約伯記註釋 第 1 章 第 2/12 段

'And the devil answered,' it says, 'and said before the Lord:'

'Does Job fear God for nothing?' This is characteristic of wicked men—when praises are spoken, not to emulate what is said, but to attempt and be zealous to tear them down.

If any are consumed with envy at the good reputation of others, let them hear whose disciples they are.

'And the devil answered,' it says, 'and spoke before the Lord.'

He dared to cast his vote against God.

And it is not that demon alone who does this, but wicked men also.

Or was not that man of such a kind, who says in the Gospel:

'I knew that thou art a hard man, reaping where thou didst not sow, and gathering where thou didst not scatter?' And again others were saying:

'Everyone who does evil is good in the sight of the Lord.'

'Does Job,' he says, 'fear the Lord for nought?' Since he could not lay hold of what had been said,

he slanders his purpose of heart;

he does not lay hold of what is manifest, but of what is hidden.

Whence comes this, O foul one, that for this reason he fears God, for the sake of wealth and possessions? Rather, God wishes the victory to come to him out of abundance and to be beyond dispute, and He abides by His own terms.

'He does not fear God for nought'—and you have set down the cause and the reasoning, namely riches.

Therefore, when the riches are taken away and he remains God-fearing, you yourself will confess that he fears Him for nought. For everywhere God wishes the verdicts to be brought forward by His enemies, so as to leave them no argument.

'Wicked servant, out of thy own mouth will I judge thee'—and again, concerning the Jews:

'Give us,' they say, 'a guard, lest his disciples come and steal him away;'

'Therefore, if you take a guard, it will not be possible for you to say that they stole him;'

Thus does error everywhere pierce itself through—and so also here:

'If you take away the riches, it will not be possible for you to say that he does not fear Him for nought.' What then of those present now, who do not fear God even with a reward? If to fear Him for the sake of riches is not praiseworthy, where shall that be placed—to despise Him even while possessing riches? Let the Jews be ashamed, who do not do even this while having riches.

The man was not a hireling.

He fears God, since he knew that this very thing was good; but now the many do not do so even with riches.

'But you, O foul and utterly wicked one, for what cause do you not fear God? Have you not,' he says, 'made a hedge about his outward things, and about the things within his house, and about all that is his round about on the outside? You have hedged about his outward things and the things within his house, walling him in.' You see also the devil's accurate knowledge, that all his safety is from God. 'And the works of his hands,' he says, 'you have blessed, and you have made his cattle many upon the earth.'

Do you see the wealth given by God? Do you see that it was not from injustice? How much would Job have had to labour in order to persuade men that his wealth was not from injustice!

Behold, the devil himself bore this witness to him, and unknowingly praised him in this too—that he obtained this not by petty trafficking nor by oppressing others, but held it from the blessing of God and enjoyed the safety from above.

But he would not have enjoyed it, had he not been virtuous; so that in this too he unwittingly praised and crowned him.

'The things within his house, and all that is his round about on the outside.'

There was no temptation from without, no disturbance from within; he enjoyed a deep peace;

his children were in concord, his flocks bore young readily.

No war came against him, his house had no strife; neither civil nor foreign war did him harm.

'The things within his house;'

for this is more grievous—the war within.

His whole house was at peace, both within and without.

So then there is need of God everywhere, that both within and without one may be in peace.

God does not refuse nor is He ashamed to keep this watch also and to stand over your flocks and to preserve your herds of cattle—only if you love Him.

And behold the security of the guard:

'You have made a hedge round about on every side,' he says, 'and you have blessed the works of his hands.'

Do you see that the herds and flocks were many not according to nature? 'But send forth,' he says, 'your hand and touch all that he has.'

'Give me authority'—'but send forth your hand and touch all that he has.'

'Surely he will bless you to your face.'

He wished and desired to take the authority himself, but he did not dare to say so; rather, 'You,' he says, 'send forth your hand.'

Then, that he might not say that You struck him sparingly as Your own household servant, God did not do what the devil asked—although, even had He done this, He could have pleaded His right, saying, 'What you willed, I did.'

And the Lord said to the devil:

'Behold, all that he has I give into your hand, but do not touch him himself.'

'So confident am I in my athlete;'

'But I say that into your hand I have given all that he has. Surely he will bless you to your face.'

'He will curse, he will blaspheme openly, not holding back—for this is what to your face means—nor secretly, but shamelessly.'

Whence do you know this, O foul one? Do you conjecture the affairs of others from your own? Since you, though suffering nothing dreadful, were lifted up against your Master, you supposed that my athlete too would undergo this, reasoning: 'If I, being bodiless, fell,' he says, 'how much more this man, being in a body?' And the Lord said to the devil:

'Behold, all that he has I have given into your hand, but do not touch him himself'—that is, his body, that is, his soul.

Do you see that a measure is even given to the temptations? Do you see that he does not touch the beasts unless he receives authority? 'Behold,' He says, 'all things have I given into your hand'—your foul, your insatiable hand.

Do we read these things and are we not troubled? When you see that God delivers a righteous man over to the devil, do not fall down in despair;

What do you say? You bore witness to him that he is righteous, true, God-fearing.

What need is there of another trial after your testimony? 'That the devil may be muzzled,' He says, 'that the righteous man may appear more resplendent, that I may leave behind for those who come after remedies both of endurance and of affliction'—so that out of the same love He uttered both those words, 'blameless, righteous, true,' and 'Behold, all that he has I have given into your hand'—'that you may learn that I do not bear witness by favour, but I entrust the examination to the trial of the facts.'

'Nor do I make the contest evenly matched, but I deliver over to you the very man whom I have attested.' For just as we, when loved by someone, wish this to be made manifest to all, so also God willed His own beloved to be wondered at not from His own testimony alone, but also from the trial of the facts.

For no one contradicts the trial of the facts, but many contradict God.

Do you see the devil also being bridled? Do you see him keeping the terms set by God? Do you see him not overstepping the commands? But he does not overstep the commands because necessity restrains him and fear compels him—that you may know that, if he were able to punish, he would have wished it from the beginning; that you may know that not without reason does God set terms for him.

'And the devil,' it says, 'went out from the presence of the Lord.'

For he who wishes to trip up the righteous is outside of God.

'And it came to pass on a certain day, that the sons of Job and his daughters were eating and drinking in the house of their eldest brother.'

'And behold, a messenger came to Job and said to him:'

'The yoke of oxen were ploughing, and the she-asses were feeding beside them,'

'and raiders came and took them captive, and slew the servants with the edge of the sword; and I only am escaped alone to tell you.'

'And behold,' it says, 'a messenger came.'

Did you see how swift the blow was? And behold how pitiable the calamity becomes, and how novel and strange the disaster.

And he who was ever in safety, and in such great safety as one enjoying God's providence might reasonably possess—behold how he heard this, he who had never taken any experience of such a thing, but from earliest age had known a serene life.

And it cannot be said that some things were taken away while others were left, so as to console the loss of what was taken;

but this one alone is left, the one who announces the tragedy, and the suffering becomes more grievous by the man being present and vividly seeing these calamities.

Great is the fear, beloved, not only concerning the oxen, but also concerning the house, if indeed a war had broken out.

Whence, tell me, and from whom? What battle had taken place? How was he not confounded, hearing so strange a thing—he who lived continually in luxury, to whom this had never happened nor ever been heard of? Then the land was left unploughed thereafter, and at the very fitting season he was deprived of all that was at hand.

And the manner of the loss too is more grievous, especially when it happens at a moment unsuited to the need that summons it.

The work was interrupted midway, so that the damage was twofold—both the incompleteness

of the work and the removal of the animals themselves.

Then also slaughter was mingled with the loss, which makes the enemies appear burdensome and cruel.

Great was the cruelty and the inhumanity; twofold the disaster, slaughter and captivity; and the survival of the one who was left behind was but an addition to the evils, in that he was not even permitted to remain ignorant of the terrible things.

While he was still speaking, there came another messenger to Job and said to him:

'Fire fell from heaven upon the earth and devoured the sheep, and it devoured the shepherds likewise.'

'And I alone was saved, and I have come to bring you word.'

Do you see the blows falling one upon another, and how he is not allowed even to draw breath for a moment? For since this possession was of lesser worth, He made it more grievous by the manner of the punishment.

'Do not suppose,' he says, 'that these are human blows, having heard of men taking captives;'

'From above, from heaven, God wars against you. Fire fell from heaven.'

From where? Clearly from heaven.

But how was it that you alone were saved? What had happened? Up to that day he had remained in his virtue.

How, though he had undergone no change, did he behold this change come upon his affairs? For had he committed some great sin, or had he grown slothful, he might have reckoned the cause of what befell him to be his own transgression.

But remaining in the very same virtue, he was brought into a kind of speechlessness and astonishment.

The devil begins from the lesser blows, keeping the greater ones for last, thinking by this means to overthrow him—that if by the lesser he first wears him down, he may afterward bring on the one that is unbearable.

For having trained himself well in these with philosophic endurance, he bore the rest.

See how in every case those set in charge perish together with the flocks, so that no hope of any possession remained.

For while those who would oversee them survived, there was the expectation of acquiring them again;

but with these also perishing, the situation would have come to an even greater hopelessness.

While he was still speaking, another messenger comes to Job and says to him:

'The horsemen formed three companies against us and encircled the camels and took them captive, and they slew the servants with the sword;'

'And I alone was saved, and I have come to report it to you.'

—so that these too might not be supposed to be from God.

And by the variety of the tidings he heightens the tragedy to its full magnitude.

As if to say: were he to speak as a devout man, that God strikes—then it is necessary to endure; but behold, he says, men also strike; it is not God alone who wars against you. Yet see how great is the power of the devil, how he stirred up so many nations, or else fashioned demons into their likeness.

Consider for me the ease of it, and do not suppose it to be real fire;

for he cannot create, but it only seemed so, and it consumed everything.

While he was still speaking, another messenger comes to Job, saying:

'While your sons and your daughters were eating and drinking at the house of their eldest brother, suddenly a great wind came from the wilderness and struck the four corners of the house, and the house fell upon your children and they died.'

'And I alone was saved, and I have come to report it to you.'

Consider for me here too the manner of the death, how piteous it is; and not from this alone, but also that the children were admirable, and in the very flower of their age.

Just as with the flocks there was both the multitude and the quality of those that perished—for they were fruitful and many—so also here there was the multitude, and the quality of their disposition, and the flower of their age, and the season;

for while they were feasting there was upon the table brain and wine.

'A great wind,' he says, 'came from the wilderness.'

See how here too, as with the sheep, the death was not common, the end not natural, not gradual; nor were there any left behind of those who had gone before to console for the loss;

for all of them the house became one single tomb.

He shook the roof down upon them, so that thereafter each one's body could not even be easily distinguished for burial.

What is more piteous than this sight? What is heavier than this calamity? While they were eating and drinking—

in the very moment of their harmony, in the very time of their rejoicing.

'And I alone,' he says, 'was saved.'

In the case of the other reports, the 'I alone was saved' had some reasonableness, whatever the manner;

but here the suffering is made greater, if indeed, when the children had perished, this man alone was saved;

whence it seems to me that it was the devil himself who was announcing these things.

Again this manner was not like the former;

two messengers came announcing a natural death, and two messengers saying that the death was from above, not according to the common law.

There he says the captors and the horsemen; here the fire from heaven and the wind from the wilderness.

So Job, having heard these things, arose and tore his garments.

Do not suppose this act to be a defeat, beloved;

this above all displays the victory.

For had he done nothing, he would have seemed devoid of natural feeling; but as it is, he is at once philosophic, and a father, and God-fearing.

For what harm did it do? He does not mourn for the children, nor for the loss of the flocks, but for the manner of their end.

Whom would these things not have moved? What adamant? Since Paul too was so affected by tears;

for he says, 'What are you doing, weeping and breaking my heart?' But for this very reason he was admirable; even so this man too was admirable for this reason, that though his suffering compelled him to do and to endure these things, he uttered nothing grievous.

'He arose,' he says, 'and tore his garments.'

Since Moses too tore, and Joshua tore his garments; had he not done this, someone might have said that God had fashioned him insensible;

but He allows the sufferings to prevail over the righteous man, that you may know that even in his grief he plays the philosopher.

Do you see how craftily the devil reserved for last this most grievous blow? He had made light of the former ones;

he was not moved at their loss.

But when he heard these things, the weakness of nature was exposed—or rather, the philosophic endurance of the righteous man.

Like some athlete, he honored his children.

By these same acts he honors God also;

and falling upon the earth, he worshiped.

For lest you suppose that the tearing of his garments belonged to one blaspheming and taking ill what had befallen, hear what he says; and he thereafter yields to the devil even his very garment;

'And he shaved,' it says, 'the hair of his head, and falling to the ground he worshiped the Lord and said:'

'Naked came I forth from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither.'

for henceforth he goes down naked into the contest.

'And falling to the ground he worshiped and said:'

Do you see how the magnitude of the calamity does not overturn the God-fearing man? 'And he said,' it says, 'Naked came I forth.'

Did you see what blows he deals the devil, and how he stretched him out upon the ground? He fell upon the earth, and cast that one down as well.

He displayed his suffering, he displayed his piety.

It was not possible, being a man, not to grieve at what had happened, just as it was not possible for Job, being who he was, to take it ill.

And there he displayed his nature, while here he displayed his zealous readiness.

So too, in a manner, do the athletes act;

Before they enter into the wrestling-bouts and the contests, they do reverence to those who preside over the games; and again after they have won. Even so did this man also, when he had fallen, do reverence.

And behold what the devil availed to do: only to make him rend his garment.

But if one of the philosophers, who demand even beyond measure, should say that he ought not to have done even these things, let him learn that Paul also wept, and that Jesus Himself also shed tears.

Let him know what a father's fellow-feeling for his children truly is.

But let us hear what wisdom he speaks in the very moment of the calamity; and the very things which anyone might have counselled him, these he himself, though the sufferer, chants over his own soul, stirring up godly reasonings.

Had he not done these things, who would not have called him harsh and unfeeling and savage? Would he then not have grieved over those for whom he had labored so greatly? For was it common children that he had lost? No, disciples of godliness.

The death was untimely and unlooked-for.

Dost thou not weigh these things, O man? Then for the first time had these befallen him; all came upon him at once, and it did not so much as grant him room to draw breath.

He made it plain that it was God who was warring against him.

But let us look at the athlete's words:

Here above all are the wrestling-bouts; here are the anointings for the contest.

Let us see how he dashed the enemy to the ground, first by his act of reverence:

For having done reverence, he thenceforth suffered his soul to utter nothing discordant.

Straightway his reasoning leaped up toward God, and no longer looked to things present.

'I myself,' saith he, 'came forth naked from my mother's womb, and naked shall I also depart.'

See how he separated himself, see how he set himself apart from mere natural affection.

'For do I possess anything of my own?' saith he. See the apostolic words again fulfilled through his deeds:

'For we brought nothing into this world, neither can we carry anything out.'

See what manner of words he utters, profitable not for himself alone, but for us as well.

'I myself came forth naked from my mother's womb.'

A little later I was destined to be parted from these things.

'For were these things mine? Did I acquire them? Was not the matter a thing entrusted to me? Was I not a little later destined to be parted from these things? For were these mine? Did I acquire them?' They were another's, both in that they did not enter the world together with me, and in that they will not depart together with me.

So let us also be disposed, beloved:

Let us be without attachment toward riches.

For this cause God fashioned us naked from the beginning, and made us mortal, that even thus we might learn that the things concerning us belong to the outward things.

For this cause we depart to that other world in like manner.

For this cause too are goods called 'goods for use,' because they have been given us for our use here.

'The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away.'

'As it seemed good to the Lord, so also is it come to pass.'

Dost thou see that he reckoned this—that it was God who took away? But we cannot say this.

Both from the fact that the things taken were not ours, and from the fact that it was God who took them—even if they were ours—comes the greatest consolation.

For we grieve most over those things which are taken away, whenever they are our own.

'As it seemed good to the Lord, so also is it come to pass.'

What is equal to this? He no longer busies himself with idle inquiry, nor does he say:

'For what cause hath He given? For what cause hath He taken again?' And indeed this comes to pass with all men:

That which was to happen a little later, this has come to pass.

He is disposed not as toward something strange, but as toward something customary.

'Nothing hath befallen us,' saith he, 'beyond what is usual, nothing contrary to nature.'

This was according to nature. 'The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away.'

See by how many considerations he fashions consolation for himself: first, that they are not mine; then, that they were not even destined to be mine—

for thus indeed do I also depart. Besides these things:

Even if they were mine, He who took them is able to console—

but when they are not even mine, and He who took them is great and has received what is His own, how is it fitting to grieve? 'As it seemed good to the Lord, so also is it come to pass.'

Tell me, why did it thus seem good to Him? I say nothing.

For why didst thou not inquire, when I was receiving, why it seemed good thus? When He made me rich, I did not inquire why He gave to me; neither now do I inquire why He took away.

For did He give as to one worthy? Did I receive it as a recompense for good deeds? It seemed good to Him, and He gave;

and again it seemed good to Him, and He took away. This belongs to a devout mind—to commit the whole to the will of God, and not to demand reasons nor render Him to account.

Whence knowest thou that it seemed good to the Lord? 'I heard,' saith he, 'that fire fell from heaven;'

the matter was not according to the law of nature.

'If He Himself had been guarding me, I should not have suffered these things;'

'if He had not withdrawn His guard, I should not have been plotted against.' The devil, then, was eager to make him blaspheme over the loss;

but he gave thanks even over the deprivation.

Let us then not think, beloved, that we possess anything of our own, and we shall not grieve.

This too he reasoned concerning his children:

for he ascribed the whole not to the nature of things, but to God.

And observe: he was in poverty, not having been reared in it from the beginning so that it should be easy for him to bear, but seeing it fall upon him beyond all expectation—which is the more grievous.

Suddenly he who had many children became childless.

It is better not to receive at all than to receive thus, only to learn of what one has been deprived; so that the peace and calm and prosperity that had gone before made the calamity the more grievous.

But did he perhaps speak these things in vexation? By no means.

'Blessed be the name of the Lord unto the ages.'

Not now only when he received, nor only when he gave, but always and continually.

Not only did he not blaspheme, but he even blessed;

not only did he not bear the calamity in silence, but he even glorified Him—not for the present time only, but also for the time to come.

Nevertheless we ought to give thanks, whatever may come to pass.

And to those who wish to blaspheme he stops the mouths, he curbs the tongue.

Why did he not from the outset say this and bless, but also set forth just reasonings? That he might muzzle those also who wished to blaspheme.

Had he said only 'Blessed be the name of the Lord,' he would have seemed simply to be philosophizing.

But as it is, he both stirs up just reasonings and takes away every pretext from those who wished to accuse him.

For let it not be Job who suffered these things, but any chance person:

For what cause art thou vexed? Didst thou not have the things of God? 'Yea,' saith one, 'for what cause did He give, if He was going to take away?' Thou oughtest to be grateful for the time in which thou didst have the use of them; and if indeed someone had lent thee money and given it in trust to thee...

Let the rich say these things, even if they have not been deprived of their goods, even while wealth is still flowing in upon them:

'Naked I came forth, and naked shall I depart.'

'Why do I gather riches? What profit have I from wealth?' he says; 'I depart naked.'

'We brought nothing into the world,' he says, 'neither can we carry anything out.'

Do you see how great a profit he reaped? Do you see how the loss of wealth became the occasion of gain? He lost his goods and found virtue;

he became poor and thereby grew all the richer;

he laid aside his gold and thereby struck the devil the harder.

'In all these things that befell him Job sinned not before the Lord,' he says, 'nor with his lips, and he ascribed no folly to God.'

Just as in the case of pictures, whenever we have painted someone, we write an inscription below on the base of the frame;

'Such-and-such a one dedicated this'—so also here, having painted the image of his soul by means of words, the one who wrote the book, as though inscribing below on the base, says:

'In all these things that befell him Job sinned not before the Lord, nor with his lips.'

Do not suppose that before men indeed he kept silence, but before God he did not; rather, not even in thought did he sin.

'Nor with his lips': often, when we are carried away by passion, we utter some unfitting word, though the mind does not consent, but grief sweeps away the tongue.

But he suffered not even this; rather, pure was his mind of blasphemy, and pure his tongue of wicked words.

For do not, because he related these things in a brief span of time, suppose them to be small;

he compressed the calamities of a long time and spoke them together.

But if you will, let us go through the account in detail, and you will see what the phrase 'in all these things' means.

The fields were desolate, their flocks destroyed; the earth was barren; all things full of lamentation; wailings throughout the house.

Everything, in short, laid waste, all things having been plundered without purpose.

What war, what battle, what captivity ever burst so violently into the house of the righteous man? What need is there to speak of it? That many things befell him? That all at once? That in a grievous manner of punishment? That beyond all expectation? That when he was conscious of no evil in himself? What first, what second? One must consider the youth of the children, the virtue of his soul, the cruelty of the punishment.

Young men, in the prime of life, while they were eating and drinking in one house, were buried beneath the roof when it was shaken down.

A treasury of evils, a wealth of tragedy, blows for ever following one upon another.

Many before men utter nothing, but in their minds they condemn God.

But not so the righteous man; rather he remained unshaken.

'And he ascribed no folly to God,' he says.

What does this mean? The saying is obscure.

'And by night,' he says, 'and it was not accounted to me as folly'—this very thing has happened here as well.

He did not charge the things that had happened with injustice.

He did not say that events are borne along simply and at random.

'I am righteous, and conscious of nothing against myself;

those men prosper, while I am in such great evils.'

'Why? What wrong have I done, what have I sinned? Does God really care about our affairs?' But he neither said nor thought any such thing as many suffer, seeing others prospering while they themselves are in the uttermost dangers.

It is not, then, from circumstances that the suspecting of some evil concerning God arises—since this man too would have suspected it—but from something else.

For what have you, O man, that you did not receive? Has a child died on you? Say:

'The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away.'

Did you enjoy security, and then fall into dangers? This one saying suffices to serve in place of a remedy.

It is able everywhere to stand by us in every calamity, in every misfortune, and to take away all despondency.

'As it seemed good to the Lord, so also it came to pass.'

So also another says:

'Behold, here am I; let Him do to me what is pleasing in His sight'; and again another:

'The Lord Himself will do what is pleasing in His sight.'

And in the Gospel too Christ charged us, saying:

'And it came to pass,' he says, 'as on this day, that the angels of God came to stand before the Lord, and the devil came in the midst of them to stand before the Lord.'

Why does he introduce them as standing by each day? That we may learn that present things are not without providence, but that they render an account of what happens each day, and that each day the angels are sent forth managing some matter, even if we do not know it.

For if this has come to pass, this is their work, as also the blessed Paul says:

'sent forth for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation.'

'And the devil,' he says, 'in the midst of them.'

Do you see for what purpose those stand there, and for what this one? Those to minister, this one to tempt;

those to manage our affairs, but this one to pervert our affairs.

And for what reason is he again questioned in the presence of those very angels? Necessarily, concerning the very matter of which he had spoken before:

'Surely he will bless You to Your face.'

O the shameless nature!

'And the Lord said to the devil:

Whence do you come? Then the devil said before the Lord:

Having gone through all that is under heaven and walked about the earth, I am present.'

See this one too, going about the inhabited world each day.

For that the angels also go about, we have learned from Zechariah.

And this one too does not go about simply for nothing;