When fire has transcended the limits of sensuality, why then does the firmament, understood as the divide between the waters above and below, come into being after? I suggest that the firmament, whether it is one of the four classical elements or otherwise, cannot be envisioned as a solid and impenetrable structure, based on external philosophy. Rather, the absolute limit of sensual nature, through which the nature of fire moves according to its unchanging essence, is referred to in Scripture as the firmament, in stark contrast to the eternal, incorporeal, and intangible substance. It is well recognized that all solid things possess a certain density, and that which is dense cannot escape the inherent quality of heaviness; essentially, that which is naturally heavy cannot aspire upwards. Conversely, since the firmament exists above all sensual creations, reason dictates that it should not be conceived as coarse or corporeal. Instead, as has been stated, the firmament, when compared to what is comprehensible and incorporeal, encompasses everything that belongs to the sensual realm, albeit often eluding our perceptions.
Thus, what was engulfed by fire during its cyclic motion—namely, the extent of material existence—is aptly termed firmament in relation to the material below it, also called heaven, akin to light being designated as day and darkness as night. The separation of waters by the firmament aligns with this understanding and is supported by Scripture. For following the account concerning the earth, it is proclaimed: "But the earth was void and empty, and darkness over the abyss, and the Spirit of God was upon the waters" (Genesis 1:2). Therefore, we surmise that it is just as inconceivable for the Spirit of God to be a spirit of darkness as it is for Him to be associated with evil. This is strongly echoed throughout many passages of sacred Scripture, affirming that God is "the true light" (John 1:9) and dwells "in unapproachable light" (1 Tim. 6:16). Since the Spirit of God is fundamentally one with God, who is light, it follows that the Spirit of God is also light. Light undeniably affects that which it illuminates, maintaining its presence in the luminous realm.
The waters over which the Spirit of God was present are distinct from the earthly waters that flow downward; they are separated from heaviness by something substantial. Yet, if Scripture also designates this as water (which, through higher reasoning, can be understood to signify the fullness of possible realities), one should not be misled by this analogy. God "is a consuming fire" (Deuteronomy 4:24), yet the essence of this fire transcends material concerns. Thus, upon learning of God as fire, one should not confound Him with visible flames; similarly, when one hears of the Spirit of God moving over the waters, it should not suggest a nature that is entangled in the downward pull of earthly currents since the Spirit of God is not involved with transient matter.
To clarify this concept, we may succinctly state that the firmament, termed heaven, represents the limit of sensual entities, beyond which exists an imaginary realm devoid of form, size, spatial limitations, measure, color, or any discernible features under heaven. It is also timely to revisit the waters above the firmament. Should the earth require a specific form to contain the waters, as if encasing their fluid nature within its depths, how could such waters remain aloft and not overflow? If we assume both waters share the same essence, we must logically conclude that the nature of the waters above mirrors that of the waters below. Consequently, the heavenly expanse would be perforated by streams and abysses reminiscent of earthly features, containing the waters in their hollows.
What shall be said when the cyclical motion of the celestial pole alters the position of what is now at the top, leading to the question of whether roofs are invented to prevent the heavy waters from spilling out? It is often stated that fire consumes because it requires fuel to sustain the flame, or else it diminishes, such that without a source of heat, it extinguishes itself. Despite the agreement of our esteemed teacher with this sentiment, I ask that the readers bear with me as I explore the aforementioned concepts concerning creation. The aim of our teacher was not to impose personal beliefs as dogma but to guide his audience toward the truth. Therefore, in line with our reflections, let us consider these ideas in accord with what has been imparted by him.
What then shall we conclude from this presented challenge? It is not only in fire and water that we observe opposing properties; rather, in each element, there exists a discernible tension between opposites. Just as cold stands opposed to warmth, and dampness to dryness, there are also inherent oppositions in earth and air: rigidity opposed to lightness, solidity to pliability, among others, revealing contrasts within each element. Thus, it cannot be claimed that one element thrives on the annihilation of another, for the reduction of heaviness does not imply an increase in the lightness of air, nor does the density of earth promote rarification in the opposite element.
In a similar manner, the concepts of wetness and coldness—though opposed to warmth and dryness—do not nourish one another simply through mutual destruction, as the existence of one does not hinge upon the nonexistence of the other. If the preservation of both were contingent on the annihilation of each, neither would endure, since each has the equal potential to negate the other, and the dominant attribute serves as a demise for the lesser. This truth is affirmed by experience: when any substance meets fire, then the application of water to it illustrates the clear annihilation of these elements. The one in predominance extinguishes the other, as both yield to an approaching force.
It stands to reason that as unnatural as it is to claim that animals devour one another while simultaneously living off one another's demise, so too could the opposition of wet against dry not sustain either quality if the destruction of one were to sustain the other. Following the flow of thought, let us assert that "God saw all that He had made, and behold, it is very good" (Genesis 1:31)—implying that within each creation, the manifestation of good must be evident. The additional word "evil" underscores the assertion that perfection is not lacking.
For despite the host of differentiated forms among the animal kingdom, it can still be said that each species ultimately reflects the universal approval of creation, experiencing its own goodness. Such an affirmation does not depend on outward appearances; whether a millipede, a frog, or creatures arising from decay, their goodness remains inherent. The Divine perspective evaluates not based on external qualities, beauty, or presentation, but recognizes the intrinsic perfect nature of every creature. The absence of an ox does not replace the presence of a horse; rather, both have their own distinct and purposeful existence, drawing from their natural essence to sustain themselves.
In this manner, each element, while relating uniquely to one another, is fundamentally "good in itself," for each element fulfills its role according to the specialized law defined by the Creator. The earth is decreed good; it does not depend on air's demise to exist but maintains its qualities through the divine power established within it. Likewise, air is good in nature; its continued existence is not reliant upon the absence of earth. Fire and water too exemplify goodness, as they persist in their respective qualities, sustained by divine will throughout their existence. "The earth," it is declared, "abides forever" (Eccl. 1:4), neither waning nor expanding. Air remains within its designated bounds; fire does not diminish in potency.
Why then is it that, among all creatures, only water seems to overflow? Moreover, as we observe that fire's strength is vastly superior when compared to other creations—evident in the significant size of the sun relative to the earth, its shadow stretching briefly in the air—one must ponder how such an expanse could ever precisely exhaust the light of such a vast source. Still, the sea remains abundantly full, rivers maintain their dimensions, and experience shows us that moisture endures without depletion. Just as fire did not come into existence through the obliteration of moisture but was instead created by the same sovereign force, so too will it preserve its existence without disturbing the watery essence.
People assert that we often notice the earth being saturated by rain; however, once the sun's rays increase in intensity, the previously moistened ground rapidly dries. They question, “Where does the moisture go if the heat entirely eradicates it?” Shall one suggest that when water is poured from one container to another, its absence from the first indicates its nonexistence? Such reasoning does not incur judgement; for it is equally plausible that moisture overflows between vessels or vaporizes, rising into the air. Moisture naturally ascends due to heat's influence, pulling small portions of its essence upward. A manifestation of this occurs when denser vapors rise from the earth's depths—thus appearing cloud-like in substance—while lighter vapors may blend seamlessly with the air, escaping visibility until condensation forms clouds from which rain emerges.
Therefore, heat did not eliminate what it extracted from the ground; rather, this process bore clouds, which eventually condensed to yield droplets falling to the earth. This cycle continues, eternally recurring within creation. Notice the plants; all follow that same course. Moisture from plant life or seeds nourishes the sprouts, and should any earthy matter join, it diminishes as the surrounding moisture evaporates back into the harmonious essence.
Air, becoming rarified, separates itself from the lighter vapors; similarly, sediments suspended in air drift downward, returning to the earth. Moisture, rather than obliterating, continually seeks what resembles it, moving in the air until condensing with similar particles, eventually forming clouds, which transform back into droplets.
Every aspect of the elemental realm retains the balance established by divine wisdom for the universe’s benefit. Some may object, asserting that we witness clouds dispersing under heat; these clouds, when scrutinized, seem to counter the notion that moisture is not obliterated. Fragmented clouds condense in large numbers, reduce in volume, and suffer combustion by overwhelming heat, seemingly zeroing out any trace of moisture left. Thus, one may find themselves conflicted regarding the nature of vapors.
Above the clouds, the atmosphere can dissolve into such fine particles that they cannot embrace anything heavier, while vapors linger momentarily in the coarser layer surrounding the earth, inhibited from ascending. Descriptions of mountain peaks attest they lie perpetually above the clouds and impervious to winds—neither birds nor water creatures can traverse that domain. This demonstration reveals a boundary within the atmosphere, a limit that halts the heavier vapors ascending from the planet.
Snow persists unmelted atop mountain peaks until summer, as the vapors cool the air. Fire-like trails, often termed shooting stars, derive from similar occurrences; when ferocious winds carry dense air upwards, the friction ignites it, and this blaze follows the wind’s path, extinguishing when the winds diminish. Hence, when clouds are scattered by the winds, it would be rash to expect vapors to reform from this vaporized moisture, lending weight to the belief that moisture merely burns away into oblivion.
THEOSIS