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Hexaemeron

St Ambrose of Milan, tr. Savage, 1961

5. Hexameron, Book Five: The Fifth Day

The Seventh Homily: Chapter 1

THE ENTIRE EARTH was now arrayed in its verdant garb of diverse plants. The sun, too, and the moon, those twin luminaries, and the stars in their splendor shone forth in the heavens. A third element still remained, in which the blessing of life was to be bestowed by the gift of God. All things on earth are being sustained and nourished by the air above.¹ The earth opening up the seeds gives life to everything. Then under the command of God’s word, it blossomed forth at the gift of creative life. Water alone seemed not yet to have been affected by the generosity of God’s gift. There still was something which waited for the hands of the Creator. With the water He saved a certain fitting and special endowment which He would set aside for the functions appropriate to it. The earth was the first element on which the boon of life was conferred, but this life has no animating soul. The water, in its turn, was bidden to produce that which would bestow the force and dignity of something that is alive—something that is provided with a sense of self-preservation and with the instinct of shrinking from death.

And God also said: ‘Let the waters abound with life and above the earth let winged creatures fly below the firmament of the heavens.’²

At this command the waters immediately poured forth their offspring. The rivers were in labor. The lakes produced their quota of life. The sea itself began to bear all manner of reptiles and to send forth according to its kind whatever was there created. The tiny creeks and the muddy marshes were not without exercising the power of creation granted to them. Fish leaped from the rivers. Dolphins frolicked in the waves. Shell-fish clung to the rocks. Oysters adhered to the depths and the sea-urchins waxed strong.

Alas, enticement, the mother of our life of ease, existed before the creation of man! Before man there existed things to delight us! The temptation of man antedated his creation. But this was not nature’s fault. Nature gave us nourishment and did not prescribe vice. These things were given for common use. Therefore, you were not to claim anything as your own personal property. For you did the earth give generously of her fruits. For you did the waters generate the scari and the acipenseres and all their produce.³ Not satisfied with these, you have tasted food that is forbidden to you. Everything is heaped up before your envious eyes, so that the perversity of your greed may become all the more grievous.

But we are unable to record the multiplicity of the names of all those species which by divine command were brought to life in a moment of time. At the same instant substantial form and the principle of life were brought into existence; associated was a sort of vital vigor and power. The earth was replete with plants. The sea was filled with living things. In the one, vegetative life blossomed forth; in the other, animal life prevailed. In the earth, too, water claimed its part. The earth is laved by the fish of the sea. From it comes their prey. Gnats buzz and frogs croak even around the borders of the marshes that gave them birth. They, too, have heard the command of the Lord: ‘Let the waters abound with life.’

We know that the serpent species is given the name of ‘creeper’ from the fact that it is creeps over the earth. With more assurance we can say that every creature that swims presents the natural appearance of a creature that creeps. For, when these animals sink into deep water, they seem to cleave through it. Yet, when they swim, they seem to creep with their whole body as they propel it over the surface of the water. Hence David has also said: ‘This great sea which stretcheth wide its arms; there are creeping things without number.’⁴ There are a great many such animals provided with feet for walking. They are amphibians, living either in the water or on land; for example, seals, crocodiles and water-horses. The latter are called hippopotamuses from the fact that they are generated in a river, in this case, the Nile. These animals do not walk, however, when they are in deep water. Rather, by using their feet they are able by swimming to propel themselves forward; not, however, as one would perform the act of walking. The animal makes progress as one would with the use of an oar, just as a boat glides along with the help of oars and ‘ploughs the waters with its keel.’⁵

Chapter 2

‘Let the waters abound with life,’ said the Lord—a brief statement, but a significant one and one that is widely effective in endowing with their nature the smallest and the largest animals without distinction. The whale, as well as the frog, came into existence at the same time by the same creative power. Without effort does God produce the greatest things. He is not averse to creating the least.⁶ Nature is not in pain when she gives birth to dolphins, just as she is not in pain when she produces tiny animals like snails and purple-fish.

Take note of the fact that there are far more animals in the sea than on land. Count, if you can, all the species of fish from the smallest to the greatest, for example, the cuttlefish, the polypus, the oyster, the sea and river crab, and even the different types among these. What shall I say of the different species of serpent, of the dragon, the murena, and the eel?—not to mention the scorpions, the frogs, the tortoise, the mustela, also, and the sea-dog, the sea-calf, the monstrous shark,⁷ the dolphin, the seal, and the sea-lion. What need is there to add to our list the sea-ousel, the sea-thrush, and the sea-peacock, whose colors we see in the feathers of birds as, for example, the black ousel and the peacock with its varied colored back and neck; also in the feathers of the thrush with its spotted breast and in the feathers of the rest of the birds whose names and species belong to this earth of ours? These, as a matter of fact, came into existence in the seas and in the multitudinous rivers, since the waters at the divine command were the first to produce ‘creeping creatures having life.’

Add to this the beneficence of God whereby what we cherish in the water is an object of fear on land. This is true, because what is harmful on land is in water without harm—even the water-snakes are bereft of poison. The lion is a terrifying animal on land; he is gentle in the water. The murena, which is said to be somewhat harmful, is a choice table food. The frog is repellent when in the marshes, is pleasing when in water, and excels all in its deliciousness as food. If you desire to know more on this subject, make enquiry of fishermen in different localities, for no one person can possibly know all there is to know.

Be on your guard, of course, against dogs; even those in the sea. These the Apostle instructs us to beware of and to avoid even in the Church: ‘Beware of the dogs, beware of the evil-workers.’⁸ The mustela (marten), which on land is malodorous, is sweet-smelling in the sea. As a land animal it is capable of defending itself by its odor; as a marine animal, it affords no less pleasure when caught than when it is free.

I shall not refrain from addressing by name the thymallus,⁹ endowed with the name of a flower. Wherever you are found, whether in the waters of the Ticino or of the beautiful Adige, a flower you are. A more forceful testimony to the fact that you give forth a sweet odor lies in the facetious remark: You smell like a fish or a flower. According to usage, therefore, the odor of the fish is identical with that of the flower. What is more pleasing than your appearance, more delightful than your sweetness, and more fragrant than your odor? You emit from your body an odor which may well be compared to that of honey.¹⁰

What shall I say of the tender qualities of the ravens and wolves of the sea? These wolves do not inspire fear in lambs. Such is the charm of water that its sea-lions flee from the sea-calves, as follows from the prophetic utterance on the sanctity of the Church: ‘Then the wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion and the ox shall eat straw.’¹¹ This is not to be wondered at, since even in the Church the effect of water [of baptism] is such that the guilt of the wicked, once it is washed away, has become assimilated to innocence.

Why should I make mention here, also, of the purple of kings which adorn their banquet halls and give color to their garments? What is venerated in kings is a gift of water;¹² of water, too, is the brilliance of their array. Add to this fact that the sea-pig was esteemed by the Jews, because there is nothing impure which water does not make clean. For this reason, that which is not in the same status as the land animal they cannot consider to be impure.

Chapter 3

Innumerable are the ways, innumerable, too, are the species of fish. Various kinds¹³ of larger fish, such as trout, produce eggs. They entrust these seeds to the fostering care of the waters. The water, therefore, like a fond mother of living things, gives them breath and life and carries out the function, as if it were a perpetual one, provided by the first primal law. Others, such as the female of the mustela, produce from their bodies living offspring. This is true of the sea-dogs and the monstrous whales, the dolphins, seals, and others of that species. If, perchance, when they have brought forth their offspring, they have a presentiment of some situation of extreme danger, in order to protect their youthful progeny and to allay their panic, they have recourse to the following manifestation of maternal affection. Opening their mouths, they cause their offspring to attach themselves to their teeth, which in this case cause no harm. It is related, also, that they receive and hide their offspring within their bodies, even within the womb that bore them.

What human emotion can compare with this devotion on the part of fish for their progeny? We are satisfied to offer a kiss. It is not sufficient for them to open their wombs to receive their young. They invite them back without inflicting harm and reanimate them by the fostering heat of their bodies. They restore them by their breath, so that they live as two in one body. This they do until conditions are safe for their young or while by the interposition of their bodies they are able to defend their own brood from the perils which lie in wait for them. Who on beholding this devotion would not, even though he were able to attain it, consider himself to be their inferior by far? Who would not in his wonder be astonished that nature should retain among fishes that quality which men have lost? Many men have slain their long-wanted sons because of suspicion and hate of a step-mother. Others, as we read,¹⁴ have eaten the flesh of their own children. A mother became the tomb of her own dear ones, whereas the womb of the parent fish serves as a sort of rampart to protect the innocent fosterlings sheltered within her womb.¹⁵

Different species of fish, therefore, follow diverse customs. Some produce eggs; others give birth to offspring alive and already formed. Those which produce eggs do not, as birds do, build a nest. They do not undergo the fatigue resulting from an extended period of brooding; they do not at great discomfort to themselves give nourishment to their young. The egg falls and is received in the womb of mother nature, who welcomes it as a fond nurse would, quickly forming it into a living being by the exercise of fostering care. No sooner is the egg given life by the touch of the parent that it falls and fish issues forth.

And then what pure and untarnished generations follow without intermingling one after another, so that a thymallus produces a thymallus; a sea-wolf, a sea-wolf. The sea-scorpion, too, preserves unstained its marriage bed. Thus it shares in the chastity of its species, but not in its poisonous qualities, for the sea-scorpion does not sting. On the contrary, it has curative qualities.

Fish, therefore, know nothing of union with alien species. They do not have unnatural betrothals such as are designedly brought about between animals of two different species as, for instance, the donkey and the mare, or again the female donkey and the horse, both being examples of unnatural union. Certainly there are cases in which nature suffers more in the nature of defilement rather than that of injury to the individual. Man as an abettor of hybrid barrenness is responsible for this. He considers a mongrel animal more valuable than one of a genuine species. You mix together alien species and you mingle diverse seeds. You go to the extent of frequently forcing animals to a forbidden copulation—all this in the name of ‘efficiency.’ And because you cannot cause in man a lack of fecundity by a mingling of species, you take from man that with which he was born—you take what is virile from man and deny him the use of his sexual organs. In this way you make a man a eunuch, so effecting by your audacity what is denied to man by nature.

How good a mother water can be we can learn from the considerations that I here propose. Man has taught that parents should repudiate their sons; he has taught separations, hates, and injuries. For your benefit learn of the close ties between parents and children.

Fish cannot live without water. They cannot endure separation from the association with their parents and from the nourishment provided for them. Nature has so ordained it that they die immediately when they are separated from their element. They do not live, as other animals do, by breathing this air of ours. Nature has not furnished them with the means of respiration; otherwise, they would not be able to keep living under water without breathing in air. Our air corresponds to their water. Just as air provides for us the means of living, water for them serves a similar function. Life leaves us the instant our organs for breathing are cut off, because we cannot even for a brief moment be deprived of the breath of life. When deprived of their sustenance in water, fish, too, cease to live.

The reasons for this are clear. We have lungs which receive the air as it enters through the larger passages of the thorax. Being permeated with numerous pores, the lungs are able by the infusion of air to cool the internal heat. When the thorax receives nutriment, it separates what is superfluous from the health-giving juices and the blood; so, too, the lung is accessible in order that the intake of air may all the more readily reach it. Fish are furnished with gills which sometimes fold up and close, at other times expand and open up. In the process of closing and opening, the function of respiration is carried out as water is received and transmitted within.

Fish, therefore, have their own peculiar nature, which is not shared with other animals. They have distinctive habits and find their material for sustaining life in a very special and alien substance. Wherefore they do not receive nourishment from man and do not find, as land animals do, any pleasure and delight from the touch of man’s hand, not even if they are kept alive in private fish-ponds.

Chapter 5

What shall I say about the closely packed arrangement of the teeth of fish? They do not have what sheep and oxen possess, partial denture on one side of their gums. Rather, they are armed with teeth on both sides, because, if they delay in the act of swallowing their food in water, their prey could easily be washed and carried away by the water’s action. For that reason their teeth are closely-packed and sharp so as to be able to bite and dispatch quickly their food and swallow it easily without delay. Hence, they do not chew the cud, as the scarus is said to do, if we are to believe those who either by chance or design have come to know such matters.

To be sure, not even these have been able to escape experiencing acts of violence imposed on them by their fellows. The weaker everywhere are subject to the greed of the more powerful. The weaker one is, the more is he an object of prey. Many, it is true, feed on herbs and tiny worms, but there are those, also, who devour each other and feed on their own flesh. The lesser among them is the food of the greater and the greater in his turn is attacked by one stronger than he. The one who uses another as his prey becomes the food of still another. So it comes to pass that he who has devoured one fish is devoured in turn by another. They both meet in the same belly: the devourer and the devoured. The result is that together in the same entrails there is fellowship of victor and avenger.¹⁶

In their case, perhaps, this violent way of living has grown from inner compulsion, whereas with us it springs from avarice, not from nature. Again, fish are given to man for his use. They also constitute for us a pattern of the vices to be observed in our society. They serve, too, as an example to be avoided, lest the attack of the stronger on the weaker may present an occasion for the former to be exposed in turn to the violence of one who is still more powerful than he. In this way the person who does injury to another prepares for himself a snare for his own ultimate destruction.

Those of you who attack another with deadly intent and those of you who drown the weak and pursue your victim even into the depths follow the example of this sort of fish. Be on your guard, while you are in pursuit of him, against an attack of a still stronger foe. The person who escapes your trap may well lead you into another. While he is in dread of the calamity in store for himself, your misfortune may first come before his eyes.

What is the difference between a rich man driven by his wicked lusts to absorb the patrimony of the weak and the fish called silurus whose belly is filled with the blood and flesh of smaller fish? ‘The rich man died’¹⁷ and his spoils were of no use to him. Why, even the infamy of his deeds of depredation have made his name a by-word. The silurus is taken and the futility of his predatory acts is revealed. How many are the fish found here who have themselves devoured others! And you, rich man, have in your conscience the fate of one who preyed on another, who had himself come into possession of a poor man’s patrimony. In ruining him you added two patrimonies to your possessions, yet you are not satisfied. You say that you are taking vengeance on others when you are performing the same deed for which you are seeking vengeance. Thus, you are more unjust than the unjust, more iniquitous than the iniquitous, more avaricious than the avaricious! See that you do not come to the same end as the fish. Beware of the hook and the net!

But you do not anticipate any resistance to your power. The silurus did not foresee that someone would throw out a fish-hook or stretch out a net. He believed that, if he were caught in the net, he would be able to break through it. Still he did not escape the fisherman’s trident. He became enmeshed in bonds that were too strong to permit him to escape. Without a doubt, the more serious the iniquities which he commits, the more difficult is it for a person to escape his crimes, until one day he is forced to pay for his evil deeds the debt which is certainly difficult for him to avoid.

Chapter 6

We are justified, therefore, in comparing man to a fish. Listen to the reason for that statement: ‘And the kingdom of heaven is like to a net cast into the sea that gathered in fish of every kind. When it was filled, they hauled it out and sitting down on the beach, they gathered the good fish into vessels, but threw away the bad. So will it be at the end of the world. The angels will go out and separate the wicked from among the just and will cast them into the furnace of fire.’¹⁸

Fish, then, are either good or bad. The good are preserved for their reward; the bad are straightway burned. The good fish is not ensnared by the net, but is lifted up. He is not slain or killed by the hook, but is suffused with the blood of a precious wound. In his mouth is found the good price by which the apostolic tribute and the tax due to Christ may be paid.¹⁹ For thus is it written in the words of the Lord: ‘From whom do the kings of the earth receive tribute or customs; from their own sons or from others? And Peter replied: “from others.” The Lord said: “Go to the sea and cast a hook and take the first fish that comes up. And opening its mouth thou wilt find a stater; take that and give it to them for me and for thee.” ’²⁰

Do not, then, hold in fear, my good fish, the hook of Peter. It does not kill. Rather, it consecrates. Do not underestimate yourself because your body is weak. You have in your mouth something which may serve as an offering for Peter and for Christ. Do not hold in fear the nets of Peter, to whom Jesus speaks:²¹ ‘Put out into the deep and lower your nets for a catch.’ He does not throw out his net on the left, but on the right side as was commanded by Christ. Do not have fear for his catch, because it was to him that was said: ‘Henceforth thou shalt catch men alive.’ He threw out his net, therefore, and caught Stephen, who in the Gospel was the first to arise having in his mouth a stater of justice. Whence he called out with sure confession of faith: ‘Behold I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.’²² The Lord Jesus is a true representative of this fish, for He knew that in the mouth of the fish there was the tribute of His tax. Stephen, a generous witness of his faith, fulfilled the judgment and the teaching of Peter on him as well as the grace of Christ by a glorious martyrdom.

Chapter 7

Do not be troubled by the fact that I have compared the Gospel to a sea. The sea is the Gospel on which Christ walked. It is the Gospel on which Peter, with the support of Christ’s right hand, discovered a defense for his faith and the grace of stability, although he swerved from the way by denying Him. And it is precisely from the Gospel that Stephen arose. The Gospel is the sea in which the Apostles fish, into which is cast the net which is like the kingdom of heaven.²³ The Gospel is the sea in which the mysteries of Christ are revealed. The Gospel is the sea by which the Hebrew made his escape and the Egyptian was overwhelmed and slain.²⁴ The Gospel is the sea, because the Church is the bride of Christ and is also the plenitude of divine grace, which is poured over the seas, as the Prophet said: ‘He hath founded it upon the seas.’²⁵ Man should immerse himself in the waters, because he is in truth a fish. Let not the floods of this world overwhelm you. If there is a storm, make for the high seas and the depths. If the weather is calm, play in the waves. If a tempest should come, beware lest the seething waters drive you on the rocky shore, for it is written: ‘Be therefore wise as serpents.’²⁶

Since the example of the cunning serpent has been offered, let us be cunning, also, in regard to entrance into the state of matrimony and to remaining therein. Let us love this mutual association which has become our lot. If those who have at the time of their births lived in entirely different regions yet agree to live together, if it happens that the husband should undertake a trip to a foreign land, no distance or abstinence should diminish the cherished love of the pair. The same law binds the present and the absent; the same bond of nature cements together the rights of conjugal love between the absent as well as between the present. The necks of both parties are linked together in the same beneficent yoke, even if one of them should find himself in regions entirely remote, because both parties share in the yoke of grace which is one of the spirit, not of the body.

When the viper, the deadliest kind of animal and the most cunning of the whole species of serpents, evinces a desire for copulation, he searches for a sea-murena already known to him or he seeks for a new mate. Proceeding toward the shore, he makes his presence known by a hissing sound, whereby he invites conjugal embrace. The sea-murena does not repulse the appeal and yields to the poisonous serpent the desired enjoyment of their conjugal bond.

What is the purpose of such a discussion as this, if it does not mean that we should put up with our married partner and, if he is away from home, that we should await his return to his family? Although he may be cruel, deceitful, uncouth, wayward, and drunken, can this be more intolerable than the poison which is no obstacle to the sea-murena in dealing with her mate? When invited, she does not fail to respond and embraces the slimy serpent with great affection. The male endures your defects and your feminine levities. Can you not bear with your husband? Adam was deceived by Eve, not Eve by Adam.²⁷ It is right that he whom the woman enticed to do wrong should assume the office of guide, lest he fall once more because of feminine instability.

But he is repugnant and uncouth! Yes, but he pleased you at one time. Do you think that a husband should be chosen more than once? The ox and the horse look for and cherish their mates, and, if a substitution takes place, they are unable to carry the yoke together. They feel that they do not form an integral part of the team. You repudiate your yoke-mate and think that a frequent change should be made. If one day he fails you, you bring in a rival and straightway without knowing why, yet knowingly, you do violence to your sense of modesty.

The viper searches for his absent mate, calls to her with a hiss of invitation. When he feels his mate approaching, he spits forth the poison with due regard for his consort and the nuptial rite. Why do you repel your husband coming back from a far country? The viper gazes upon the sea in an endeavor to find his consort. You put obstacles in the path of your husband. You stir up the poison of litigation. You reject him and in the conjugal embrace emit dread poison, scorning your husband and putting to shame your nuptial bond.

As for the man—for we can apply this example to him, also: lay aside the inordinate emotions of your heart and the rudeness of your manners when you meet your patient wife. Get rid of your obstinacy when your gentle consort offers you her love. You are not a master, but a husband. You have not acquired perchance a handmaid, but a wife. God designed you to be a guide to the weaker sex, not a dictator. Be a sharer in her activities. Be a sharer in her love. The viper pours forth his poison; can you not get rid of your hardness of heart? Although you have by nature a severity of character, you ought to temper it in consideration of your married state and control your tendency to rudeness by holding in respect your conjugal relationship.

There are occasions for sin. Do not seek the bed that belongs to another. Do not by guile enter into another union. Adultery is a grievous offense. It does violence to nature. At the beginning God formed two creatures, Adam and Eve; that is, man and wife. He formed woman from the man; this is, from the rib of Adam. He bade them both to live in one body and in one spirit. Why, then, do you cleave one body apart? Why do you divide one spirit? That is an adulterous offense against nature. It is a lesson which is taught us by the willing union of sea-murena and viper, a union not grounded on similarity of species, but on ardent desire. Give ear, men! He who desires association with such a serpent may be likened to one who seeks occasion to have adulterous relations with another man’s wife. It can be said that he has the very traits of a serpent. He hastens to the viper who embraces him in the devious ways of lubricity, not in the righteous ways of love. He hastens to one who takes up again his poison like the viper and who is said to consume again the poison, once the act of copulation has been completed. The adulterer is like a viper. Hence Solomon says that when a man is intoxicated his passions are aroused. His body is swollen as if bitten by a snake and his poison is spread abroad like a basilisk’s. That you may realize that he has spoken of an adulterer, he added these words: ‘Thy eyes shall behold strange women and thy mouth shall utter perverse things.’²⁸

Do not form the opinion that we have based our argument on contradictions, in that we have made use of the example of a viper in order to point both a good and a bad moral. It serves the purposes of instruction to bring forward a two-fold consideration. On the one hand, we are like the serpent in being ashamed to be loyal to our beloved. Again, by severing the bonds of holy matrimony we prefer the harmful and the lubricous, as in the case of union with a serpent, to what is really and truly salutary.

Chapter 8

As we have entered upon a discussion on the trait of craftiness, whereby a man strives to circumvent and deceive his brother and to contrive new ways of deception, thus trapping by guile and trickery a person whom he cannot overcome by force, it is not my intention to overlook the well-known deceitful character of the polypus. This animal, coming upon a rock on a shallow coast, fixes itself firmly on it. At the same time, it assumes by subtle art the color of the rock and conceals its back in a similar fashion. In this manner a great number of fish, unsuspecting any fraud and innocently believing that what they see is a rock, are taken into this artfully contrived trap to be waylaid by the tentacles of the polypus.

The prey thus makes its approach without external compulsion. It is captured by such methods as one would expect of those who often change their nature and stir up diverse means of ill,²⁹ so as to tempt the minds and hearts of all severally. Some boast of their continence when in converse with the continent. Associating with the intemperate, they show themselves to be devoid of chastity and to wallow in the troughs of intemperance. Those who see or hear them yield easily to their influence and for that reason soon fall into temptation, being unable to turn aside or avoid what is likely to injure them. Weakness, when cloaked in the veil of benignity, can inflict harm of a more serious nature. And so we should be aware of those who extend the tentacles of their deceit far and wide or those who assume various shapes. These people are like the polypus that has manifold entanglements and many astute ways by which it can ensnare whatever falls into the rocky shores wherein we are beguiled.

What tricks are displayed by the crab in its eager search for food! The oyster is a special objective in its quest for a delicious banquet. But its eagerness for food is tempered by its sense of the possibility of being involved in danger, for the chase is as difficult as it is perilous. Its difficulty lies in the fact that the flesh of its victim is enclosed in a shell of more than usual solidity. Just as in compliance with divine power the delicacy of the flesh of its prey has been stoutly defended by nature which nourishes and fosters it in the form of an encircling rampart, so all in vain are the crab’s attacks, because the closed oyster cannot be opened by any display of force. There is the danger, too, that the oyster may hook it in its claws. Therefore, the crab resorts to artifice and contrives new ways of waylaying its prey.

Accordingly, since every living being is attracted by sentiments of pleasure, the crab looks for an occasion when the oyster, finding a place protected from the wind and within range of the sun’s rays, opens wide its double doors and unbars the bolts of its shell in order to enjoy to the full the open air. At that moment the crab, by stealthily injecting a pebble within the shell of the oyster, prevents it from being closed. Having acquired an entrance in this manner, the crab inserts its claws without danger to itself and devours the flesh within the shell.

There are men who, like the crab, exercise surreptitiously their guile on others and fortify their own weaknesses by the use of certain inherent characteristics. Thus they weave a web of deceit around their brethren and find their sustenance in another’s anxieties.

Be content with what is your own and do not let your well-being be based on doing harm to your neighbor. You may find your livelihood in the simplicity of innocence. The man in possession of his own good knows nothing of waylaying others. He is not inflamed by the desires of the avaricious man, whose every gain is at the expense of virtue and a further incentive to cupidity. Therefore, ‘should he come to know his blessings,’³⁰ the poor man is truly happy who lives righteously in a manner which is to be preferred to all the treasures of the world, because ‘better a little with the fear of the Lord than great treasures without fear.’ How much under these circumstance does man need to support life? If you go beyond that little and seek that, also, which others find pleasure in possessing, that, too, has little to commend it: ‘It is better to be invited to herbs with love than to a fatted calf with hatred.’³¹

Let us use our talents, therefore, for the acquisition of grace and the attainment of salvation, not for the circumvention of others who harm us not. We may well make use of examples taken from the sea, not for the purpose of exposing others to danger, but to make ourselves more perfect in the way of salvation.

Chapter 9

The urchin, a tiny, common and despicable animal—I refer to the sea variety—is frequently used by navigators as a sign of a threatening storm or as a harbinger of clear weather. The reason for this lies in the fact that at the approach of a wind storm this little creature takes hold of a fairly large pebble and uses it as a sort of ballast or anchor so as to avoid being carried out of the water.³² Thus it balances and directs itself by means of an alien weight, not by its innate strength. This sign gives an indication to the sailor that a storm is brewing. Accordingly, he takes precautions lest the sudden approach of a hurricane may find him unprepared.

What follower of the occult sciences, astrologer, or Chaldean can reveal in a comparable way the course of the stars, the movement of the heavens, and of the zodiacal signs? By what natural instinct has the tiny creature acquired this art? What teacher has instructed it? Who served as its interpreter of augural lore? Men behold the turmoil in the air and are often deceived, because at times the winds rush in without bringing on a tempest. The sea-urchin is not beguiled. Never at any time do its special signs fail to bring results.

Whence did this tiny creature acquire such sure knowledge of the future? As there is nothing in the animal itself which can make possible such foreknowledge, be assured that it, too, has obtained the gift of prescience through the loving-kindness of the Lord of all things.

For, if God so clothes the grass of the field that we are struck with admiration; if He feeds the birds of the air;³³ ‘if he provides food for the raven, when her young ones cry to God’;³⁴ if He has given to women skill in the art of weaving; if the spider, who so artfully and delicately ‘hangs on the doorway her loose-woven nets,’³⁵ is not left bereft of wisdom; if He has given strength to the horse and sends forth terror from his mane, so that he exults in the field and laughs in the face of kings as he smells the battle afar off and is aroused by the sound of the trumpet³⁶—if He has filled with the largesse of His wisdom these manifold irrational creatures as well as the grass and lilies of the field,³⁷ who can doubt but that He has distributed this gift of foreknowledge also to the sea-urchin?

He has left nothing unexplored, nothing unrevealed. He sees all who nourishes all. He fills all things with wisdom who, as it is written, ‘has made all things in wisdom.’³⁸ And so, if He has not neglected the sea-urchin as beyond the range of His visitation; if He has care of it and moulds it so as to enable it to see signs of what is to come—if that is true, has He no care of you and yours? Surely He has, as He testifies in the words of His own holy Scripture: ‘Look at the birds of the air’; if He feeds them, ‘are not you of much more value than they’?³⁹ For, if God so clothes ‘the grass of the field which flourishes today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more you, O you of little faith?’⁴⁰

Chapter 10

Are we to suppose that fish without a special gift of nature possess also that instinct whereby each species has allotted to it a definite space which no one species may leave and into which no other species may enter? What geometer has plotted the bounds of these habitations, never at any time to be broken? We have heard of one who has measured land, never of one who has applied measurements to the sea. Yet fish know their own confines, which are not bounded by city walls, by gates, or by buildings; neither are they marked as in the boundaries of fields. But each has a terminal limit of space in accordance with its need, so that only so much is given to each as to satisfy completely its wants—not so much as its unregulated greed can claim for itself.

There is, if I may say so, a law of nature that one should seek only what suffices for nourishment and that the allotment ‘which thy fathers have set’⁴¹ should be in proportion to the need for food. One species of fish breeds and flourishes in one arm of the sea; another species, in another. Hence, you will not find different species of fish mixed together. What in one place is abundant is, contrariwise, lacking elsewhere. This bay is the haunt of the cephali. In another bay we find the sea-wolves. In still another live certain species of crustaceans. Each is not free to wander as it pleases, yet the passage is not impeded by intervening mountain ranges nor by river channels. Rather, by force of habit each one is by nature constrained to keep itself within the bounds of its native habitat and to consider suspect a fish that leaves the regions of its fellows.

But for us, men, there are far different sentiments. We desire change for various reasons: a wish for travel, for release from daily associations. We long for the approval of strangers and to remove the age-long boundaries which our ancestors have set up, adding estate to estate, household to household.

The earth alone does not suffice. We use the sea itself for our foundations. On the other hand, in compliance with individual whims, the land is excavated and sea water is brought in so as to form islands or straits for men’s use.⁴² Men claim the sea for themselves by right of ownership and boast that they have subjected fishes like slaves to a condition of servitude. This, they say, is my bay; that one belongs to another. Like sovereigns, they divide the elements among themselves. For some people, oysters are bred in water. For others, fish are enclosed in a fish pond.

The sea does not suffice for their luxuriant living. They must have reserve stores of oysters. They keep a reckoning of the age of each oyster bed. Receptacles are built for the fish in case the rich man’s table may not be replenished from the sea. How they are all ears when the word ‘neighbor’ is mentioned! How eagerly will they gaze on his possessions! What plans enter their minds day and night to take something away from their neighbors! ‘Shall they alone dwell in the midst of the earth?’ exclaims the Prophet.⁴³ The Lord is aware of this and waits to punish them.

How alien to the fish is this monstrous greed! Men seek after what is remote in the realm of nature. They are familiar with the seas beyond the bounds of the known world. There no islands intervene, nor are there bodies of land either in that region or situated beyond that point. For that reason, in that place where the wide extent of water precludes every desire to gaze upon it and every sentiment of boldness to sail thereon for the sake of gain, there the whale is said to have his lair. There, too, live a huge species of fish, reported to be mountainous in size by those who have ventured to approach and see them. This huge fish lives tranquilly there, remote from islands and uncontaminated by the nearness of port towns. They have their separate habitats and locations all their own. They are unaffected by the presence of neighboring boundaries and do not desire frequent change of place and to flit aimlessly to and fro.⁴⁴ Rather, they cherish their habitat as their native land and consider it a delight to dwell therein.⁴⁵ They have selected these regions in order to pass their lives in solitary fashion, remote from interference and from contact with other creatures.

There is another species of fish which changes its location, not because of natural instability, but from the necessity of spawning. They formulate a plan and design to reach a certain place at a time of the year which is right and opportune. Gathering together, as if with joint purpose, from many places and from diverse inlets of the sea, they go out in search of the north wind, swimming in massed array. Impelled, as it were, by a law of nature, they hasten to their familiar haunts in the northern regions. If you were to behold this huge school of fish on the move, you would have the impression of encountering an ocean current—such is the force of their onward rush through the waters, such is their mad desire to reach the Black Sea through the straits of Propontis.

Who announces these places, who prescribes these seasons for the fish? Who has arranged their itinerary for them, their plan for mass movement, their destination, and the time of their return? Men, of course, have their commanders whose orders are waited, whose watchwords are agreed upon, whose edicts are made known to the people of the provinces for the purposes of assembly, and whose dispatches are sent to the military tribunes, fixing the day—notwithstanding all these preparations, many people find it impossible to come on the appointed days. What commanding officer has given the order? What teacher has given this instruction, what surveyor has plotted the journey, what guide has led the way, so that no obstacle is encountered?

But I am aware of the identity of the Commander, who by reason of divine dispensation infuses His orders in the senses of all created things, who, without the use of words, allows mute animals to follow the directions of natural instinct. His instruction reaches even to the smallest creatures; it is not limited to the largest. Fishes follow a divine law, whereas men contravene it. Fishes duly comply with the celestial mandates, but men make void the precepts of God. Because a fish is mute and deprived of reason, is it, therefore, an object of contempt in your eyes? See to it that you do not begin to be more contemptible to yourself, if you prove yourself to be more irrational than the irrational creatures.

What is more rational than this migration of fish, a procedure which becomes less intelligible as we recount it than it is when we look at the facts themselves. They advance in summer time to the straits of the Black Sea because the water in this region is sweeter than in others. The sun does not linger in those waters as long as it does elsewhere. There is not, therefore, a loss of sweet and drinkable water. Who is not aware of the fact that marine animals often find delight in fresh water? Hence it happens that different species of fish are frequently caught while they are on the way to spawn in the upper reaches of a river.

This, therefore, may be the reason why they manifest preference for the Black Sea. It may well be, too, that the prevailing north wind tempers the summer heat there. Again, they select that region as a more suitable one for the task of bringing up their offspring. Their young, in fact, can hardly endure exposure to the vicissitudes of a different climate. The gentle clemency of the climate in that locality fosters their growth. Accordingly, when their objective is achieved, all return together to the point from which they departed.

Let us reflect on the reason for this. The Black Sea forms a body of water which is exposed to the north wind and to other winds of the most violent nature. Hence, when a severe storm rages and tempests are brewing in that region, sand is churned up from the deep, as the turbidness of the water there gives proof. This condition is intensified by the force of the wind. The water becomes more dense and presents, we can be sure, an intolerable situation not only for sailors, but even for animal life in the sea. An additional reason is offered by the condition of the Black Sea itself. Into it flow numerous and mighty rivers. Hence, this body of water is very cold in the winter season and freezes over, augmented by the continual inflow. Wherefore the fish, acting like supreme lords of the waters, seek to take advantage of the cooler air there in the summer season. When they have enjoyed this pleasant temperature, they hasten back once more in order to avoid the wintry blasts. So they flee from the bitter weather of the northern regions and take themselves into other bodies of water where the winds are kindlier and calmer or where a more temperate sun can bring spring-like weather.

The fish knows ‘the time to be born.’⁴⁶ Solomon in his wisdom declared this to be a great mystery, this knowledge of the time to go and the time to return, the time for performance and the time for change. Fish are not deceived in this knowledge, because they follow an instinct of nature, the true teacher of loyal devotion, and not the deliberations of reason and rhetorical argumentation. Hence, all living creatures have a prescribed time for bringing forth offspring. By man alone are such times undetermined and ill-planned. The other creatures seek out a season of clement weather. It falls to women alone to give birth in seasons of inclemency. An unsettled and arbitrary desire to produce offspring leads to an uncertain time for childbirth.

Fish cross over so many seas in order to bestow some benefit on their species. We, too, cross over manifold seas. But how much more commendable is a voyage which is undertaken, not for the sake of material profit, but for the love of one’s offspring! Loyal devotion is the propelling motive in their case. In our case the motive is commercial gain. They bring back with them their own progeny, more precious to them than any kind of merchandise. Urged by a dire lust for gain, we bring back a cargo that is far from atoning for the dangers involved. They make an effort to reach their home, while we abandon it. They, as a result of their migration, acquire an addition to their species. We, on the other hand, in the course of navigation are subject to a decrease.

When we behold this preparation made with such keenness of instinct for a ritualistic migration to the north for the production of a numerous progeny, and again when we note that other marine animals possess such power in their tiny bodies that they are able to bring to a stop mighty ships sailing along under full sail, who would then deny that such an instinct and capacity have been infused in them by a divine power? We have reference here to a little fish called echeneis, which is said to slow up without effort a huge ship. The vessel seems to be adrift and, as it were, rooted in the sea, for at times this fish keeps the ship motionless. Do you suppose that this marine animal has such potential power without the aid of divine intervention?

What shall I say of the sword-fish, the saw-fish, the sea-dog, the whale, or the hammer-fish? What shall I say of the turtle which inflicts a sting even when dead? Just as a person who treads on the still palpitating head of a viper is said to suffer a more serious injury—in fact, an incurable wound⁴⁷—than he would from poison, so, too, a turtle when dead is reported to inflict a more dangerous wound from its sting than it does when alive. Again, the hare, which is a timid animal on land, is formidable as a sea animal and causes infection which spreads rapidly and is not easily cured. The Creator has so ordained it that not even at sea are you to be quite safe from lurking perils. Because of these few harmful creatures you should take your stand like a sentry on guard, armed always with the weapons of faith and the shield of devotion, awaiting the protection of your Lord.

Chapter 11

We wish, now, to return to the Atlantic Ocean. What whales are found there, of huge bulk and measureless size! If they were to float on the surface of the sea, you would imagine that they were islands or extremely high mountains whose peaks reach to the sky! These animals are said to appear, not on the coast or on shore, but in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. To catch sight of them sailors are enticed to risk navigation within those regions. But these elemental mysteries are not likely to be faced without experiencing mortal terror!

Now let us rise upward from the depths of the sea. Let our discourse emerge a little therefrom and take itself to higher regions. Let us take note of matters which are pleasing in themselves and which also have come under the observation of many people. We hear of water changing into masses of salt so solid that an axe is frequently required to cut it. In fact, we do not need to marvel at what is reported of salt in Britain. This takes on the appearance and the dazzling splendor of marble itself and, in addition, is a salutary aid to bodily needs of food and drink. Note, too, how the not unpleasing coral is only a sea plant which, when exposed to the air, becomes solid as a stone. We see how nature has inserted in the oyster a highly valuable pearl, which by the action of sea water has become a solid particle within the oyster’s soft flesh. Wealth which is hardly attainable by kings lies open to common gaze along our shores. It is found in, and gathered from, rugged rock and cliff.

Water also produces a ‘golden fleece’ and the sea coasts are the source of a wool which is similar in appearance to the metal just mentioned. Its color has not been duplicated up to now by those who apply to woolen goods different types of dye. For that reason human ingenuity is unable to compete with the natural products of the sea. We are aware of the care and attention given to the less costly sheep’s wool. No matter how perfect it is, under no circumstances do we find wool that comes naturally dyed. Here is a color that is natural—a color never yet approached by the application of dyes. And to think that this [golden] fleece is a fish! Moreover, the shell-fish that yields the purple which distinguishes a king is itself a marine animal.

What delightful scenes in meadow or garden can equal the prospect of a light blue sea? Your flowers may flash forth a golden hue, but the wool of the sea has its golden refulgence, too! Whereas the colors of the flowers quickly fade, the other retains its hue for many a day! From afar we note the lily’s brilliance in the garden. From afar, too, we see the flashing sails of the ships. A breath of perfume follows one; a breeze, the other. What use does a leaf supply to equal the advantage of the commerce of ships at sea? Lilies give us sweet odors for the pleasure of our senses, whereas sailing ships bring sustenance for mankind.

Add to this the picture of the flying fish and the frolicking dolphin. Moreover, there is the additional delight in the roar of the resounding billows, in the sight of ships flitting to shore or sailing out to sea. ‘Even as when from the barriers the chariots stream forth’⁴⁸—what an occasion for delight and enthusiasm on the part of the spectators! Yet, in contrast to the ships of commerce, the steed runs to no purpose. The latter, because devoid of cargo, runs in vain.⁴⁹ The other has its holds filled with sustenance for men.

What is more to be desired than what is speeded along, not by the impulse of a whip, but by a breeze, where there is nothing to hinder one’s progress, where all is favorable, and where no one who reaches his goal is a loser.⁵⁰ All the boats which come to land are given a wreath. The palm is the prize for a successful voyage and victory is the reward for their homecoming. What a difference between the outgoing course and the return! One shows a cautious pace. The other is affected by the urge to make the goal. Add to this the sight of the shore with its line of boats awaiting a breeze from the skies as a signal for the start. Whereas the charioteer at the conclusion of his race is granted mere empty applause, the boatmen take part in giving thanks for their safe return.

How shall I adequately speak of Jonas, whom the whale swallowed to grant him life and to return him to his activity as a prophet? The water restored to him the understanding which the earth had taken away. He who grieved when on land began to sing psalms in the belly of the whale. Again, the redemption of both elements is not lost sight of. The salvation of the earth had its forerunner in the sea, because the marvelous act of Jonas stands for that of the Son of Man. As Jesus lay ‘in the heart of the earth,’⁵¹ so was Jonas in the whale’s belly. There is salvation in both elements. However, the sea furnishes a more significant example of piety, since a fish gave welcome to him whom men had repelled and has preserved, in the person of Jonas, Him whom men have crucified. Peter, too, weakened when on the sea,⁵² but he did not fall. What he had admitted on the waters, however, he denied on land.⁵³ And so, in the former occasion he was accorded a hand-clap as to one who was loyal; in the latter case, because of his forgetfulness, he was met with a look of rebuke.⁵⁴

But now let us request the Lord that our words, like those of Jonas, be cast on the land and not be suffered to float any longer on the sea. And it was well that the gourd-vine sprang up so as to shield us from misfortunes. But the earth, now parched by the advancing sun, warns us to seek rest, lest our minds begin to suffer from the earth’s heat and our words, too, may fail us. Be assured that water has been given to us, more than it was to the Ninevites, as a source for the remission of sins.⁵⁵

The Eighth Homily: Chapter 12

He remained silent for a little while and then resumed his discourse.

We have shied away, beloved brethren, from the necessity of dealing with birds, and our discussion on this subject might have taken wing along with the birds! It follows, somehow, as a natural consequence that those who hold some object in view or who desire to give expression to it in words are apt to take on the qualities of that which they behold or of that which they express orally. The result is that we linger, when exposed to what is more than usually inactive, and our observation takes on speed with the swift action of the object in view. This variability extends, also, to the area of literary style. Accordingly, at the moment when I am on my guard lest objects sunk deep in the sea may escape my observation—at such a moment the entire race of winged creatures has already escaped my ken. While I was bent over in diligent examination of the lowest depths of the sea, I paid no heed to the aerial flights of birds and not even the shadow of ‘nimble wings’⁵⁶ flashing in the waters has caused me to verge from my task.

In fact, when I arrived at the point where I believed that I had exhausted my subject, and when I felt that I had completed the fifth day, this reflection came into my mind: It is customary for the birds at nesting time ‘to charm the sky with song,’⁵⁷ in joy that their allotted task is done. This usually happens, following, as it were, a ritual pattern, at dawn and at sunset, when the birds sing the praises of their Creator, at the moment of transition from day to night or from night to day. By such an omission I would have lost a mighty incentive for arousing our religious devotion. For what person of natural human sensibility would not blush to terminate the day without a ritual singing of the psalms, since even the tiniest bird ushers in the approach of day and night with customary devotion of sweet song?

Let us return, therefore, to a discussion of the winged flock. We have almost lost sight of them as, like eagles they have taken flight, and hidden themselves amid the clouds. We realize that our pen should be recalled to the task when our eyes, laved in the waters, reached from the sea upwards to the sky and there beheld the birds ‘borne through the empty air.’⁵⁸ You who are snarers of my words will act as judges as to whether they have flown off with better purpose or whether they have fallen into your nets to add to your good fortune.

I am not disturbed in my discussion on birds by any possibility of boredom in your part—a boredom which was not in evidence when I examined the depths. Otherwise, some of us would have nodded off during my sermon, only to be awakened by the song of birds. But I surely have no doubt that those who kept awake amid the mute company of fish will be unable to fall asleep when the birds sing, such is their charm to inspire wakefulness. A subject which might well have been passed over in our treatment of the third part of created living beings should not, in fact, be regarded as an indifferent one. The fact that there are three races of living creatures those of the earth, the air, and the water—is not open to doubt. Therefore it has been written: ‘Let the waters bring forth reptiles, living creatures according to their kind, and winged creatures, flying over the earth along the firmament of heaven, each according to its kind.’⁵⁹

We are recalled to our previous theme like forgetful travelers who, because they have heedlessly passed their destination, are compelled to return. He, however, is a good traveler who makes up for the loss of time involved in retracing his steps by corresponding speed in the rest of his journey. I believe that I should act especially in this way now that I have come to the subject of birds, whose speedy flight often dazzles the eyes of men.⁶⁰ Why should one see fit to linger in those subjects in which swiftness generally brings pleasure? Let our discussion get on its pathless and unwonted way of literary composition. Let it resound and ‘ring with the musical song of birds.’⁶¹

But where shall I find the swan’s song which gives us pleasure when sung in moments of grave danger, even to the point of imminent death? Where shall we find those strains of natural chant which emanate even from marshy regions—strains of most tuneful and delightful music? Where shall I find the voice of the parrot and the sweet song of the blackbird? Would that the nightingale were to give forth a song to arouse a sleeper from his slumber! That is the bird accustomed to signal the rising of the sun at dawn and to spread abroad joy more penetrating than morning light. Still, if sweetness is lacking to their song, we have with us the moaning turtle-dove, the cooing pigeon,⁶² and ‘the raven who with deep tones calls down the rain.’⁶³ Wherefore let us illustrate as far as we can in our discourse the ‘haunts of the birds’⁶⁴ in the countryside, relying on the knowledge which we have garnered from rustic folk.

Chapter 13

Now that we have discussed creeping creatures in the water, it is a highly difficult task to transfer our discourse at a moment’s notice upwards to the birds in the sky. Let us, then, first speak of these birds which frequent the seas and the rivers. With their aid we can emerge. Accordingly, let us begin our discussion with the halcyon. This is a sea bird that is to be found bringing up her young on the shore, depositing her eggs in the sand about mid-winter. This is the time allotted for the hatching, when the sea is at its stormiest and the waves make their most destructive inroads on the shore. Wherefore the graciousness of this bird should appear all the more evident because of the periodic and unexpected recurrence of calm weather, because atmospheric conditions suddenly take on a milder tinge at the moment when the eggs are laid, when the sea is still stormy. The stormy blasts and violent winds subside while the halcyon broods over her eggs, ‘when the sea was at peace and still.’⁶⁵ The eggs are hatched in seven days. At the end of that period the young brood leaves the protecting shell. At this point there is another period of seven days, during which the fledglings are nourished until they grow to maturity. Do not wonder at the fact that such a slight amount of time is needed for their growth, because very few days are necessary for the completion of the brooding stage. So much significance has been accorded by divine power to this tiny bird that sailors keep on the lookout for these fourteen days, which they call ‘halcyon days,’ during which they expect calm weather and dread no more the tumult of the raging tempest.

‘Are you not of more value than the sparrow?’⁶⁶ Thus the Lord spoke. If, therefore, at the sight of a tiny bird the sea rises suddenly and as suddenly subsides, and if in the midst of winter’s cruel storms and tempests a tranquillity, permeating all the elements, ‘sweeps the clouds from the sky,’⁶⁷ quickly calming the waves—if this is true, do you realize, you, a man made to the image of God, how much hope you ought to have, if only in your eagerness for a pious life you would imitate that little bird’s trusting confidence. The halcyon is not turned aside from her purpose at the sight of the approaching tempest and of the winds that rage at winter’s onrush—rather, she is impelled all the more. Hence she lays her eggs on the shore where the sand, still wet from the retreating waves, welcomes them. She does not dread the rising waves, which she beholds as they break on the shore with threatening sound.

And that you may not conclude that the halcyon shows slight regard for her eggs, she builds her nest without delay at the very place where she laid her eggs. She broods over her offspring and, while the waves pound the shore, shows no fear for her own safety. Rather, she entrusts herself to the winds and waves, secure in the beneficence of God. That is not all. Many more days still remain to complete the period of growth. During this time she has no fear that the tranquillity of the perfidious sea will be broken. She relies on her own merits, based now on the regular pattern of nature. She does not hide her brood in some secret corner of a house or in a cave. On the contrary, she entrusts them to the bare, cold ground. She does not protect them from the cold, but considers that they will be safer with the comfort of divine warmth, by means of which she may all other things disdain.

Who is there among us who does not cover his little ones with garments and who does not protect and shield them within the walls of his home? Who is there who does not close the windows on all sides to prevent even the slightest breeze to enter? And while we so anxiously attend to clothing and warmth, we are therefore depriving them of the protecting cover of celestial clemency, whereas the halcyon, by casting her brood out naked, has thereby clothed them with vesture that is divine.

I shall not overlook the diving gulls. They have acquired that name from their frequent diving operations. They are always able by their diving to gather signs of the approach of a wind storm. When they see a threatening tempest, they quickly ‘fly back from mid-ocean’ and withdraw ‘while their screams rebound on the shore’—to safety! What shall I say of the waterfowl—a bird that finds delight in the depths of the sea? Soon he sports in the shallows, after taking refuge from the sea’s upheaval which he foresaw. And the heron that is found to frequent the marshes ‘quits his familiar haunts’ and, fearful of the rain storms, ‘soars above the clouds’ to escape the storms generated in that region. Let us take note of the different varieties of sea birds, who at the coming of a wind storm take refuge in marshy regions, where they find a safer and for the moment a more pleasant habitation. They rummage round after their familiar food in some remote corner of the world.⁶⁸

Who does not marvel at the nightly sentry watches of the geese, who give evidence of their vigilance by their constant cackling? That was the way in which they defended even the Roman Capitol from the Gauls. You, Rome, rightfully owe to them the preservation of your empire. Your gods were sleeping, but the geese were awake. And so on those festal days you perform sacrifices, not to Jupiter, but to a goose; your gods give way to the geese, who were once their defenders, as they came to realize. The gods themselves might have been taken prisoners were it not for their aid.⁶⁹

Chapter 14

After our description of the various fishes we have appropriately taken up next in order the subject of those birds that are also associated with water, in so far as they, too, in a similar fashion find pleasure in the art of swimming. Hence these birds seem to be primarily related to the fish species, since each has a certain element in common, that of being able to swim. The second elements which fishes and birds also share lies in the fact that the art of flying is an aspect of that of swimming. As a fish cuts through the water in the act of swimming, so a bird ‘cuts the air’⁷⁰ in his swift flight. Both species are provided in a similar way with tails and ‘with the oarage of wings.’⁷¹ So the fish directs himself forward and advances to distant points by the aid of his wings [fins]. He uses his tail as a rudder in order to guide himself or change his route by a sudden movement from one area to another. Birds also exercise their wings in the air as if they were floating on water, using them in the way one would use one’s arms. By use of their tails they are able to direct themselves upward or downward at will.

Hence, while all of these species follow the same pattern, they are but complying with the divine precept that places the origin of both in water. For God said: ‘Let the waters bring forth reptiles, living creatures according to their kind, and winged creatures flying above the earth along the firmament of heaven, each according to its kind.’⁷² Not without reason, therefore, do both species have the innate faculty of swimming, since both have their origin in water.

While, of course, both the slimy snake and all species of serpents—who derive their name from the fact that they creep, not walk—and the dragon, too, like the general run of fish are without legs, nevertheless there is no species of bird devoid of the use of legs. They need to obtain food from the earth. For this reason they use the support that legs give as a necessary aid in acquiring their natural food. Accordingly, other birds like the hawk and the eagle, who live by plunder, are provided with claws to catch their prey. Others make fitting use of them in the acts of either walking or of searching for food.

There is one name for ‘bird,’ but there are various species. Who can know them all or hold their names in memory? There are birds, for example, who live on flesh. Hence, they have sharp claws, a curved and sharp beak, and are swift on the wing. Thus they live by plunder, and are able to lay hold of what they pursue, and with their beaks and claws eviscerate it. There are birds, also, that search for and find their food in seeds. Others search for different kinds of food as they come upon them.

There is diversity, too, in the way in which they group together. Those birds that are intent on plunder are devoid of this tendency. They do not act in common, because of their rapacity and the necessity of snaring their prey. Hence they disassociate themselves from groups—for greed avoids participation—moreover, a large flock would easily betray its own purposes. For birds of this sort there is no group life except that of conjugal relationship. This is the mode of life among the eagles and hawks. On the other hand, birds such as doves, cranes, starlings, crows, ravens, and even thrushes flock together for the most part.

There are also other species of birds. Some are stationary, that is, stay in one place. Others are migratory birds who fly off to other regions and return at the end of winter. Still others return to us in winter time and fare abroad in summer. In the former case they seek a warmer climate in winter. In the latter case they spend the summer each year in those places which they know to be pleasanter. Hence thrushes return at the end of autumn when winter is already beginning and summer has passed for them. We contrive snares for them, acting as cruel hosts. We catch them in different ways, either by surprising them when they land or by deceiving them by a whistling sound, or by trying ‘to snare game in toils.’⁷³ The stork returns, holding high the standard of spring. The crane, because of his partiality for flying high, often finds delight in voyaging afar.

Some birds submit themselves to be handled. They are ‘accustomed to the table,’⁷⁴ and are delighted to be fondled. Other birds shrink from this through fear. Some find pleasure in frequenting man’s habitations, whereas others choose to live in remote deserts, where their difficulties in procuring food find compensation in their love of liberty. Some birds utter cries, while others delight us with sweet and modulated song. Certain birds by nature, others by training, learn ‘to match the measures’⁷⁵ of different tones, so much so that you would think a man, and not a bird, had spoken. How sweet is the voice of the blackbird; how distinct the words of the parrot!

There are also other birds; some guileless like the dove, or artful like the partridge. The cock is inclined to be boastful; the peacock, to be vain. There are birds, too, that display diversities in their lives and habits. Some love to consult together in groups, thus helping to form by their combined strength a state of their own under a king.⁷⁶ Other birds love to look out, each one for his own interest, avoiding a systematic rule, and, when captured, long ‘to quit a slavery’⁷⁷ that is disdainful to them!

Chapter 15

Let us begin, then, with those birds which have become examples for our own way of life. These birds have a natural social and military organization, whereas with us this service is compulsory and servile. How well do the cranes carry out their guard duty at night without orders and without compulsion! You may note the watchers at their appointed places. Again, while the rest of the flock is at rest, some make the rounds and make certain that no attack is attempted from any quarter. With unabated vigilance they render complete protection. When the watcher has completed his period for guard duty, he prepares for sleep, after arousing with a warning cry the sleeper who is destined to take his place as the next sentry. The latter willingly accepts his lot. He does not act as is the custom with us when, under such circumstances, we are loath to give up our sleep. Rather, he rises eagerly from his resting place, performs his duty, and repays with equal care and courtesy the favors that he has received. Hence there are no deserters, because their loyalty is a natural one. Hence their guard duty furnishes real protection, because their wills are free.

They also follow this procedure when in flight. In this way they alleviate fatigue as they perform in turn the function of leadership. At a certain prescribed time one takes, a position ahead of the rest, in advance of the banners, so to speak. Later, he turns back and yields to a successor the task of leading the flock. What is nobler than this, wherein toil and preferment is open to all, where power is not the privilege of the few, but is distributed in voluntary fashion equally among all?

This was the functional process of the primitive community. It resembled the constitution of a free state. From the beginning men began in this manner to establish a political system based on nature, with the birds as models. Thus there was equal participation in both labor and office. Each individual in his turn learned to set up a division of responsibilities, to take his share in doing service and in supervising it. Thus no one was devoid of office and no one was without his allotment of work.⁷⁸

Here was an ideal state where no one became accustomed to unbroken power. Again, no one was intimidated by a long period of servitude, because advancement, due to interchange of office and to the fitting measure of its duration, appeared all the more supportable in that it resulted in establishing that each one would have a share in the task of government. No one ventured to exact servitude of another when the latter in his term of office could retaliate with frowns of scorn. Toil was not heavy when the thought of a dignified office in the future could bring comforting relief.

But when the lust for domination began to arrogate to itself powers that were acquired, and when this same lust encouraged unwillingness to relinquish powers that were assumed, when military service began to take on the character of servitude rather than of a right shared by all, when men were more eager to seize power than to follow due process of law to attain it—when this became a fact, then the performance of hard tasks was regarded as a burden and what was not undertaken voluntarily left the way open for displays of negligence. How unwillingly do men submit to be assigned to guard duty, how difficult it is to induce anyone to accept a perilous post in camp, when the vigil is imposed by the command of a king! Penalties are set for neglect of duty. Yet, indifference often asserts itself and the sentries fail to be vigilant. That necessity which imposes obedience on the unwilling is often accompanied by a loathing, for nothing is so easy as not to seem difficult to one who acts unwillingly. Therefore, unbroken toil repels good will. Continuous and prolonged power breeds arrogance. Where can you find a man who of his own volition lays down his imperial office, gives up the insignia of his leadership, and willingly moves from the first position to take his place among the last?⁷⁹ Not only do we struggle to reach first place, we are often concerned even about a position of modest import. We lay claim to the first position at a banquet and, moreover, we desire that what has once been assigned to us should be ours in perpetuity.

On the other hand, the cranes carry out their activities with equanimity and perform their official duties with humility. They are instructed to take up in their turn the post of watch. No admonishment is necessary that they lay down their powers. In the former situation the tranquillity of natural sleep has to be broken; in the latter, an occasion presents itself to show their pleasure in the performance of a voluntary act of service.

Chapter 16

It is related that storks proceed in orderly array in the direction in which they propose to advance and that in many places in the East they form ranks together as if they were soldiers marching under the command of an officer. You could well believe that you were witnessing an army going forward with banners displayed—such is the pageant of military precision which they show. They are under the leadership and direction of crows who accompany them, providing a stout escort and auxiliary force against any attacking army of birds. They undertake at their own risk campaigns that are planned by others. A proof of this is deduced from the fact that these crows are not found to stay any length of time in these regions. Moreover, when they return, they are covered with wounds. Clear evidence of their having undergone a severe and bitter conflict may be gathered from what may be termed their cries of blood and from other indications. Who, then, has set forth for them the penalty for desertion? Who has laid down the laws of severe punishment for dereliction of military duty? The fact is, no one attempts to steal away from the lines of these friendly escorting troops. On the contrary, each one strives to outdo his companions in carrying out his allotted task.

Let men learn to preserve the rights of hospitality and from the example of birds realize what reverence is due and what courtesies accorded to one’s guests—courtesies which expose crows even to danger. Whereas birds offer even their own lives for strangers, we close our doors to them. We ban from our doors those birds who at the risk of peril to themselves serve as escort to others. Whereas the storks consider these as their defenders, we frequently treat them as enemies.

I may be in error, but this may have been the reason why the people of Sodom suffered punishment or why the fury of the Egyptians, when they attempted war on the people who had been their guests, brought its penalty for their lack of hospitality when the waters overwhelmed that perfidious race.

We should dwell on the fact that while the gentleness of human beings is equal to the loyalty and wisdom of this bird [the stork], none of us have effectively imitated the virtues of irrational creatures, not even when an example has been set before our eyes. In fact, the offspring, gathering around the body of their ‘father sick unto death,’⁸⁰ cherish with the movement of their wings the limbs of their parent, now, because of his advanced age, bereft of his plumage and deprived ‘of the oarage of his pinions.’⁸¹ Furthermore—need I add—the offspring offer a contribution of food, wherewith loss of natural strength is repaired, so that, lifting by the leverage of their wings their aged parent, they make him fit for flight and restore to strength their dear father’s limbs, now unaccustomed to perform their primary functions.

Who is there among us who is not loath to lift up the burden of his ailing father? Who would place his ‘wearied sire’ on his own shoulders⁸²—a fact which is scarcely credible when related in history? Who would not rather, to fulfil his duty, hand this out over to servants? The birds do not refuse to provide food for their parents. This duty many men have refused to do even under compulsion of necessity and when driven by fear of punishment. Birds, on the other hand, are bound by a natural and not by a written code of laws.⁸³ By no ordinances, but rather by the prescriptions of natural grace, they carry unashamedly the body of a revered and aged parent. This act of carrying one’s parent is, in fact, an expression of piety. Popular belief has borne witness to it to the extent that it has acquired, as is fitting, a merited fame. The Romans are accustomed to call this bird ‘pious’—a title which these birds have without exception merited has been bestowed by decree of the Senate on scarcely a single emperor. These birds have been accorded this designation by a decree of their own elders, for it is right that sons be first declared ‘pious’ by virtue of what their fathers believed. They also have the approval of all mankind, for ‘thankfulness’ is called ἀντιπελάργησις, a word derived from πελαργός, which means a stork. Such is the derivation of the word denoting this virtue. A repayment for kindness is associated with the name of the stork.

Chapter 17

We have an example of devotion to parents on the part of a bird’s progeny. Let us now listen to an impressive instance of a mother’s solicitude for her children. The swallow has a very small body, but gives evidence of extremely great affection and devotion. Although devoid of all goods, she constructs her nest as cunningly as if it were a thing ‘more precious than gold.’⁸⁴ What wiser act is there for a bird given to wandering than that she should avail herself of her liberty and build for her little ones homes near the abodes of men, where no one would attack her brood? It is a commendable act to cause her nestlings from their very birth to become accustomed to human society and thus make them safer from the snares of their bird enemies. Notable, too, is the admirable way she, like a skilled artisan, builds her home without a helper. She gathers twigs in her beak and dips them in the mire so as to fasten them together. Because she is unable to lift the mire with her feet, she sprinkles the tops of her wings with waters so that what before was dry dust now becomes mud. In this way twigs and straw are collected and made compact. Thus is the entire nest built. The nestlings find no obstacles as they busy themselves on the smooth surface within their little house. At the same time, no intruder can damage the structure by planting his feet in an opening. The young ones, too, are not affected by draughts of cold air.

This industrious activity is common to many birds. The extraordinary characteristics just mentioned show the high regard they have for paternal affection and are an indication of a far-seeing and instinctive knowledge. These birds give evidence of possessing a medical skill. If any of the nestlings suffers blindness as a result of an injury to an eye, its eyes are restored to their former effectiveness by the application of certain curative agents.

Let no one, therefore, complain of poverty because he has not provided money for his household. The swallow, who lacks money, is poorer—but is rich in industry. She builds and spends not. She erects a shelter without depriving a neighbor of anything. She experiences no compulsion to harm anyone, either because of indigence or poverty. She does not resign herself to despair when at times her offspring becomes helpless. We on the other hand, are affected by poverty and are made anxious by the urgency of want. Indigence drives many to evil deeds and offenses. In the pursuit of gain we turn our minds to deceit and, while fitting our sentiments to the occasion, we set our hopes in the most violent displays of passion. In the process our minds snap. We lie prone, bereft of spirit and life at a time when it would have been more satisfactory, since the protection of man has failed us, to place our hopes in the benevolence of God.

Chapter 18

Men should learn to love their children. We find this to be a normal sentiment among crows, who form a constant escort to their offspring in flight. Solicitous, too, lest perchance they may become weak because of their tender age, they strive to supply them with food. They continue to perform this function for a long time. On the other hand, the females of our species quickly give up nursing even those they love or, if they belong to the wealthier class, disdain the act of nursing. Those who are very poor expose their infants and refuse to lay claim to them when they are discovered. Even the wealthy, in order that their inheritance may not be divided among several, deny in the very womb their own progeny. By the use of parricidal mixtures they snuff out the fruit of their wombs in the genital organs themselves. In this way life is taken away before it is given.

Who except man himself has taught us ways of repudiating children? Who has discovered such cruel parental customs? Who, notwithstanding the fact that nature imposes equality among brothers, has caused them to be unequal? One has a superabundance from his father’s legacy. The other bewails the fact that he has been given but a miserable portion of his father’s rich patrimony. Can we say that nature has thus apportioned the deserts of these sons? On everyone she has bestowed on an equal basis the possibility of possessing wherewith to be born and wherewith to live. She can teach you not to discriminate in inheritance those whom you made equal by right of consanguinity. It stands to reason that those to whom you have granted the right to be born in the same manner should not themselves be begrudged to have that in common which by nature they have inherited.

Hawks are said to show harshness toward their own offspring. They eject them from their nests when they notice their first attempts at flight. If they still linger, they are immediately pushed headlong by their parents, who beat them with their wings and compel them to perform the fearful action. At no time after that do they perform their office of giving sustenance to their young. Yet why should we wonder that birds accustomed to plunder find it distasteful to nourish their progeny? Let us keep in mind the fact that fear schools birds also to be cautious, never to relax their watchful care, but to anticipate and avoid dangers from birds of prey. Hence, since nature has inured these birds to a life of plunder, they appear to prepare their young from an early age to acts of pillage rather than just cut short the period of sustenance. Precaution is taken lest they become flabby in that early period, or become weak through pampering, or lest they languish in idleness. They are trained to search for food rather than expect it, so that they may not lose their innate vigor. Those activities are allowed to elapse which are connected with the nourishing of the young, who as a result of this are forced to resort to a life of pillage.

It is generally stated in treatises dealing with the eagle that she, too, abandons her young. This is true, however, only of one out of two nestlings. Some have thought this situation arose from a reluctance to bring up a twin brood. But this is hardly worthy of credence, especially since Moses has given us such convincing testimony on the devotion of this bird to her young when he said: ‘As the eagle protects his nest and inspires trust in his nestlings: hovering over them, he spreads his wings and hath taken them and carried them on his shoulders. The Lord alone led them.’⁸⁵ How, then, did he spread his wings over his young if he killed one of them?

For this reason I think that this bird does not act cruelly from a desire to refrain from giving nourishment. Rather, there is a question of making a decision. For it is agreed that the eagle tests the quality of her young, lest signs of degeneracy and deformity may cause deterioration in a species which affects the role of regal dominion over all birds. And so it is asserted that the eagle exposes her nestlings to the rays of the sun and suspends with her claws her young in mid-air. If one of them stays unruffled and unmoved, fearlessly facing the light of the sun as it strikes his eyes, he is approved. He has thus demonstrated the truth of nature by the steadiness of his unaffected gaze. The one, however, who turns away his eyes, ‘dazzled by the sun’s rays,’⁸⁶ is rejected. He is deemed unworthy of such a parent, unfitted to be recognized as genuine offspring, and hence undeserving of support. The eagle does not therefore reject her young because of natural cruelty. This is, rather, the result of her soundness of judgment. There is no refusal of what is native, but rather a rejection of what is alien.

What some consider to be a disposition toward cruelty in such a royal bird is compensated by the kindly traits of a bird of lower caste. This bird, known as the waterfowl (the Greek name is φενη), adopts the nestling of the eagle when disowned or not recognized and allows him to mingle with her own brood. She exercises over him the same maternal care as she does over her own, providing food and nourishment impartially. The φενη, therefore, supports an alien brood, whereas we show excessive cruelty when we abandon our own children. Rather, she does not acknowledge them to be such, but considers them to be base-born. Our procedure is worse. We renounce what we acknowledge to be our own.

Chapter 19

Let us come now to the turtle dove, chosen as a chaste victim by the Law of God. Hence, when the Lord was circumcised, the dove was offered, because it is written in the Law that there should be a presentation of ‘a pair of turtles or two young pigeons.’⁸⁷ For this is the true sacrifice of Christ: chastity of body and grace of the spirit. Chastity belongs to the turtle dove; grace, to the pigeon. It is related that the turtle dove, when widowed by the loss of her consort, was ‘utterly weary of the bridal-bed’ and even of the world itself, for the reason that ‘her first love, turning traitor, cheated her by death.’⁸⁸ He was regarded as unfaithful from the point of view of perpetuity and as dour in respect to beauty in that he had created more pain as a result of his death than sweetness from his love. Therefore, she renounces any other marriage alliance and does not break the laws of chastity or her pledges to her beloved, reserving for him alone her love, for him alone cherishing the name of wife. Learn, women, how great are the joys of that widowhood which even birds are said to observe.

Who has given these laws to the turtle dove? A search for a human law-giver will not bring results. No one has ventured to propound laws for these birds. Not even Paul has succeeded in doing so in the question as to whether a widow should remarry or not. He says: ‘I desire therefore that the younger widows marry, bear children, rule their households and give the adversary no occasion for abusing us.’ And elsewhere: ‘It is good for them if they so remain. But if they do not have the self-control, let them marry, for it is better to marry than to burn.’⁸⁹ Paul wishes that women should do that which is customary with the turtle doves. Also, he exhorts the younger widows to marry because our women are unable to maintain the chaste life of these birds. God has therefore infused into the turtle dove this sentiment for the virtuous practice of continency. He alone has the power to prescribe the laws which all are obliged to follow. The turtle dove is not inflamed by the flower of youth, is not tempted by occasional enticements, and cannot break her first pledge, because she knows how to preserve the chastity she promised at the time of her first marriage.

Chapter 20

We have spoken of widowhood as it appears in the life of birds. We have shown how this virtue first arose among them. Now let us discuss the virtue of continency—a virtue which birds are said also to possess. This virtue can be found even among vultures. It is said that vultures ‘do not indulge in conjugal embraces’ or in any sort of union or nuptial tie. They are said to conceive without contact with the male seed and that without the union of sexes they generate offspring that live to a ripe old age. In fact, it is asserted that they live as long as a hundred years and that by no means does ‘the limit of a natural span of life await them.’⁹⁰

What do those people say who usually ridicule our mysteries when they hear that a virgin gave birth to a child—people who consider that parturition is impossible to one who never had any relations with a man? Is that to be thought impossible for the Mother of God which is admitted to be possible in the case of vultures? A bird gives birth without contact with a male. No one has cast any doubt on that. But because Mary, though unwedded, brought forth a child, they raise doubts about her chastity. Do not our observations show that the Lord has provided many precedents in the realm of nature by which to prove the glory of His own Incarnation and assert its veracity?

Chapter 21

Now I shall proceed to show what birds usually live under the control of laws in a sort of commonwealth. From this is derived the fact that the state establishes laws bearing equally on all citizens—laws which are loyally observed by all members of the community. No claim is made to a right which is clearly not permitted to all the citizens. Rather, each and every member of the group shares equally in these rights. What is not permitted to every citizen is not considered a right. All share in paying respects to their elders, by whose wise counsel the state is governed. Each one has a right to the common place of abode. Social duties are shared. They all follow a single prescribed and orderly mode of life.

These facts are of great importance. In the case of bees they are even more important. Alone of all species of living creatures they share their offspring in common. All have the same abode and are confined within the limits of one native land. They engage in the same labor. They share the same food and partake of the same activities. The same productivity is shared and—what could be more notable—the same flight on the wing. The act of generation is common to all. Their bodies are uncontaminated in the common act of parturition, since they have no part in conjugal embraces. They do not unnerve their bodies in love nor are they torn by the travail of childbirth. A mighty swarm of young suddenly appears. They gather their offspring in their mouths from the surface of leaves and from sweet herbs.⁹¹

They appoint a king for themselves and establish their own community. Though they serve under a king, they are free. They have the privilege of selection and of extending their loyal devotion. They love him as one elected by them and they pay him honor by producing a swarming hive.

The king is not chosen by lot, because there is in a lot, not an element of discrimination, but one of chance. By virtue of the unpredictable nature of a lot, it frequently happens that what comes last is preferred to what is better. The election is not brought about by the vulgar shouts of an uninformed mob which does not hold in esteem the merits due to virtue. The mob scrutinizes, not the benefits to be bestowed by what is serviceable for all, but is swayed by the incertitude of change. This election, moreover, is not founded on hereditary privilege or in dynastic succession, since circumspection and wisdom cannot exist in one who is so inexperienced in public life. Add to this the flatteries and the inordinate pleasures which, imbibed at an early age, are apt to weaken men of the best natural endowments. Then, again, we note the custom of employing eunuchs; most of them tend to sway the king more for their own profit than for the public good.

There are notable and natural characteristics in the king as he appears among the bees. He must be, for example, outstanding in size and beauty. Besides that, he must possess what is a conspicuous trait in a king—gentleness in character. He does not make use of his sting to inflict punishment. There are well-defined laws in nature, not set down in writing, but impressed in the mold of custom, by virtue of which those who possess the greatest power tend to be more lenient in the exercise of it. Those bees who do not obey the laws of their king are so overcome by remorse that they even kill themselves by their own stings!

This custom is observed today by the Persians. They inflict death on themselves in punishment for a transgression. But no people—neither the Persians whose subjects live under the severest laws nor the Indians or Sarmatians—hold their kings in such high esteem as do the bees.⁹² So true is this that they dare not leave their abodes nor go in search of food except when the king takes the initiative by assuming for himself primacy in flight.

They fly over the countryside with its fragrant gardens and sweetly smelling flowers, where a brook steals through banks of lush grass. There the young bees find occasion for spirited sport. There, too, they perform their martial exercises and find relaxation from labors. Their toil is sweet. From the flowers and the plants they erect the foundations for their camps. What is the honeycomb but a sort of camp? Hence ‘they drive the drones from these folds.’ Does not the square-shaped form of a camp compare favorably for beauty of construction with the art of the honeycomb in which tiny rounded cells are interlocked? What architect taught them how to arrange symmetrically the walls of these separate cells, how to hang aloft ‘within the confines of their homes’ delicate pieces of wax—to staff all this with honey and ‘swell with nectar,’ as it were, their granaries interwoven with flowers?⁹³

You can perceive them all engaged in their tasks. Some keep guard over the food supply. Others keep anxious watch on the camp. Others are on the alert for possible rainstorms and cloudbursts. Some fashion the wax obtained from flowers, while still others gather in their mouths the dew that settles on these same flowers. Yet no one lays snares to pilfer the fruits of another’s labors or aims ‘to live by plunder.’⁹⁴ Would that they did not fear the cunning stratagems of thieves! However, they still can resort to their stings and, if they should be aroused, infuse poison into the honey. In the heat of attack ‘they lay down their lives in the wound.’⁹⁵

And so into the recesses of their camp abodes the moisture of the dew is poured. This in the course of time is gradually transformed into honey. What before was liquid takes on the sweetness of honey as a result of the infusion of wax together with the aroma of flowers.

Scripture rightly commends the bee as a good worker: ‘Behold the bee, see how busy she is, how admirable in her industry, the results of whose labors are serviceable to kings and commoners and are sought after by all men.’⁹⁶ Do you hear what the Prophet says? He enjoins on you to follow the example of that tiny bee and to imitate her work. You see how pleasing it is and what labor it entails. Her fruit is desired and sought after by all men. Its recipients do not differ in character. It supplies without distinction the same sweetness to kings and to commoners. It contributes not to our pleasures alone, but to our health as well. It soothes our throats and ministers to our wounds. Even to our organic ills it serves as a healing draught. Thus the bee, though weak in body, manifests her strength in the vigor of her wisdom and in her high regard for virtuous deeds.

The bees fight, in fact, to their utmost in defense of their king. They consider it a noble act to give up their lives for his sake. While the king is safe, they stand by him with the greatest devotion. When he is lost, their enthusiasm for their work declines. They destroy their store of honey, because death has come to the prime mover of their enterprise.⁹⁷

Although other winged creatures scarcely bring forth offspring once a year, the bee is blessed with two such periods, surpassing to such a degree all other [such] creatures in fecundity.⁹⁸

Chapter 22

Let us now examine the sense of the words, ‘Let the waters abound with life and above the earth let winged creatures fly below the firmament of the heavens.’⁹⁹

It is clear that ‘above the earth’ is said because they search for their food on the earth. But why, ‘below the firmament’? Eagles fly above all other birds, yet they do not fly ‘below the firmament of the heavens.’ The word for ‘heaven’ in Greek is οὐρανός, derived from the Greek word ‘to see,’ for the reason that the air is clear and transparent and so living species are said to fly through the air. One should not be disturbed by the phrase ‘below the firmament of the heavens.’ The word ‘firmament’ is used, not in its proper, but in its derivative sense. The air which we perceive with our eyes is, in comparison with that ethereal substance, the firmament, of greater thickness and density.

Now, having discussed just briefly the nature and beauty of flying creatures (we do not have time to describe every creature of the same or similar species), let us consider what diversity there is among birds themselves.

We find that the crow has talons which are divided and separated, whereas nature has formed that part differently in the raven, even in her young. Those birds that feed on flesh have hooked talons, to enable them to seize their prey. Those that are accustomed to swimming have feet which are broad, with their parts bound and joined together by a kind of membrane. Here we find examples of admirable design in nature. In one case, flight or the acquisition of food is made easier. In the other, assistance is given in the art of swimming, whereby this act, too, is made easier. They use their feet as oars in such a manner that a current of water is propelled by the broad formation of the membrane attached to their feet.

We can easily comprehend why a swan has a rather long neck. With a body that is somewhat corpulent, the swan cannot easily reach the lowest depths in search for food. Hence, the neck acts as a sort of advance scout for the rest of the body when on the lookout for food in the deep waters. This long neck has the additional advantage of giving a sweeter and more modulated tone to the swan’s cry, which becomes clearer the more frequently it is exercised.

How sweet is the chant from the tiny throat of a cicada! In the heat of midsummer ‘they rend the thickets’¹⁰⁰ with their songs. The greater the heat at midday, the more musical become their songs, because the purer the air they breathe at that time, the clearer does the song resound.

The bees, too, have a song that is not unpleasant. In that hoarse voice of theirs is an agreeable sweetness which we appear to have first imitated ‘in the broken trumpet-blasts.’¹⁰¹ There is no sound more fitting than this to arouse hearts to vigorous action. Yet they have this curious gift, although they are said not to possess the function of breathing through lungs, but to breathe in the air as food. Hence they die immediately if oil is poured over them, because they are unable to take in that breath of air when their pores are closed. If one were straightway to pour vinegar over them, they quickly revive, since vinegar has the power of quickly opening those pores which had been sealed by the mass of oil.

Chapter 23

Now that we are discussing flying creatures, it may not be amiss to treat here what is reported by certain eyewitnesses about the Indian worm. It is related that this horned worm is first changed into the form of a plant stalk,¹⁰² then gradually into a chrysalis. This form is not retained, for it seems to take on wings when seen on the wide surface of a leaf. From these leaves the Chinese ‘comb those soft fleeces’¹⁰³ which the wealthy appropriate for their own use. Hence the Lord says: ‘What did you go out to the desert to see? A man clothed in soft garments? Behold, those who wear soft garments are in the houses of kings.’¹⁰⁴

The chameleon is said also to assume new forms by a deceptive change of color. We know, in fact, from close observation that hares take on a white color in winter and that in summer they return to their original shade.

These matters have been mentioned in order that you may be aroused by the force of such examples as these to a belief in the change which will be ours at the Resurrection. We refer to that change which the Apostle clearly indicates when he says: ‘We shall all indeed rise, but we shall not all be changed.’ And further on he says: ‘And the dead shall rise incorruptible and we shall be changed. For this corruptible body must put on incorruption and this mortal body must put on immortality.’¹⁰⁵ Many, interpreting the nature and appearance of that transformation which they have not attained, are not without giving it an incongruous explanation, based on an anticipation which they do not merit.

In the regions of Arabia there is reported to be a bird called the phoenix.¹⁰⁶ This bird is said to reach the ripe old age of 500 years. When the phoenix realizes that he is coming to the end of his life, he builds himself a casket of incense, myrrh, and other aromatic plants, into which he enters and dies when his time has come. From the moisture proceeding from his flesh he comes to life again. In the course of time this bird puts on ‘the oarage of his wings’¹⁰⁷ until he is restored to his primitive form and appearance. By the very act of his resurrection the phoenix furnishes us a lesson by setting before us the very emblems of our own resurrection without the aid of precedent or of reason. We accept the fact that birds exist for the sake of man. The contrary is not true: that man exists for the sake of birds. We have here an example of the loving care which the Author and Creator of the birds has for His own saints.¹⁰⁸ These He does not allow to perish, just as He does not permit in the case of one sole bird when He willed that the phoenix should rise again, born of his own seed. Who, then, announces to him the day of his death, so that he makes for himself a casket, fills it with goodly aromas, and then enters it to die there where pleasant perfumes succeed in crowding out the foul odor of death?

You, too, man, should avail yourself of a casket: ‘strip off the old man with his deeds and put on the new.’¹⁰⁹ Your casket, your sheath, is Christ who protects and conceals you in the day of evil. Do you wish to be convinced that it is a casket of protection? ‘In my quiver he hath hidden me,’¹¹⁰ Scripture declares. The casket, then, is your faith. Fill it with the goodly aroma of your virtues, that is, of chastity, compassion, and justice, and immerse yourself wholly in the inmost mysteries of faith, which are fragrant with the sweet odors of your significant deeds. May your exit from this life find you clothed with that faith, so that ‘your bones may be made fat’ and ‘be like a watered garden,’¹¹¹ thus coming to life and flourishing. Be aware, therefore, of the day of your death, as the Apostle Paul realized when he said: ‘I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith. There is laid up for me a crown of justice.’¹¹² Like the good phoenix, he entered his casket, filling it with the sweet aroma of martyrdom.

I shall put this question before you: Why are vultures able by certain indications to foretell a man’s death? Whence have they derived their knowledge? When two armies face each other in battle array to engage in ‘tearful war,’¹¹³ these particular birds follow in formation as a sign that a great number of men are destined to fall a prey to vultures. At any rate, they seem to make this observation by the exercise of an instinct analogous to human reasoning.

Divine grace has penetrated even into the life of a locust. When a locust swarms over and takes possession of some extent of land, no harm at first is done to the land. Nothing is devoured by these unfriendly invaders except when a sign from heaven has been received. A passage in Exodus provides an example of this.¹¹⁴ There the locust as minister of divine vengeance inflicts punishment for an offense against heaven.

This animal is devoured in turn by a bird called σελευκίς—this is its Greek name—given to us as a remedy for the ills that the locust usually inflict. The Creator has given this bird an insatiable appetite wherewith the all-devouring plague, to which we have just referred, can be utterly destroyed.

Chapter 24

But what is this that has happened? While we are prolonging our discourse, see how the birds of night flit around us! They admonish us by that very act to put an end to our discourse and at the same time give us a hint that they, too, should be included. Birds of different species all fly back to their accustomed nesting places. The coming of evening compels them to give way to night. Accordingly, they conceal themselves in their hiding places, saluting the close of day with a song, lest they depart without offering such thanks as a creature owes to glorify his Creator.

Night also has its songs wherewith to soothe the hearts of men who lie awake. The night owl, too, makes a contribution of song. What shall I say of the nightingale who keeps long watch over her nest, cherishing her eggs with the warmth of her body? She solaces with the sweetness of her song the sleepless labors of a long night.¹¹⁵ The highest aim of the nightingale, in my opinion, is to give life to her eggs by the sweet charm of her song no less than by the fostering warmth of her body. A woman, humble but chaste,¹¹⁶ imitates this bird when she uses her arms to work ‘the indented millstone,’¹¹⁷ that her little ones may not lack bread for their sustenance. By her evening song she comforts herself amid the distressing realities of her poverty. In her love and attentiveness she follows the nightingale’s pattern, although she fails to match the sweetness of the song.

The night owl is insensible of the horrors accompanying the gloom of night because of the large yellow pupils of his eyes. Contrary to the experience of other birds—the darker the night, the freer the flight of the owl. However, when dawn with its bursts of light appears, his eyes are dazzled and he flees aimlessly as if in darkness. The owl provides us with a lesson that some there are who, although they have eyes to see, yet are unable to use them.¹¹⁸ They exercise the function of sight solely in times of obscurity.

I speak of the eyes of the mind which the wise in this world have and see not.¹¹⁹ They discern nothing in the light. They walk in obscurity, groping in the darkness of the demon powers, while they are convinced that they are looking at the heights of heaven. ‘They trace with a rod’ the universe,¹²⁰ taking the measure of the air itself. Nevertheless, they become more and more involved in the darkness of eternal sightlessness. Beside them are the daylight of Christ and the light of the Church, and they see them not. They open their mouths as if in possession of all knowledge. To subjects of little value their minds are acute, but to the eternal verities they are blind. In the prolixities of prolonged disputation they reveal the obscurity of their own knowledge. Therefore, while they flit around in subtle discourse, they act like the night owl by vanishing at the approach of the light of day.

The bat is an ignoble creature, whose name is taken from the word for evening.¹²¹ They are equipped with wings, but at the same time they are quadrupeds. They are provided with teeth, in this respect differing generally from other birds. As a quadruped, too, the female brings forth her young alive and not in the oval stage. Bats fly in the air like birds but prefer to be shrouded in the dusk of evening. In flight they do not use the support of wings but rely on their webbed feet which serve as wings, both as a balance and as a means of propulsion. These common creatures have this faculty, too, of adhering one to another, assuming any position like a pendant bunch of grapes, so that, if the lowest in place gives way they all fall apart. Here we see the virtue of love in action—a virtue difficult to find among men here below.

The cock’s crow is pleasant at nightfall. It is not only pleasant, but useful, too. As a good domesticated fowl he arouses the sleeper, gives him warning when he is perturbed, and consoles the voyager by asserting in musical tones that night is approaching.¹²² When the cock crows, the thief forsakes his schemes and the star of dawn rises to illumine the sky. When the cock crows, the sailor’s gloom and trepidation disappear. Tempests and storms stirred up by gusts of wind at eveningtide subside. At his crowing the devout of heart bestir themselves for prayer and resume their reading. Finally, on this occasion ‘the rock of the Church’¹²³ washed away his sin which he had committed before the cock crowed. At cock-crow hope returns to all, the sick find comfort, the wounded find relief, the feverish are calmed, the lapsed return to the faith. Jesus has regard for those who stumble and corrects the errant. Hence He paid heed to Peter and forthwith the sin departed. Peter revoked his denial and his confession was completed.¹²⁴ That this was God’s plan and not a mere accident is revealed in the words of the Lord. It is written that Jesus said to Simon: ‘Before the cock crows, thou wilt deny me three times.’¹²⁵

In daytime Peter is quite brave, but is disturbed at nightfall. Before cock-crow he falls three times so that you may realize that his sin was not due to mere thoughtlessness, but to an emotional disturbance. The same man became braver after the cock crowed. He became worthy of Christ’s regard, for ‘the eyes of the Lord are upon the just.’¹²⁶ He realized that remedial action had come, following which he was unable to sin. He turned aside from the ways of error to those of virtue and wept bitterly.¹²⁷ He washed away his sins with his tears.

Have regard, Lord Jesus, for us, also, that we may acknowledge our errors, efface our faults with tears of devotion and merit indulgence for our sins. And so we have purposely prolonged our discussion in order that the cock may come also to us as we speak. Wherefore, if any error has obtruded itself in our speech, we pray that Christ forgive our sin. Grant us the tears of Peter. Deliver us from the sinner’s exultation.

The Hebrews wept and were liberated when the waters of the sea divided. Pharao was glad because he had surrounded the Hebrews, but he was swallowed up in the sea along with his people. Judas, too, rejoiced in the price of betrayal, but by reason of the same price ‘he hanged himself with a halter.’¹²⁸ Peter wept for his sins and deserved to be able to forgive the sins of others.

But now it is fitting time¹²⁹ that this discourse be brought to an end—a time for silence or for tears, a time in which is celebrated the forgiveness of sins. For us, too, in our holy rites that mystical cock crows, as the cock of Peter did in our discourse. May Peter, who wept so well for himself, weep also for us and may the benign countenance of Christ turn toward us. Let there come upon us the Passion of the Lord Jesus which daily forgives us our sins and effects the office of remission.

The good Lord does not desire to send you away fasting lest some faint on the way. He said: ‘I have compassion on the crowd for they have now been with me three days and have nothing to eat and I am unwilling to send them away fasting lest they faint on the way’¹³⁰—Mary took note of these words on the occasion when she declined to make preparations for a meal.¹³¹ We, too, should realize the fact that those who live on the word of God¹³² are not numerous and that refreshment for the body is what is more generally desired. In fact, more exacting than the triduum (which we have celebrated) is that which we propose for the day that approaches.

And so, now that we have enjoyed ourselves with birds and have crowed with the cock, let us sing the mysteries of the Lord. Let the eagles,¹³³ when they have been rejuvenated,¹³⁴ gather by the body of Jesus, for now the mighty whale has really restored Jonas to us.¹³⁵ Let us congratulate ourselves that evening has come. The morning shall become—the sixth day!¹³⁶

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