創世六日 第 5 章 第 3/3 段

For day and night are older than the generation of the luminaries.

For this the psalm also shows us, saying:

"He appointed the sun for the authority of the day, the moon and the stars for the authority of the night."

How, then, does the sun hold the authority of the day? Because, carrying the light in itself, whenever it rises above our horizon, it furnishes day by dispersing the darkness.

So that one would not err in defining day to be the air illumined by the sun;

or, that day is a measure of time in which the sun tarries in the hemisphere above the earth.

But the sun and moon were appointed also for years.

The moon, whenever it has completed its own course twelve times, is productive of a year;

except that it often needs an intercalary month for the precise concurrence with the seasons, as the Hebrews of old kept the year, and the most ancient of the Greeks.

But the solar year is the return of the sun, by its own motion, from the same point to the same point.

"And God made the two great luminaries."

Since "great" in one sense has an absolute meaning—

as "heaven is great," and "the earth is great," and "the sea is great";

but other things, for the most part, are by nature referred to something else;

as "the horse is great," and "the ox is great" (for such things receive the attestation of their greatness not in the excess of the masses of their bodies, but in the comparison with their like);

how, then, shall we take the meaning of "great"? Whether as when we call the ant, or some other of the things naturally small, "great," attesting its superiority by comparison with its own kind? Or is "great" here meant in this way, as the greatness shown in the very constitution of the luminaries? For my part, I think this latter.

For it is not because they are greater than the smaller stars that they are on this account "great";

but because they are of such compass that the radiance poured forth from them suffices both to illumine heaven and the air, and to extend itself together over all the earth and the sea.

These, indeed, coming to be in every part of heaven—both rising and setting and occupying the middle—appear equal to men from every direction; which holds a clear proof of the abundance of their magnitude, in that the breadth of the earth makes no difference to them as to their seeming greater or smaller.

For things standing far off we see somehow smaller, but to whatever we draw nearer, the more do we find out their magnitude.

But to the sun no one is nearer and no one farther off, rather it strikes at an equal distance upon those settled in every part of the earth.

And the proof is that both the Indians and the Britons behold it equal.

For neither does it abate of its magnitude for those dwelling in the east when it sets, nor does it appear smaller to those settled toward the west when it rises;

nor indeed, when it comes to be at mid-heaven, does it differ in size to the sight from either direction.

Do not let the appearance deceive you;

nor, because it seems a cubit's span to those who behold it, reckon it to be just so great.

For at the greatest distances the magnitudes of the things seen are wont to be contracted, since the power of sight does not reach to traverse the intervening space, but, as it were, is spent on the interval, and brings to bear only a small part of itself upon the things visible.

Our sight, then, becoming small, made the things seen to be thought small, transferring its own affection onto the things visible.

So that the sight lies; the criterion is untrustworthy.

But call to mind your own experiences, and from yourself you will have the confirmation of the things being said.

If ever from a great mountain ridge you have looked upon a plain both broad and level, how large did the yokes of oxen appear to you? And how large the ploughmen themselves? Did they not present you some semblance of ants? And if from a lookout turned toward a great open sea you cast your eyes upon the deep, how large did the greatest of the islands seem to you? And how large appeared to you one of the ten-thousand-bearing merchant ships, borne with white sails over the dark-blue sea? Did it not present to you a semblance smaller than any dove? Because, as I said, the sight, being spent on the air and becoming faint, does not suffice for the exact apprehension of the things seen.

And indeed, somewhere too the greatest of the mountains, cut through by deep ravines, the sight says are round and smooth, striking only upon the projections, but unable through feebleness to enter into the hollows between.

Thus neither does it preserve the shapes of bodies such as they are, but thinks the square towers to be round.

So that from every side it is clear that at the greatest distances the sight receives not a distinct but a confused likeness of bodies.

Great, therefore, is the luminary, according to the testimony of Scripture, and infinitely greater than it appears.

And let this too be for you a clear sign of its magnitude.

Though the stars throughout heaven are infinite in multitude, the light contributed by them all does not suffice to dissolve the gloom of the night.

But this one alone, appearing above the horizon—or rather even while still awaited, before it has wholly risen over the earth—has made the darkness vanish, outshone the stars, and melted and diffused the air about the earth, which till then had been frozen and packed tight.

Whence also the morning winds and dews flow round the earth in fair weather.

But the earth being so great, how could it have lit up the whole in a single moment of time, unless it sent forth its radiance from a great orb? Here learn for me the wisdom of the Craftsman, how He gave it a heat commensurate with this distance.

For its fieriness is so great that neither by excess does it burn up the earth, nor by deficiency does it leave it cold and barren.

And let the things concerning the moon be understood as kindred to what has been said.

For great too is its body, and indeed the most luminous after the sun.

Yet its magnitude does not remain always visible;

but now it appears completed in its circle, now deficient and diminished, showing in another part of itself the part that is wanting.

For with one part it is shadowed as it waxes, while another part of it is hidden in the time of its waning.

But there is some ineffable purpose of the wise Creator in this varied alternation of its phases.

For it is either so as to furnish us a clear example of our own nature;

namely, that nothing of human things is abiding, but some come forth from non-being into perfection, while others, having reached their proper prime and grown to their utmost measure, again by little-by-little diminutions wane and perish, and being lessened are brought to nothing.

So that from the spectacle of the moon we are taught about our own affairs, and, taking thought of the swift mutability of human things, neither be high-minded over the prosperities of life, nor exult in dominions, nor be lifted up over the uncertainty of riches, but despise the flesh, about which is the change, and take care of the soul, whose good is unmovable.

But if the moon grieves you by little-by-little diminutions exhausting its light;

let it grieve you more that a soul, having acquired virtue, then through inattention effaces the good, and never remains in the same disposition, but is frequently turned and changed because of the unsteadiness of its judgment.

For indeed, according to what is said, "The fool is changed as the moon."

And I think that for the constitution of animals also, and for the rest of the things that grow from the earth, there is no small contribution from the change concerning the moon.

For bodies are disposed in one way when it wanes, and in another when it waxes;

now, as it wanes, becoming rare and empty, but now, as it waxes and presses on toward the full, themselves again being filled up.

because it imperceptibly infuses a certain moisture, blended with heat, that penetrates to the depth.

And those who sleep under the moon make this plain, having the cavities of the head filled with superfluous moisture;

and the freshly slaughtered meats, quickly turning at the moon's onset;

and the moistest of the sea-creatures;

and the pith of trees.

All which it could not have sufficed to alter and shift together by its own variation, unless it were something surpassing in nature and excelling in power, according to the testimony of Scripture.

And the affections concerning the air also are disposed together with its changes, as the following testify to us: the sudden disturbances that often arise at the new moon out of calm and windlessness, with clouds being shaken and dashing against one another; and the back-and-forth currents about the straits; and the ebb-tide about the so-called ocean, which those dwelling beside it have found to follow in regular order upon the periods of the moon.

For the straits flow back and forth in both directions in accordance with the other phases of the moon;

but at the time of the new moon (its generation) they do not stay still even for the very briefest moment, but stand in a continual surging and oscillation, until, having reappeared, it again provides some regular sequence to the tide.

And the western sea undergoes the ebb-tides, now receding, now again flooding over, as though drawn back by the breathings-in of the moon, and again by the breathings-out from it pushed forward into its own measure.

These things have been said by me for the demonstration of the magnitude of the luminaries, and for the establishment that not even to a syllable is anything idle among the God-inspired words;

and yet the discourse has touched scarcely any of the principal points;

for there is much to be discovered by reasonings concerning the magnitudes and distances of the sun and moon, for one who has examined their operations and powers not carelessly.

We ought, then, in fairness to accuse our own weakness, so that the greatest of the created things may not be measured by our discourse, but rather, from the few things that have been said, we may reckon within ourselves how many and how great are the things passed over.

Do not, then, measure the moon with your eye, but with your reason, which for the discovery of truth is far more exact than the eyes.

Certain ridiculous fables, babbled everywhere by drunken old women, have been spread abroad—that the moon, dislodged from her own seat by some sorcery, is dragged down toward the earth.

But how could the incantation of sorcerers move that which the Most High Himself has established? And what place could receive her, were she dragged down? Are you willing to take, from small proofs, the demonstration of her greatness? The cities throughout the world, situated very far apart from one another, with their streets laid out toward the east, all alike receive the light of the moon.

If she were not directly facing them all, she would indeed have lit up fully those streets lying straight before her, but upon those overpassing her breadth she would have cast slanting rays, carried off obliquely to the sides.

This is just what one may see happening with lamps in houses.

When several persons stand around a lamp, the shadow of the one standing directly opposite stretches straight forward, while the rest incline to either side.

So that, unless the body of the moon were vast and surpassing in magnitude, it would not extend itself equally toward all in the same way.

For when she rises from the equinoctial regions alike, both those dwelling near the frozen zone and lying beneath the revolutions of the Bear partake of her light, and those neighboring the hollows of the south, of the torrid zone;

to all of whom, reaching across the whole breadth, she affords the clearest testimony of her greatness.

Who then will deny that her body is exceedingly great, when it matches at once such great and so many distances? And concerning the magnitudes of sun and moon, let this much suffice.

And may He who has granted us the understanding to learn, from the smallest things of creation, the great wisdom of the Artificer, grant also that from the great things we may receive yet greater conceptions of the Creator.

And yet, in comparison with the Maker, the sun and moon hold the place of a gnat and an ant.

For it is not possible to derive from these a contemplation worthy of the greatness of the God of all things, but only to be advanced by them through certain small and dim reflections—just as also through each of the smallest things among animals or plants.

Let us be content with what has been said.

I, for my part, give thanks to Him who has granted me this small ministry of the word; and you, give thanks to Him who nourishes you with spiritual food, who even now has fed you, as it were with a kind of barley bread, in the meanness of our speech;

and may He nourish you forever, granting you, according to the proportion of your faith, the manifestation of the Spirit, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory and might unto the ages of ages.