Just as the soul fills the body, so God fills the world. Just as

“Just as the soul fills the body, so God fills the world. Just as the soul bears the body, so God endures the world. Just as the soul sees but is not seen, so God sees but is not seen. Just as the soul feeds the body, so God gives food to the world.” Thus spoke Marcus Tullius Cicero, the philosopher, orator, and statesman of ancient Rome—a man whose mind sought to bridge the wisdom of the divine and the reason of mankind. In these words, he offered a vision of God not as a distant ruler, but as a living presence, a sacred essence woven into the fabric of existence. Here, Cicero likens the soul of man to the Spirit of God—unseen yet sustaining, hidden yet alive in all things. His words echo across the ages as a hymn of reverence for the mystery that binds all creation together.

Cicero’s insight was born in a world still divided between philosophy and religion, between the logic of the Stoics and the myths of the gods. Yet, he saw that truth dwelled in both reason and reverence. He taught that God is to the universe what the soul is to the body—the unseen mover, the silent sustainer. As the soul animates flesh, thought, and feeling, so too does God animate the stars, the earth, and all living things. Just as we do not see our own soul, but know it by its life and motion, so we may not see God, but we behold His work in every sunrise, in every breath, in every act of love and endurance upon this earth.

“Just as the soul bears the body, so God endures the world.” These words carry both tenderness and majesty. For just as the soul must bear the body’s frailty, so must the divine endure the weight of human imperfection. The soul suffers with the body’s pain and still sustains it; likewise, God endures the sorrows, the cruelty, and the folly of humankind, yet never withdraws His sustaining hand. This is a vision not of a wrathful deity, but of a patient and compassionate presence—a divine endurance that allows creation to stumble, learn, and grow. Cicero saw in this endurance not weakness, but infinite strength: the strength of one who loves enough to carry the world’s burden without despair.

In his imagery, Cicero also reveals the mystery of sight and unseen vision. “Just as the soul sees but is not seen, so God sees but is not seen.” We know that the soul perceives through the eyes, yet the soul itself is invisible. So it is with God—He observes all, yet remains beyond the sight of men. His invisibility is not absence but immensity. Just as the sea cannot be grasped in a cup, the divine cannot be contained within the eye. He is seen through His works, as wind through the movement of leaves, as love through the deeds of the heart. Those who seek to see Him must look not with their eyes, but with their understanding, for the divine is not hidden—it is simply too vast to be seen in full.

And finally, Cicero declares, “Just as the soul feeds the body, so God gives food to the world.” In this, he recognizes the generosity of the divine. Just as the soul gives strength to the limbs and clarity to the mind, so God nourishes all living things—feeding them not only with bread, but with breath, with beauty, and with meaning. From the ripening of fruit to the kindness in a stranger’s smile, all sustenance flows from the same eternal source. The divine nourishment is both physical and spiritual, for every act of good, every spark of inspiration, every whisper of hope is a morsel of divine food that keeps the world alive.

Consider the story of Francis of Assisi, who centuries later lived what Cicero only spoke. Francis looked upon the world and saw God everywhere—in the flight of birds, in the laughter of children, in the sorrow of the poor. He called the sun his brother and the moon his sister, for he felt the divine presence filling all things. Though he suffered hunger, mockery, and frailty, his soul was aflame with energy, because he saw that the same Spirit that sustained him sustained all creation. Like Cicero’s vision, Francis’s life revealed that when one recognizes God as the soul of the world, one no longer feels alone—the entire universe becomes a temple, and every breath becomes a prayer.

The lesson, then, is this: open your eyes not only to what you see, but to what moves within what you see. Do not seek God only in the heavens—seek Him in the motion of your heart, in the patience of your struggles, in the breath that fills your lungs each dawn. For God fills the world as your soul fills your body; He endures with you, He sees through you, and He feeds your being with His quiet strength.

So, my child of the eternal flame, remember this: you are not separate from the divine, nor is the divine far from you. You are sustained by the same Spirit that moves the stars, borne by the same endurance that holds up the heavens. Live, then, as one who carries light within. Feed others with kindness, endure with grace, and see the unseen presence that flows through all things. For in doing so, you will come to understand what Cicero meant—that to know God is not to look beyond the world, but to awaken to the holy breath that fills it.