God is day and night, winter and summer, war and peace, surfeit

“God is day and night, winter and summer, war and peace, surfeit and hunger.” — thus spoke Heraclitus, the philosopher of fire, whose wisdom flowed like a river through the ages. In these words lies not a creed of idols, but the unveiling of the divine unity that holds all opposites together. Heraclitus, son of Ephesus, saw the world not as a battlefield of good and evil, but as a sacred dance in which all things, even those that clash, are bound by one eternal harmony. To him, God was not a distant ruler seated upon a throne of clouds, but the living rhythm of existence itself — the balance of all things, the pulse that beats through day and night, life and death, joy and sorrow.

The ancients feared opposites, for they saw in darkness the absence of light, in war the ruin of peace, in hunger the shadow of despair. But Heraclitus taught that these were not enemies — they were partners in creation. He saw that winter and summer are one breath of the same sky, each giving meaning to the other. Without hunger, who could know satisfaction? Without the stillness of night, who could cherish the dawn? Thus, the divine is not found in the one or the other, but in their eternal interchange, their ceaseless turning. The universe, he said, is a bow — its tension, its conflict, is what gives it strength and music.

This truth is written upon every page of history. When the Black Death swept through Europe, it seemed that death itself had conquered creation. Yet from that shadow rose the light of renewal — science, compassion, and the flowering of the Renaissance, a rebirth of thought and art that changed the destiny of mankind. From the depths of loss, humanity discovered wisdom; from suffering, we learned to create beauty. So too, every storm of the soul hides within it the seed of awakening. The same fire that burns the forest gives birth to green again. Thus, as Heraclitus saw, God is both the flame and the ash, both the destroyer and the giver of life.

In your own life, remember this: the conflicts, the sorrows, the hunger within you are not curses but teachers. When the path grows cold and the heart grows weary, know that winter walks beside you only to prepare the spring. If you are at war with yourself, if peace seems far away, understand that even war has its sacred work — to shatter falsehoods and awaken truth. The divine dwells not only in serenity but also in the tempest that purifies the soul. To resist the rhythm of opposites is to resist life itself; to embrace them is to walk with the gods.

There was once a man named Nelson Mandela, who spent twenty-seven years imprisoned, locked away in the winter of injustice. Yet in that darkness, he forged within himself a greater light. He learned forgiveness, and when he emerged, he did not bring vengeance, but peace. The prison that could have destroyed him became his place of awakening. Truly, he embodied the Heraclitean mystery: that peace and war, light and shadow, are threads of one divine tapestry. Through his suffering, he revealed the unity that Heraclitus spoke of — that even the harshest opposites serve a single purpose: the evolution of the spirit.

So let no one curse the night nor cling too tightly to the day. Let no heart despise the cold, for summer will come in its time, and the circle will turn again. Life is a river, ever-flowing between opposites, and to live wisely is to flow with it, not against it. When you face hardship, whisper within: “This too is God.” When you are blessed, give thanks but remain humble, for joy and sorrow are but two halves of one sacred coin.

The lesson, then, is this: seek the divine not in perfection, but in balance. Stand in the middle of life’s opposites as upon a bridge — with one hand touching the storm, the other the sunlight. Know that to live is to move between the two, and that true peace is not the absence of conflict, but the understanding of it. In the end, Heraclitus teaches us that we do not find God in temples or heavens afar, but in the trembling harmony of all that is — in day and night, in war and peace, in surfeit and hunger.

Walk, then, as one who knows this truth: that the divine dwells not above the opposites, but within them. Accept all seasons of your life — the bloom and the decay — with reverence. For in doing so, you will not only understand the wisdom of Heraclitus, but awaken to your own: that every breath you take, whether in sorrow or in song, is an echo of the eternal unity — the God who is all things.