Chaos and the Creation

Before sea was, and lands, and the sky that veils all things, one face of nature lay upon the whole round of the world: they called it Chaos — a rough, unordered mass, nothing but lifeless weight, and heaped together the warring seeds of things not kindly joined. No Titan yet lent light to the world, nor did Phoebe, waxing, renew her crescent horns; nor hung the earth, wrapped round with ambient air, balanced upon her own weights, nor had Amphitrite stretched her arms along the long rim of the lands. And as it was, there was earth there, and sea, and air, so earth was unfixed, water unfit to sail, air starved of light: no shape kept to its own, each stood in the way of each, for in one body cold fought with warm, and wet with dry, and soft with hard, and weightless things with things of weight.

This quarrel the god — and a kinder nature — settled: for he cut the lands from sky, and the waves from lands, and parted the clear heaven from the thickened air. And when he had rolled them out, and freed them from the blind heap, he bound the sundered parts in harmonious peace: the fiery force of the rounded heaven, weightless, flashed upward and made its place upon the height of the citadel; next to it came the air, in lightness and in seat; denser than these the earth drew down her great elements, and was pressed fast by her own weight; and the encircling water took the last place, and fenced the solid globe. So, when he — whoever of the gods it was — had cut that heap, and molded it into members of one design, first he gathered the earth into the shape of a great sphere, that it might be equal on every side.

Then he bade the seas spread out, and swell with rushing winds, and cast their shores about the girdled lands; he added springs, and great pools, and lakes, and fenced the rivers with their sloping banks: which, in their different places, are partly swallowed by the earth itself, and partly reach the sea, and, taken into the plain of freer water, beat on shores instead of banks. He bade the plains stretch out, the valleys sink, the woods be clothed in leaf, the stony mountains rise: and as two zones cut the sky upon the right, and two upon the left, and a fifth is hotter than these, so the care of god distinguished the enclosed weight by that same number: so many zones press upon the earth. Of these, the middle one is uninhabitable with heat; deep snow covers two; between each pair he placed the temperate blend, where flame is mixed with cold.

Over these hangs the air, which, by as much as the weight of earth is lighter than the weight of water, is by so much heavier than fire. There he bade the mists stand, there the clouds, there the thunders that would shake the minds of men, and the winds that make lightnings with their thunderbolts. Not even of these did the world's maker allow the winds to blow at large without restraint: hardly even now are they opposed, when each governs his blasts in his own several tract — lest they tear the world apart: so great is the discord of brothers. Eurus withdrew to the dawn and to the Nabataean realms, and to Persia, and the heights beneath the morning rays; evening, and the shores that grow warm in the westward sun, are nearest to Zephyrus; into Scythia and the seven Bears rushed the shuddering Boreas; the land opposite grows wet with constant cloud and rain from the south wind.

Above all these he set the translucent heaven, wanting weight, that held no taint of any earthly dross. Hardly had he fenced all things with sure boundaries when the stars, so long pressed beneath blind darkness, began to blaze out through the whole of heaven: and that no region might lack its proper creatures, the stars took the heavenly ground, and the shapes of gods; the gleaming waters yielded to the fish to dwell in; the earth took the wild beasts; the restless air, the birds. A holier creature still was wanting, of higher mind, fit to rule the rest: man was born. Whether the maker of all things formed him of divine seed — he, the origin of a better world — or whether the new earth, but lately parted from the high heaven, still kept seeds of her kindred sky, which Prometheus, son of Iapetus, mingled with the streams of rain, and shaped into the likeness of the gods who govern all — while the other animals bend and look upon the ground, he gave to man a lofty countenance, and bade him behold the heaven, and raise his upright face to the stars: so the earth, but lately rough and without shape, changed, put on the unknown shapes of humankind.

Before there was any sea or land, before the sky that covers everything, the face of nature was the same all over the world: people called it Chaos — a shapeless, jumbled pile, nothing but dead weight, with the warring seeds of badly matched things crowded together in one body. No Titan yet gave light to the world. The moon did not yet renew her crescent horns. The earth did not hang balanced in the air around her, held by her own weight, and the sea had not stretched her arms along the far edges of the land. Where there was earth, there was also sea and air — but earth stood on nothing, the sea could not be sailed, and the air was dark. Nothing kept its own shape: everything got in everything else's way, because in one body cold fought heat, wet fought dry, soft fought hard, and weightless things fought things of weight.

Then a god — a kinder nature — ended this conflict. He cut the land away from the sky, and the water from the land, and separated the clear heavens from the heavy air. When he had rolled them free of the blind heap, he bound the divided parts together in peaceful harmony. The fiery, weightless energy of the round heaven flashed upward and claimed its place on the height of the citadel; next came the air, lighter than fire in neither place nor weight; then, heavier than both, the earth drew down her great elements and was pressed fast by her own weight — and the water around her took the lowest place and enclosed the solid world.

So when this god — whichever of the gods it was — had cut that heap into order and shaped it into one design, he first rolled the earth into the form of a great sphere, so that it would be the same on every side. Then he commanded the seas to spread and swell with rushing winds, throwing their shores around the girdled lands. He added springs and great standing pools and lakes, and fenced the rivers with sloping banks, so that in some places the waters are drunk up by the earth itself, and in others they reach the sea and, running into a freer plain, beat on shores instead of banks. He commanded the plains to spread out, the valleys to sink, the woods to put on leaf, and the stony mountains to rise. And just as the sky is cut into two zones on the right and two on the left, with a fifth hotter than all the rest, so the god's care marked off the enclosed weight of the earth by that same number: so many zones press upon it. The middle zone cannot be lived in for heat; deep snow covers the two extremes; and between each hot and cold pair he placed the temperate blend, where flame is mixed with frost.

Over all these hangs the air, which weighs as much more than the earth as the earth weighs more than water. There he stationed the mists, there the clouds, there the thunders that shake the minds of men, and the winds that make lightning with their thunderbolts. But the world's maker did not let even the winds blow loose in any direction they pleased: even now they are held apart, each governing his gales in his own separate tract — or else they would tear the world to pieces, so great is the rivalry among brothers. Eurus went off to the dawn, to the Arabian lands, to Persia and the heights that lie beneath the morning light. The evening shore, and the coasts that grow warm in the setting sun, lie next to Zephyrus. Fierce Boreas rushed away to Scythia and the seven Bears; and the land opposite is soaked with constant cloud and rain by the south wind.

Over all these he placed the clear, weightless sky, which has no taint of any earthly dross. Hardly had he marked off all things with fixed limits when the stars, so long buried in blind darkness, began to blaze through the whole of heaven. And so that no region might be without its own creatures, the stars took the ground of heaven, and the fish took the shining waters, the earth took the wild beasts, and the restless air the birds.

But one thing was still wanting — a creature holier and higher, able to rule the rest. Man was born. Whether the maker of all things made him from divine seed — he, the origin of a better world — or whether the new earth, only just separated from the high heavens, still held seeds of her kindred sky, which Prometheus, the son of Iapetus, mixed with fresh rainwater and shaped into the likeness of the gods who rule all things — while every other animal bends its head and stares at the ground, he gave man a face that lifts him upward. He told him to stand erect and look up to heaven, and raised his countenance toward the stars. So the earth, so lately crude and formless, changed, and took on the unknown shapes of humankind.