anything of the scriptural expression into a figurative allegory, nor overlooking any of the things set against us without examination.

But, as far as was possible, while the wording remained at its own proper meaning, we followed the sequence of nature through the contemplation of the names, by which we demonstrated, as far as was possible, that nothing among the things that seem, on a more superficial reading, to be in opposition to one another is actually inconsistent, but that they agree with each other. To go through the rest of the things made in the six-day creation of the world, however, we considered futile, since the teacher's lofty voice leaves nothing of the things sought for contemplation unaddressed—except the fashioning of man, which we, having labored on it in a separate book before this, sent to your perfection, entreating both you and all who read it, both in that discourse and in the present one, not to think that we are setting ourselves up against the teacher's efforts; but that there, as far as was possible, we were filling in what was lacking, adding the contemplation concerning man to the things he labored on in the Hexaemeron; and here, for the sake of those who seek what follows in the scriptural meanings, we were eager to write these things, so that at once the wording might be preserved in what has been written, and the natural contemplation might support the letter. But if what has been said is deficient, there is no envy on the part of your understanding, and on the part of each of those who read, to work out what is lacking. For the offering of the two obols made by the widow did not hinder the gift-bearing of the rich; nor did those who brought the skins and the wood and the hair to Moses for the making of the tabernacle become an obstacle to those who dedicated the gold and the silver and the precious stones.

We too, then, will be content if what we have judged be placed in the rank of hair, provided only that through your purple, woven together with gold, the outer garment be laid upon the word, whose name is Logion and Declaration and Truth, just as Moses also says, who fashioned such garments for the priest according to the guidance of God, to whom belong the glory and the might, with the only-begotten Son and the all-holy Spirit, unto the ages of ages. Amen.