Wild figs help tame figs; nature's hidden wisdom

That is why some growers plant wild fig trees beside the cultivated ones, while others tie wild figs onto the fruitful, tame fig trees and so cure their weakness, using the wild figs to stop the fruit when it is already running off and scattering. What does this riddle from nature mean for you? It means that we must often draw a certain vigor even from those outside the faith, for the display of good works. If you see someone living a pagan life, or cut off from the Church by some crooked heresy, yet practicing a self-controlled life and the rest of good order in conduct, then stretch your own zeal further, so that you may become like the fruit-bearing fig tree, which gathers strength from the presence of the wild figs, stops its running, and nourishes its fruit more carefully. Such, then, are the differences in the manner of their generation, to mention only a very few out of very many. And who could go through the variety of the fruits themselves—their shapes, their colors, the peculiar quality of their juices, the usefulness of each one? How is it that some ripen naked in the sun, while others are filled out covered in husks? And why is the covering of the leaf thick for those whose fruit is soft, as with the fig tree, while for those whose fruits are more tightly enclosed, the growth of leaves is light, as with the walnut tree? Because the former, being weak, needed more help, while for the latter a thicker covering would have been harmful because of the shade it cast. How is the leaf of the vine split apart, so that the grape cluster can withstand the harms that come from the air, and yet receive the sun's ray generously through the open spaces? Nothing is without cause; nothing happens by chance; everything contains some inexpressible wisdom. What words could reach it? How could the human mind go through everything with precision, so as to observe the peculiarities, clearly distinguish the differences in each case, and set forth the hidden causes without omission? One and the same water is drawn up through the root, yet it nourishes the root itself in one way, the bark of the stem in another, the wood in another, and the pith in yet another. The same water becomes leaf, and is divided out into shoots and branches, and supplies growth to the fruits, and from the same source comes the tear of the plant and its resinous juice—and no words could reach how great the difference among these is. For the tear of the mastic tree is one thing, and the sap of the balsam is another; and certain giant fennel plants in Egypt and Libya weep out another kind of sap. There is also a story that amber is the sap of plants, hardened into the nature of stone. The bits of wood and the tiniest creatures that appear inside it bear witness to this story, since they were caught and held while the sap was still soft. In general, someone who has not been taught by experience will find no account that can set forth the activity behind the differences in the qualities of these saps. Again, how is it that from the same moisture wine is formed in the vine, and oil in the olive? And this is not the only wonder—how the liquid is sweetened here and becomes oily there—but also that among the sweet fruits there is an indescribable variation of quality.