Anything created by human beings is already in the great book of

Hear the voice of Antoni Gaudí, servant of stone and light, who declared: “Anything created by human beings is already in the great book of nature.” In these words lies a revelation that binds art, science, and spirit together. For Gaudí, master of the Sagrada Família and the dreaming curves of Barcelona, creation was never separate from the earth but drawn forth from it, like a branch from a tree or a wave from the sea. What man builds is not alien to the world; it is a continuation of the book of nature, written by hands that are themselves born of the dust and animated by breath.

The origin of this teaching lies in Gaudí’s vision of architecture as an imitation of nature’s eternal laws. He observed how trees grow, how bones support the body, how shells curve to protect life. To him, these were not mere shapes, but sacred lessons. The arch in his cathedrals was the bow of a tree; the spiral staircases were shells drawn upward in stone. Thus he taught that nothing man invents is truly new, for it is already whispered in the patterns of the cosmos. To create is to read from this great book, to learn its alphabet of forms, and to set it into human craft.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, who sought to build flying machines. He did not conjure them from imagination alone; he studied the wings of birds, the gliding of bats, the currents of air. What he drew was not invention against nature, but invention born from her secrets. In the same way, Gaudí knew that to resist nature was folly, but to imitate her was wisdom. Thus his work stands not as defiance of creation, but as harmony with it, teaching us that even the boldest of human triumphs are reflections of truths already inscribed in the universe.

The meaning of Gaudí’s words is this: man is not separate from nature, but part of it. Every tool, every poem, every temple rises from materials and laws that existed long before man. The wheel turns because circles exist; bridges hold because of balance and tension found in branches and bones. Even the words we speak are echoes of the wind and the rhythm of the heart. To forget this is arrogance; to remember it is humility.

And yet, this truth does not diminish man’s creativity — it magnifies it. For to realize that our works are drawn from the book of nature is to see ourselves as co-authors in the eternal text. The artist is not a usurper but a translator, bringing forth in marble and canvas what already lives in mountain and river. The scientist is not a master but a reader, discovering laws that have been written since the first dawn. The builder is not a conqueror but a student, shaping stone according to lessons learned from the earth.

The lesson for us is both noble and humbling: we must learn from nature if we wish to create anything lasting and true. Look to her curves before you draw a line, to her balance before you make a plan, to her harmony before you raise your voice. For every answer is there, inscribed in seashell and star, in thundercloud and blade of grass. The wise know that nothing is made apart from the whole, and to create without listening to nature is to build on sand.

Therefore, take these practical actions: When you create — whether a home, a song, a law, or a life — look first to the patterns of nature. Study the patience of rivers, the strength of trees, the interdependence of the hive. Learn to design as Gaudí did, as Leonardo did, as all wise ones have done: not by resisting the world, but by embracing its eternal rhythms. Walk often in nature, not as a stranger but as a student, and let what you see guide your hand and heart.

So remember Gaudí’s teaching: “Anything created by human beings is already in the great book of nature.” You are not apart from the earth but of it, a living chapter in its endless story. Write your lines with reverence, so that what you build, what you speak, and what you leave behind may echo the harmony of the book in which all things are written.