詩篇講道 第 1 章 第 1/12 段

All Scripture is God-breathed and profitable, and was written for this very reason by the Spirit: that, as in a common infirmary for souls, all of us might each choose out the remedy for our own particular affliction.

"For," it says, "a remedy will allay great sins."

Now the prophets teach one set of things, the historical writers another, the law yet others, and the form of proverbial exhortation still others.

But the Book of Psalms has comprised whatever is profitable from them all.

and, quite simply, it is a common storehouse of good teachings, finding out for each person what is fitting according to his particular need.

For it heals the old wounds of souls, and brings swift correction to the freshly wounded; it restores what has fallen sick, and preserves unharmed what is whole;

and altogether removes, so far as is possible, the passions that in various ways hold sway over souls in the life of men;

and this it does with a certain melodious enchantment and a pleasure that instills sober reasoning.

For since the Holy Spirit saw that the human race is hard to lead toward virtue, and that, because of our inclination toward pleasure, we neglect the upright life,

what did he do? He mingled the delight that comes from melody with the doctrines, so that through what is pleasant and smooth to the ear we might, without noticing it, receive the benefit that comes from the words;

just as skillful physicians do, who, when giving the more bitter medicines to drink to those in poor health, often smear the rim of the cup with honey.

For scarcely has any one of the many indolent people ever readily kept in memory an apostolic or prophetic precept and departed with it;

but the sayings of the Psalms they sing even at home, and carry about with them in the marketplace;

and somewhere one of those who has become utterly savage with anger, once he begins to be charmed by a psalm, departs at once, having lulled to sleep the wildness of his soul through the melody.

A psalm is calm for souls, the arbiter of peace, quelling the tumult and surge of the thoughts.

For it softens the wrathful part of the soul, and brings the unruly part to its senses.

A psalm is the gatherer of friendship, the union of those at variance, the reconciler of those at enmity.

For who can still regard as an enemy the one with whom he has sent up a single voice to God? So then, the singing of psalms provides even the greatest of goods, love, having devised, as it were, a kind of bond toward union through singing in unison, and fitting the people together into the harmony of a single choir.

A psalm is a place of flight for demons, a summons of the help of angels;

a weapon amid nocturnal fears, a rest from the labors of the day;

safety for infants, an adornment for those in their prime, a consolation for the elderly, the most fitting ornament for women.

It settles the deserts, it brings sobriety to the marketplaces;

for beginners it is the rudiments, for those making progress an increase, for those being perfected a support, the voice of the Church.

This it is that makes the feasts radiant, this it is that produces the sorrow that is according to God.

For a psalm calls forth a tear even from a heart of stone;

a psalm is the work of angels, heavenly citizenship, spiritual incense.

O the wise contrivance of the Teacher, who has devised that we should sing and at the same time learn what is beneficial!

Whence, too, the teachings are somehow more deeply impressed upon souls.

for, slipping in together with grace, they somehow settle in our souls in a more lasting way.

For what might you not learn from here? Is it not the magnificence of courage? The exactness of righteousness? The dignity of self-control? The perfection of prudence? A manner of repentance? The measures of endurance? Whatever good thing you might name? Here is complete theology, the foretelling of Christ's sojourn in the flesh, the threat of judgment, the hope of resurrection, the fear of punishment, the promises of glory, the revelations of mysteries;

all these things are stored up, as in some great and common storehouse, in the Book of Psalms — which, though there were many musical instruments, the prophet fitted to the one called the psaltery, thereby indicating, as it seems to me, the grace resounding within him from above, from the Spirit, because this alone among musical instruments has the source of its sounds from above.

For in the cithara and the lyre, the bronze resounds from below in response to the plectrum;

but this psaltery has the origins of its harmonious rhythms from above;

so that we too might practice seeking the things above, and not be dragged down by the pleasure of the melody to the passions of the flesh.

And I think that the prophetic word has, through the construction of the instrument, deeply and wisely shown us this also: that those who are harmonious and well-attuned in soul have an easy path toward the things above.

Let us now, then, look also at the beginning of the Psalms.

"Blessed is the man who has not walked in the counsel of the ungodly."

Now builders, when raising great structures to a height, lay foundations proportionate to that height;

and shipwrights, when constructing a merchant vessel of vast cargo capacity, lay a keel commensurate with the weight of the cargo.

And in the generation of living creatures, the heart, being laid down first by nature, receives from nature a foundation proportionate to the animal that is about to be formed;

because, as the body is woven together in due proportion to its own first principles, the differences among animals in size are thereby brought about.

What, then, a foundation is in a house, and a keel in a ship, and the heart in an animal's body — this same power, it seems to me, this brief prologue has with respect to the whole construction of the Psalms.

For since, as the discourse advances, it is about to exhort us to many toilsome things, full of countless sweats and labors, it has beforehand shown to the contenders of piety the blessed end, so that, by the hope of the goods laid up for us, we might bear the painful things of life without grief.

Thus also for travelers journeying along a rough and hard-to-pass road, the anticipation of a suitable lodging lightens their toil;

and it is the desire for the merchandise that makes merchants dare the sea;

and the hope of the harvest steals away the labors of farmers.

"Blessed is the man who has not walked in the counsel of the ungodly."

Now that which is properly and primarily to be called blessed is that which is truly good.

Whence Paul too, when he is about to make mention of Christ, says, "according to the appearing of the blessed God and our Savior Jesus Christ."

For truly blessed is that which is beauty itself, toward which all things look, which all things desire — the unchangeable nature, the sovereign dignity, the untroubled life, the griefless course of existence, around which there is no alteration, which change does not touch;

the ever-flowing fountain, the ungrudging grace, the inexhaustible treasure.

But ignorant and world-loving people, not knowing the nature of the good itself, often call blessed things worth nothing at all — wealth, health, the splendor of life;

none of which is good by its own nature;

not only because they easily revert to their opposites, but because they cannot even make good those who possess them.

Blessed, then, is the one who has acquired the things of greatest worth, the one who partakes of goods that cannot be taken away.

But how shall we recognize this person? "Who has not walked in the counsel of the ungodly."

But before saying what it means not to walk in the counsel of the ungodly, I wish to resolve for you a question raised in this passage.

For virtue is one and the same for man and woman, since creation too accords equal honor to both, so that the reward likewise is the same for both.

"God made man," it says;

"in the image of God he made him;"

"male and female he made them."

But those whose nature is one, their activities also are the same;

and those whose work is equal, their reward also is the same.

Blessed, then, is the man who has not walked in the counsel of the ungodly.

Consider the precision of the words, how each expression is filled with doctrines.

It did not say, "who does not walk in the counsel of the ungodly," but "who has not walked."

For the one who is still living out his life is not yet to be called blessed, because the outcome is uncertain;

but the one who has fulfilled what was incumbent upon him, and has closed his life with an indisputable end, he is already securely called blessed;

because those who do the good have their acceptance in the very doing itself;

but those who flee evil are not praiseworthy merely if they turn aside from sin once or twice, but only if they are able to escape the experience of evil altogether.

But from the sequence of the discourse another difficulty has appeared to us as well.

For what inanimate thing has stood in the way of sinners, or what irrational creature has sat in the seat of the pestilent? Wait but a little, then, and you will find the remedy.

"But his will is in the law of the Lord."

Now meditation on the divine law falls to the rational being alone.

But we say this too: that the beginning of the taking up of good things is the withdrawal from evil things.

"For turn away from evil," it says, "and do good."

Wisely, then, and skillfully leading us on toward virtue, he made the withdrawal from vice the beginning of good things.

For if he had set before you the perfect things at once, you would have shrunk back from the undertaking;

but now he accustoms you to the more easily grasped things, so that you may venture boldly upon what follows.

For I myself would say that the discipline of piety resembles a ladder;

that ladder which the blessed Jacob once saw, whose lower parts were close to the ground and lowly, while its upper parts already stretched above the very heaven.

So then those who are being introduced to the life according to virtue must set their footing upon the first steps, and from there continually mount those that follow, until, through gradual advance, they ascend to the height attainable by human nature.

Just as, then, on the ladder the first ascent is the departure from the earth, so too in the manner of life lived according to God, the beginning of progress is separation from evil.

In general, every idleness is indeed easier than any ordinary action whatever;

each of these requires idleness and inactivity.

"You shall love your neighbor as yourself;"

and, "Sell your possessions, and give to the poor;"

and, "If anyone compels you to go one mile, go with him two" — these are deeds befitting athletes, and requiring already a vigorous soul for their accomplishment.

So then, marvel at the wisdom of him who, through the easier and more readily grasped things, leads us on toward perfection.

He has set before us three things worthy of our watchfulness: not to walk in the counsel of the ungodly, not to stand in the way of sinners, not to sit in the seat of the pestilent.

Following the very nature of the things, he set this order upon what has been said.

then we fix our resolve, then we abide in what has been resolved.

First, then, blessed is purity in our understanding, since the resolve in the heart is the root of the actions performed through the body.

For adultery, first kindled in the soul of the pleasure-lover, thus brings about corruption through the body.

Whence the Lord also says that the things which defile a man come from within.

But since ungodliness is properly called sin against God, may it never be that we should ever, out of unbelief, admit any doubt concerning God!

For this is what it means to walk in the counsel of the ungodly: if you say in your heart—

Blessed, then, is he who has not entertained hesitation concerning God, who has not lost heart over present things, but awaits the things hoped for;

who has not held an unbelieving opinion concerning him who created us.

Blessed also is he who has not stood in the way of sinners.

Life, then, is called a way on account of the hastening of each of those who are born toward their end.

For just as those who sleep on board ships are carried automatically by the wind toward their harbors, even though they themselves do not perceive it, but the course drives them on toward the end;

so also we, as the time of our life flows past, are each of us driven onward, as by a certain continuous and unceasing motion, toward our own proper end, by the imperceptible course of our life.

For instance, you sleep, and time runs past you;

you are awake, and your mind is occupied with other things;

but nevertheless life is being spent, even though it escapes our notice.

For this reason we are all upon a way.

And in this way, too, you might grasp the meaning of "the way."

You stand as a traveler upon this life;

you pass everything by, everything falls behind you.

You saw along the way a plant, or grass, or water, or whatever else happened to be worth beholding;

you were delighted a little, then you ran on past.

Again you encountered rocks, and ravines, and precipices, and crags, and thorny stakes, or perhaps also wild beasts, and reptiles, and thistles, and certain other troublesome things;

you were distressed a little, then you left them behind.

Such is life: it possesses neither pleasant things that are lasting, nor grievous things that endure.

The way is not yours, nor indeed are the things present yours.

Among those traveling the road, at the very moment the first one has moved his foot, immediately the one after him sets down his step, and after him the one who follows.

Consider also whether the affairs of life are not much the same.

Today you have tilled the ground, and tomorrow another, and after him yet another.

Do you see these fields and these costly houses? How many names has each of them already exchanged since it came to be!

It used to be called after so-and-so, then it was renamed for another;

it passed on to so-and-so, then now it is called by yet another's name.

Is not, then, our life a way, taking up one person after another in turn, and having all following one another? Blessed, then, is he who has not stood upon the way of sinners.

But what is the meaning of "has not stood"? While men are still in their earliest age, we are neither in vice nor in virtue (for that age is not yet receptive of either disposition);

but when our reason is fully formed, then that which is written comes to pass:

"But when the commandment came, sin sprang to life, and I died."

For evil thoughts rise up, being begotten in our souls out of the passions of the flesh.

For indeed, when the commandment comes—that is, the discernment of good things—if it does not gain the mastery over the worse reasoning, but allows the reasoning to be enslaved by the passions;

then sin springs to life, but the mind dies, having become dead through its transgressions.

Blessed, then, is he who has not lingered on the way of those who sin, but has, by a better reasoning, leapt across to the godly manner of life.

the one broad and spacious, the other narrow and constricted.

And there are two guides, each attempting to turn one toward himself.

The smooth and sloping way, then, has as its guide a deceitful one, an evil demon, who, through pleasure, drags those who follow him toward destruction;

but the rough and uphill way has a good angel, who, through the toils of virtue, leads those who follow him toward the blessed end.

So then, as long as each of us is an infant, pursuing what is pleasant in the present, he takes no care whatever for the future;

but once he has become a man, after his powers of understanding have been fully formed, he seems, as it were, to see his life divided before him into virtue and vice, and, turning the eye of his soul repeatedly toward each, he weighs side by side the things that belong to each.

And the life of sinners displays all the delights of the present age;

but that of the righteous shows forth only the good things of the age to come.

And the way of those who are being saved, to the very degree that it promises good things to come, presents present things as just so toilsome;

but the pleasant and licentious life offers not enjoyment expected for a later time, but enjoyment already present.

Every soul, then, grows dizzy and wavers in its reasonings, at one time choosing virtue when it considers the things eternal, at another preferring pleasure when it looks to the things present.

Here she sees the ease of the flesh, there the subjugation of the flesh;

here drunkenness, there fasting;

here unrestrained laughter, there abundant tears;

here dancing, and there prayer;

flutes here, and there groanings;

here fornication, and there virginity.

Since, then, the truly good is apprehended by reason through faith (for it has been removed far off, and eye has not seen, nor ear heard it), whereas the pleasure of sin has its enjoyment ready at hand, flowing through every sense;

blessed is he who is not overturned by the allurements of pleasure toward destruction, but through patient endurance awaits the hope of salvation, and in the choice between the two ways does not set foot upon the way leading to the worse.

And he has not sat in the seat of the pestilent.

Does he then mean these seats on which we rest our bodies? And what transmission from the wood to sin could there be, such that I should avoid as harmful a seat previously occupied by a sinner? Or must we suppose that 'seat' here means the settled and abiding continuance in the deliberate choice of wickedness? This is what we must guard against, because to persist laboriously in sins produces in souls a habit that is hard to move.

For a passion of the soul grown old, and a practice of evil confirmed by time, is hard to heal, or even wholly incurable, since habit, for the most part, passes over into nature.

It is, then, a thing to be prayed for, not to touch evil at all.

But as it is, I know some who slipped in their youth into the passions of the flesh, and who, because of the habit of evil, remain in their sins even unto grey old age itself.

For just as swine wallowing in mire always plaster the mud upon themselves,

so these men day by day knead into themselves anew the shame that comes from pleasure.

Blessed, then, is it not even to conceive the evil thing in the mind;

but if, through the snatching of the enemy, you have received into your soul counsels of impiety, do not stand still in sin.

And even if you have suffered this too, do not settle down and take root in evil.

Do not, then, sit upon the seat of the pestilent.

If you have understood what 'seat' the text means—that it speaks of the abiding, continual attendance upon evil—then examine next whom it named 'the pestilent.'

Those skilled in such matters say that pestilence, once it lays hold of one man or beast, spreads by transmission to all who come near;

for such is the nature of the disease, that all become infected with the sickness from one another.

Such, too, are the workers of lawlessness.

For, passing the disease on to one another, they fall sick together, and perish together.

Or do you not see the fornicators sitting in the marketplace, mocking those who live temperately, recounting their own works of shame, the practices of darkness, and enumerating the passions of their dishonor as though they were feats of valor, or some other acts of manly excellence? These are the pestilent men, who strive to spread their own evil upon everyone, and are ambitious to make many like themselves, so that in the fellowship of evil they may escape reproach.

For just as fire, once it has caught upon easily combustible material, cannot but pass through the whole of it—especially if it meets with a favoring wind that carries the flame along—

so too sin, once it has caught hold of one, cannot but pass through to all who come near, the spirits of wickedness fanning it into flame.

For the spirit of fornication does not endure that dishonor should stop with one person, but immediately companions of like age are drawn in along with him;

revelries, and drunkenness, and shameful tales—a courtesan drinking together with them, smiling upon this one, provoking that one, and setting them all ablaze together toward the same sin.

Is this pestilence, then, a small thing, or is the transmission of evil a small matter? What then of the man who emulates the covetous, or the one who, through some other wickedness, is clothed with a conspicuous political power, or holds sovereignty over nations, or commands armies, and yet is entangled in the most shameful passions—has he not received the pestilence into his very soul, making the evil of the man he emulates his own? For the splendors attaching to a way of life bring to light, along with themselves, the lives also of those who are conspicuous;

and soldiers, for the most part, become like their commanders;

and the populaces in the cities emulate those in power.

And in general, whenever the evil of one man comes to be regarded by the many as worthy of imitation, it will be fittingly and properly said that a certain pestilence of souls is prevailing abroad in life.

For that which is conspicuous in wickedness draws many of those easily inclined to slip into a like emulation.

Since, then, one becomes infected with corruption from another, let such men be said to inflict pestilence upon souls.

Do not, then, sit upon the seat of the pestilent, nor take part in the council of corrupting and destructive men, nor persist in counsels wickedly conceived.

But while the discourse is still at its beginning, I see the length exceeding due measure;

so that it would be neither easy for you to retain so much in memory, nor for me to carry out the ministry of the word, since the infirmity that is my constant companion causes my voice to fail me.

And if what has been said has been said imperfectly—the flight from evil having been shown, but the perfection that comes through good works having been passed over—nevertheless, having set before your gracious ears what we have now offered, we promise, God granting it, to supply also what remains, unless, that is, we should henceforth pass into utter silence.

May the Lord grant to us also the reward of what has been spoken, and to you the fruit of what you have heard, by the grace of Christ Himself, to whom be glory and dominion unto the ages of ages.

But he is neither this man, nor any other of those who appear there, the 'son of Jemeni.'

For when that man was proposing that no time at all be allowed to elapse in these affairs, but that the father be attacked at once while unprepared, he did not allow the counsel of Ahithophel to be accepted, so that, it says, the Lord might bring upon Absalom all the evils;

Whence also he was well received by Absalom, who said:

The counsel of Hushai the Archite is better than the counsel of Ahithophel.

Now this is the custom of Scripture: to designate the worse sort of men from their sin rather than from their fathers, and to name the better sort 'sons' from the virtue that characterizes them.

The devil, then, the Apostle calls 'son of perdition';

For unless the lawless one, the son of perdition, be revealed...

And in the Gospel the Lord called Judas 'son of perdition':

'For none of them,' He says, 'has perished, except the son of perdition;'

and 'children of wisdom' He calls those who have been formed in the knowledge of God;

'For wisdom,' He says, 'is justified by her children;'

and, 'If,' He says, 'a son of peace be there.'

O Lord my God, in Thee have I hoped; save me.

Though it is thought to be a simple thing, and one that any chance person might be able soundly to utter—'O Lord my God, in Thee have I hoped; save me'—perhaps it is not really such a thing.

For he who hopes in man, or is lifted up by some other thing pertaining to this life, such as power, or wealth, or any of the things reckoned splendid by the many, cannot say:

'O Lord my God, in Thee have I hoped.'

For it is a commandment, not to hope in rulers;

and, 'Cursed is the man who has his hope in man.'

Just as it is fitting to worship nothing else besides God, so too it is fitting to hope in none other than God, the Lord of all.

'For my hope,' He says, 'and my song of praise is the Lord.'

But how does he pray first to be saved from those who pursue him, and then to be delivered? The distinction will make the meaning clear.

'Save me from all who persecute me, and deliver me, lest he seize my soul like a lion.'

What, then, is the difference between being saved and being delivered? It is that, properly speaking, those who are sick have need of salvation, while those held fast in captivity have need of being delivered.

'For your faith,' He says, 'has saved you;'

and, 'Let it be done for you as you have believed.'

But he who must be delivered awaits a ransom-price that must be paid on his behalf from without.

He, then, who is under the sentence of death, knowing that there is one who saves, one who redeems, says, 'In Thee have I hoped; save me from my weakness, and deliver me from captivity.'

But I think that the noble athletes of God, having wrestled sufficiently against the unseen enemies throughout their whole life, when they have escaped all their pursuits and have come to the end of life, are searched by the ruler of this age, so that, if they are found to have wounds from the wrestling-bouts, or certain stains and marks of sin, they may be seized and held fast;

but if they are found unwounded and unstained, as being beyond his grasp, they may be given rest by Christ as free men.

He prays, then, concerning both this present life and the life to come.

For "Save me," he says, refers here to this life—from those who persecute me;

but "deliver me" refers to that other life, in the time of scrutiny, lest he seize my soul like a lion.

And you may learn this from the Lord himself, speaking concerning the time of his passion:

"...of this world is coming, and he will have nothing in me."

But he, having committed no sin, said that he had nothing at all;

but for a man it is enough if he dares to say, "The ruler of this world is coming, and he will have but little and small in me."

But there is danger of suffering these things, if we do not have one to redeem us, nor one to save us.

Corresponding to the two things set forth, there are two things that follow:

"Save me from the multitude of those who persecute me," and "deliver me," lest I be seized, as though there were no one to redeem me.

"O Lord my God, if I have done this, if there is iniquity in my hands, if I have repaid those who repaid me with evil, then may I fall empty before my enemies.

then let the enemy pursue my soul and overtake it,

It is customary in Scripture for the term "recompense" not to be taken with reference to what is commonly supposed—

as though it applied only to some good or evil already in existence—but also with reference to things that initiate a course of events;

as in, "Deal bountifully with your servant."

"Recompense," on the other hand, is a kind of second beginning and cycle of the good or evil things laid up for someone.

I think that, when instead of a petition the text makes as it were a certain demand and seeks "recompense," it presents some such sense as this:

that: "The debt of care necessarily owed by nature to offspring by those who begot them—grant this to me."

For provision for life is owed to children by a father, according to natural affection.

"For parents," he says, "ought to lay up for their children, so that, besides preserving their life, they may also furnish them with the means of livelihood."

Such is often the case in Scripture: "payment" or "recompense" is taken with reference to initiating actions.

But now the speaker seems to take confidence in this: that he has not returned like for like to those who repaid him with evil, that he has not requited them in kind.

"If then I have done this, and if I have repaid those who repaid me with evil, then may I fall empty before my enemies."

He falls empty before his enemies who has fallen away from the grace that comes from the fullness of Christ.

"Then let the enemy pursue my soul and overtake it, and trample my life down into the ground,

The soul of the righteous, once separated from its shared feeling with the body, has its life hidden with Christ in God;

so that it can say, with the Apostle, "I live, yet no longer I, but Christ lives in me;"

and, "But the life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith."

But the soul of the sinner who lives according to the flesh and is mired in bodily pleasures has, as it were, wallowed in the mud of the passions of the flesh;

and trampling upon it, the enemy strives all the more to defile it further and, as it were, to bury it, treading upon the one who has fallen, and with his own feet trampling into the ground—that is, into the body—the life of him who has slipped.

and let him make my glory dwell in the dust."

For the saints, whose citizenship is in the heavens, and who lay up good things for themselves in the eternal treasuries, their glory is in the heavens;

but for those who are earthy and live according to the flesh, their glory is said to dwell in the dust.