約伯記註釋 第 1 章 第 4/12 段

But let us not examine these words superficially; rather let us see out of what disposition they are spoken — a mind despondent and troubled — since David also says:

But I said in my dismay — yet it was in dismay that he said it.

But I said in my prosperity:

I shall never be moved, forever.

So too this man spoke these things in his calamity.

Do you not see, beloved, those who are being cut by the surgeon crying out greatly? Do we then rebuke them? By no means, but we make allowance for them.

Had he not uttered these things, he would have seemed not even to share in our common nature.

Do you not hear Moses, what manner of things he says? Kill me, if you are going to deal with me thus.

What difference is there, tell me, between saying 'Kill me' and saying 'Let the day perish in which I was born'? This Jeremiah also said:

Cursed be the day in which I was born.

Do not look at the words superficially, but examine the mind behind them.

For that he did not sin, not even with his lips, you have often heard;

and that not even after these things did he sin, you shall again hear from God himself, saying:

Do you think I have dealt with you otherwise than that you might be shown to be righteous? He would not have received double what he had before, had he not displayed a doubled virtue.

Seeing therefore the verdict of God, let us give heed to what is spoken.

And if we find aught † to say, since † let us give thanks to God.

Let that day perish, he says, in which I was born, and the night in which they said:

Let us see what 'let it perish' means, and we shall see that the words are of despondency, not of wickedness nor of any blasphemy.

For is it possible for it to return again and come to be anew? — for he speaks of it as of a thing that has no substance.

That day, he says, let it be darkness, and let not the Lord seek it out from above, neither let light come upon it:

but let darkness and the shadow of death seize it, and let gloom come upon it.

Let that day and that night be cursed; let darkness carry it away.

Let it not be reckoned among the days of the year, nor be numbered among the days of the months.

And let that night be full of pain, and let no mirth nor gladness come upon it; but let him that curses the day curse it — he who is about to master the great sea-monster.

Let the stars of that night be darkened; let it wait for light, and let none come, nor let it shine, nor let it see the dawn-star rising, because it did not shut up the gates of my mother's womb:

for so it would have removed trouble from my eyes.

Do you see that the words are of despondency? Was it the day's doing to have wrought these things, tell me? For why, he says, did I not perish in the womb, but came forth from the belly and did not straightway die? And why did knees receive me? And why did I suckle my mother's breasts? For now I would have lain down and been at peace, and having fallen asleep I would have rested, with kings and counselors of the earth, who gloried in swords, and with rulers whose gold was abundant, who filled their houses with silver — or as an untimely birth,

coming forth from the mother's womb, or as infants who never saw the light.

What are you saying? Was it not you who said:

'If we have received good things from the Lord, shall we not also endure the evil things?' What has happened? Suddenly you have collapsed, and you curse your day and lay the blame upon your own birth—and this in the presence of your hearers! Yet do you not marvel that he did not utter those words: 'What am I receiving in return for what? Is this my recompense for hospitality? Is this the reward for so great a love of mankind?' But he said none of these things; rather, as one justly enduring what he was enduring, he prayed—both fittingly and reasonably—that it might not have come to pass; the very thing which Christ also said concerning Judas:

'It had been good for that man if he had not been born.'

This same thing, then, is what this man also declares:

'Why was I born? It had been better not to have come into being.' There the ungodly cease from the wrath of anger; there they that are weary in body find rest.

'And all together throughout the age they hear not the voice of the taskmaster.'

'The small and the great are there, and the servant that fears not his master.'

What are you saying—that I am ungodly and wicked? But these too have obtained this same consolation. 'For why,' he says, 'is light given to those in bitterness of soul, and life to the souls that are in pains—who long for death and attain it not, but dig for it as for a treasure, and are overjoyed if they light upon it?'

'For death is rest to a man, whose way is hidden.'

'For God has hedged him in.'

Marvel here too at his reverence—how he desires death and yet attains it not, and did not dare to make away with himself.

These are not the words of one making accusation, but of one in perplexity, unable to find the cause.

Just as Christ, when He said, 'It had been good for him if he had not been born,' declared nothing else than that dreadful and grievous things awaited him, so also here Job, when he says 'Would that I had not been born,' does not inveigh against the handiwork of God, but sets forth the magnitude of his calamity.

Why 'Would that I had not been born'? Because you have suffered some injustice? By no means, he says, but because I cannot bear the calamity. And observe his reverence:

He pours out all his wrath upon the day, not daring to overstep this bound, but ever saying the same things and continually—day and night, and night and day—and nothing beyond:

And yet the first utterance would have sufficed to set forth the whole.

For when he said, 'Let the day perish in which I was born,' he declared all that pertains here, meaning to say that for a while I did not experience present sufferings, even though I received no wage for my piety. Why did he say, 'Let no light come upon it,' and all such things? It is the custom of those in pain to speak at excessive length.

Let us not, then, bring his words under ungodly scrutiny;

for whom God justifies, who shall condemn? 'That day,' he says, 'let it be darkness, and let not the Lord from above seek it out, neither let light come upon it; but let darkness and the shadow of death seize it.'

How does this differ from that other? And again:

'Let him curse it who curses that day, he who is ready to master the great sea-monster.'

What does the sea-monster mean here? It indicates the great power of God.

'Now,' he says, 'having lain down, I should have been quiet; and having slept, I should have been at rest, together with kings and counsellors of the earth.'

Let it suffice me—am I better than my fathers? 'And with rulers,' he says, 'whose gold was abundant.'

It seems to me that he is also restraining those men and persuading them not to esteem human affairs as anything great.

For not simply nor by chance did he bring in kings here—those who, he says, exulted over their swords.

Observe, even in his calamity, his philosophic words.

Their wealth availed them nothing; their power profited them nothing.

Death prevailed over all.

'Or,' he says, 'like an untimely birth coming forth from the mother's womb.'

Observe how, that he might not seem to exalt himself, he even compares himself to the miscarried:

so lowly was he, and so pitiable.

'There,' he says, 'the ungodly cease from the wrath of anger.'

Then follows a eulogy of death: that some have desisted from wickedness, while others have been delivered from misery; some have found a harbour from their troubles, others a hindrance to their wickedness;

and, greatest of all, that it is no longer possible to expect again

the former things; but those who have found rest must ever abide in that rest, and there shall be a release from all troubles.

How would you have me cease according to your wish? Why did I not depart hence? These words are not those of one making accusation, but of one in perplexity, desiring death alone.

'And all together,' he says, 'they that are throughout the age hear not the voice of the taskmaster.'

Death is higher than all things.

Not only is there nothing dreadful to endure, but the dreadful things are not even received so much as by hearsay.

'The small and the great are there, and the servant that fears not his master.'

No one is able to escape that tyranny—neither slave nor free.

All human things are dissolved—both wealth and dignities.

Great is the inequality in the present life, but great is the freedom after our departure hence.

For since the matter seemed to be a thing of dread, he philosophizes over death, showing—out of his calamity—that for those in pain it is better than life.

'Great,' he says, 'is the equality of honour there; there is no fear of change as there is here.'

It befalls all of necessity; it holds sway over all alike.

It is a barrier against evils, a release from misery.

The things that seem to be dreadful are dissolved. 'For why,' he says, 'is light given to those in bitterness of soul, and life to the souls that are in pains?' Again here the words are not those of one making accusation—God forbid—but of one seeking and in pain.

For things not spoken with the same intent must not be taken in the same way; as when some wise man says:

'Why has wealth fallen to a fool?'—nothing else is indicated here than that he was unworthy of it.

From this we learn that not only life, but also death has come to be for our benefit, seeing that it is thus so desirable.

'Who long,' he says, 'for death and attain it not.'

For this reason the Preacher says:

'There is a season for every matter'; and again:

'O death, how sweet is the remembrance of you!'

And he says these things so that, when you hear his wife counselling him:

'Say some word and die,' you may not suppose that he refrained from saying it out of love of life, but out of piety.

For he who deemed it so desirable and considered it some great good did not dare to find it, though it was at hand.

'Death,' he says, 'is rest to a man.'

If, then, it is rest, why do not the many run to it? For this very reason God has made life desirable to us, that we may not too readily run to death.

'Whose way,' he says, 'is hidden.'

It seems to me that he is speaking of death; but some say he means the man.

That he speaks of death is clear from what has been said before and from his saying:

'digging for it as for a treasure'—evidently a hidden one.

'The future is uncertain,' he says, 'we find not the way.' For do not bring up to me those who hang themselves;

for he speaks of the natural death and that which comes by the ordinance of God.

'For the Lord,' he says, 'has hedged him in,' according to what is said in the Gospel, that the day of the Lord comes as a thief in the night.

Why, then, do you not choose death? 'The Lord,' he says, 'has hedged him in.'

'The gates,' he says, 'are shut.' Then he laments his calamity in tragic strains:

For before my food, he says, groaning comes upon me, and I weep, held fast by fear.

The present things I lament, the things to come I bewail.

The time of nourishment is for me a time of tears. For you will feed me, he says, with the bread of tears.

For the fear that I dreaded has come upon me, and that which I feared has met me.

Do you see the man's love of wisdom? He was not like the one who says in the psalm:

'I shall not be shaken from generation to generation without evil'; nor like the one who says:

'I shall never be shaken for ever'; but he always kept a human reckoning in mind, even while enjoying such great prosperity, expecting each day the very opposite.

Therefore he did not take it hard as though it had befallen him out of season; but having trained and practiced himself in expectation and in hope, he was well exercised.

'I have neither had peace, he says, nor been quiet, nor found rest.'

He is not speaking about former things, but about the things now present, that is:

'I am filled, he says, with fear, war, and turmoil, waging war against my very self.' Beyond the terrors that beset him from without, there was the war of his thoughts.

He had nothing calm in his mind.

'And the cause of this, he says, is that the wrath of God has come.' Notice how he mourns the sufferings of the soul more than those of the body, since the soul rather was melting away, thrown into confusion, and suffering dreadful things.

It is good for us also to be so disposed: to regard all things as temporary, both the good and the not-so-good.

In this way we shall not feel the severity of those hardships, nor be able to be lifted up by these good things; but throughout all these fluctuations we shall enjoy calm and peace.

And the marvel is this: that together with a pure life and a blameless conduct he expected the contrary things—and not only expected them, but even feared, calling to mind former events, such as those concerning Abraham.

But shall we, living each day in wickedness, suspect nothing adverse? See how, even before the trial, he practiced wisdom.

For one who expects a change of fortune together with a good life was not like a hireling; so that his great virtue is shown to us by his saying:

'The fear that I dreaded has come upon me.'

'Has it not often been spoken to you in trouble?'

'But who can bear the force of your words?' Fittingly, taking it beforehand, he named all the evils that had overtaken him and the further addition of the terrors, since they wished to trample and leap upon him as he lay prostrate.

For it does not belong to everyone to know how to fit oneself to such calamities; but many have often made the wound more grievous—some out of envy, others out of folly.

For indeed he who has undertaken the task of comforting speech needs no less skill than the physicians who cut into wounds.

Rightly, then, were they called 'physicians of evils,' who aggravate the wound.

And they suffer this out of envy.

How great a wickedness it would be to envy amid so great a tempest, and to bear a grudge against one lying prostrate, and to cast into countless terrors the man who is worthy of pity!

For see how their words not only fall short of consolation, but even instill much despondency and stretch out long speeches of accusation.

'Do not further disturb a soul that is already provoked to anger.'

But let us see what he says, and let us flee from imitating it.

What then does he say? 'Has it not often been spoken to you in trouble?' Scripture is accustomed to call sin 'trouble,' as when it says:

'Under his tongue are trouble and toil.'

'Did you not do something wicked?' but rather:

Since his life shone everywhere, and everywhere throughout the earth he had many memorials of his virtue, 'Do not, he says, say this—that your deeds are noble and good;

for it happens that the sin has come to be in your words. And who can bear the force of your words?' And notice: the phrase 'has it not often been spoken to you' is not the dispute and doubt of one who spares, but of one who has no clear proof to convict.

'But who can bear the force of your words?' For what had he said? He had prayed to die and to be released from the present life.

For did he say, 'Being righteous and having accomplished great things, I suffer such things'? No; but 'I would have wished, he says, to depart along with the ungodly, along with the household slaves, along with the untimely-born, and to obtain the same lot as the ungodly.' He did not say:

'I, being such and so great.' For if you have admonished many, and strengthened the hands of the weak, and raised up the feeble with words, and put courage around powerless knees—

See how, for the time being, he speaks of the help and alliance that lay in his words, showing that even this was no small thing.

'If you comforted others with money, how is it you cannot comfort yourself?' It was possible to plead poverty.

'But if with words, he says, you comforted many, and raised up others who were in calamities, how has the remedy become powerless in your own case? You who loosed the distresses of others through the exhortation and counsel that lay in words, how have you not employed the method of healing upon your own evils? But now, he says, trouble has come upon you and touched you, and you were troubled.'

What does 'you were in haste' mean? You are thrown into confusion, you are in an uproar, you are dizzy, you hasten to give up, you are not master of yourself.

'Is not your fear founded on folly, along with your hope and the wickedness of your way?' Indeed.

'If, having helped others, you cannot help yourself nor counsel yourself the very thing you advised to others, it is plain that you yourself have no share in any virtue.'

For how could he who was unable to be useful to himself be of use to others? By these things he attempts to slander the reputation of his former achievements, so that this too seems to me to be the meaning:

'Has it not often been spoken to you in trouble?'

'Did you not often, he says, speak in another's trouble? For who can bear the force of your words, in which you always boasted as you spoke? But behold, now your grandiloquence has been refuted.' For it was likely that the righteous man would also mention some of his own achievements, especially now, when he had fallen into distress, just as now:

'For who, he says, can even recount or bear your boastings? But now they have been refuted.'

'For if you helped others—.' And see how he was boasting:

He did not speak of the things accomplished by him with money, but if he had benefited any by words.

These things, at any rate, he casts up against him.

'Is not your fear founded on folly, along with your hope and the wickedness of your way?' That is:

'The aim with which you did these things—'

'—either that you did not really do them, or that your life is full of wickedness, or that you did not fear God with an upright mind, but these were mere words.'

'And your hope was founded on folly'—it was full of senselessness, he says.

Why? What necessity is there? For is it not possible that one who has often helped others should himself be in calamities? 'No,' he says.

Then he weaves also a futile syllogism:

'The fear that I feared has come upon me'—'This fear, he says, was founded on folly, and your hope came from the wickedness of your heart.'

'For if you were engaged in true matters and in a pure life, you would not have expected these things; so that you yourself have convicted yourself of having led an impure and wicked life.'

'For it is senseless, he says, being good and kind, to fear such things and to expect such things.'

'For if you spent your life in setting right the calamities of others, how do you say that the fear I feared has come upon me? Rather, the wickedness of your way made you expect such things.' See how he strives and contends and moves every means to show that this man suffered these things on account of his wickedness.

'Remember therefore, he says,'—he did not say:

'Look,' but 'Remember'—'who ever perished while being pure.'

'Reckon up all the time gone by; so clear and manifest is this.' Then, since the argument was easily overcome, he brings in a second one that seems to be beyond dispute:

'Or when did the true perish root and branch?'

He strikes him through the calamity of his children:

'For grant it, he says, you can say that others suffered something dreadful; but the terrors did not reach as far as their offspring, nor were they overturned down to the very root.' For since the first argument was refuted, he brought in the second, which seemed to be strong and to remind him of his own calamity.

'According to the manner in which I saw, he says, those who plow absurdities.'

'This calamity belongs to those who have worked iniquity.'

'Who perished, he says, in such a way as we see those men perishing? Or who perished being pure, in the manner in which I saw those who plow absurdities—and those who sow them shall reap pains for themselves?'

Rightly did he speak of sowing and plowing.

Why, then, were they not destroyed at once? Neither does the sown seed yield its fruit at once, he says.

'At the command of the Lord they shall perish, and by the breath of His wrath they shall be brought to nothing.'

Do not suppose, he says, that the things which have befallen you are the work of wicked demons or of scheming men.

Therefore it is beyond dispute that the punishment is just. 'The strength of the lion, the voice of the lioness, and the exulting of the dragons has been quenched.' See what he says.

Just as natural events could not come about otherwise than as they have been ordained by nature, so too here, he says—namely, that the wicked perish while the good live in prosperity.

Have you seen, he says, the course of nature broken through? As the prophet says concerning things impossible:

'Shall two walk together at all, unless they have made acquaintance with one another?'

'Will a lion roar from the thicket when he has no prey? Will a lion's cub utter his voice at all, unless he has seized something? Will a bird fall into a snare on the ground without a fowler? Shall a snare be sprung without catching anything?' And again:

'Will horses run upon the rocks? Will they be silent among the mares?' And observe:

He takes examples from nature.

Nothing new or strange happens, but all things are ordered by certain laws, and nothing has been altered.

For if even the affairs of the beasts stand fixed, much more do our own.

Just as the strength of the lion could not be hindered, so neither could the boldness of the righteous man.

For the power does not belong to the beast by nature so much as the power and might belong to the righteous man.

It is easier for a lion to become cowardly than for a righteous man to be easily overcome.

'The ant-lion perished for lack of food, and the lions' cubs forsook one another.' They say that this creature is unable to feed itself.

By no means. But this is a marvelous and great thing—that the creature is sustained without food, enjoying the providence from above.

The Providence, then, that ordered these things and does not break them off—how could it have dissolved the laws concerning righteousness? Would it exercise such great providence over irrational creatures, yet not over men? And would it provide the nature of irrational beasts, which are not altogether useful to our race, but even treacherous and deadly?

He, then, who introduces no disorder among the venomous creatures, and who preserves good order even among those that scheme against us—although they have not by nature the means of feeding themselves—much more does He do so in the case of men.

But does He so provide for the ant-lion, yet not for the righteous man? 'And the lions' cubs forsook one another.' This too—their herding together—is natural, and though it is a small thing, not even this has been destroyed.

But what He has established in nature, this He preserves.

Do you see a wild beast? 'But if,' he says, 'some true word had been in your speeches, none of these evils would have befallen you.'

And in the present passage it hints to me that Job perhaps often spoke certain lofty words, either to stir some to emulation, or for the sake of some other dispensation.

See, all you who even now raise such perplexities, whom you resemble.

For if that man, having spoken such things in those times, did not obtain pardon, much more shall we—who say such things after the experience of events and who have many grounds for speaking of what has happened—as they seem to have found an occasion for reproaching and trampling upon him, not waiting for the experience derived from the events.

'Shall not, then,' he says, 'your ear receive extraordinary things?' What he means is this:

'Did you never see a dream?' he says, 'nor were you troubled?' Or what he means is this:

'Did you not hear such accounts? Do I lie?' he says. 'Did not your ear receive extraordinary things?' For indeed He terrifies and troubles not only by day, but also in dreams, he says; and I myself have often suffered many such things.

He knows also how to trouble men and exact justice through dreams alone, he says. For since it happened that many who were unjust and suffered nothing of the kind contradicted his argument, yet in dreams, he says—

For since he did not see God, nor perceive a hand touching him, 'Do not marvel,' he says:

For He chastises invisibly, since He also often troubled me in dreams, and I had no perception of what was happening, but only heard a breeze and a voice.

This alone, he says—as God knows—throws into confusion; and do not marvel. He says all these things in order to show that the wrath is from Him.

It seems to me that he is also hinting at something else:

For since Job had passed all his former life in tranquility—'What then?' he says—

'If He troubled you in dreams, how do we know it? And if He also forewarned you, so that you might fear and take precaution, yet you did not guard yourself? But I have endured many such things.' And do you not consider the life of those who are troubled and thrown into tumult day by day to be unlivable, even though throughout the day they continue in prosperity? For to me it seems more grievous than what happens by day, when someone silts up for a man the very harbor of his rest.

For if someone were to drive away the traveler who all day long has wrestled with scorching heat and hardship, and who in the evening wishes to rest at the inn, by showing him apparitions and disturbances

of the soul—do you not think that he would suffer things more terrible than those who endure hardships on the road? 'For extraordinary,' he says, 'are the terrors from Him, and with nocturnal sound fear falls upon men.'

'Trembling and fear came upon me, and greatly shook my bones; and a spirit came upon my face.'

'My hairs and my flesh shuddered; and I rose up and could not tell what it was; I looked, and there was no form before my eyes, but I only heard a breeze and a voice.'

'Have you not heard,' he says, 'that many were chastised in this way?' Then, in order to make his argument credible, he brings forward himself as an example—that with nothing preceding, with nothing appearing, suddenly a certain fear and disturbance fell upon his mind.

This too Panaretos says concerning that darkness—that apparitions appeared to them during the night and that darkness, and this was sufficient for punishment.

Then again, out of abundance, he demonstrates the particular from the general.

See how, since he saw the righteous man's reputation set against his own words, he desires to cast it down by so many arguments.

'Shall a mortal be pure before the Lord, or a man blameless in his works?' 'Besides,' he says, 'it is not even possible for one who is a man to be pure.' But let us not, beloved, receive these things as doctrines.

'Before the Lord,' just as the prophet also says:

'No one living shall be justified before You.'

'If You should mark iniquities, O Lord, Lord, who shall stand?' For just as our goodness is wickedness when compared with His goodness, so also is the rest.

'Or is a man blameless in his works?' he says. See him speaking in contradiction to God:

For when God had said 'a blameless man,' this one says—

From his own resources he lifts up his verdict.

'If He puts no trust in His servants, and has charged His angels with something perverse,'

It seems to me that he is speaking about the powers above.

'What need is there to speak about men,' he says, 'when even the angels are not blameless?' And what does 'He puts no trust' mean? As though they were righteous and blameless and would not sin. It seems to me that their nature is capable of the opposite.

What does 'He has charged them with something perverse' mean? He did not permit, he says, virtue to reside in their nature. And he spoke well in saying 'He charged them,' lest the grandeur of their nature should exalt them, but that they might be always subject to God.

For just as in the case of men:

Man, though he did not have immortality in his nature, was nevertheless exalted; and if he had even had it in his nature, what would he not have become? 'But the heaven,' he says, 'is not pure before Him.'

Such great purity of nature is but a stain in comparison with Him—not as though the heaven possessed free choice, but he sets the purity that belongs to its nature beside the purity of the virtue of God.

'But leave aside those who dwell in houses of clay.'

'What need is there to speak concerning men?' he says.

And first he cast down our nature from its dwelling, then he cheapens it from another quarter as well.

It did not suffice to say that we are of clay, but also of what kind of clay.

He named our nature from what is inferior, all but saying that just as for us the constitution of our nature becomes a cause of our sins, so too for the angels there is something which God 'charged,' with a view both to humbling them and to keeping them restrained.

For indeed against us too He 'charged' this, displaying His wisdom by saying 'He charged'—not as one who labored much, but as one who found something wise and shrewd.

Then he also makes the argument common to all, lest he should seem to be burdensome:

'From which we ourselves also are, from the same clay.'

For from another quarter again he sets forth the power of God and our own weakness, saying:

'He smote them,' he says, 'after the manner of a moth.'

Easily He destroyed even their innermost parts.

'From morning,' he says, 'until evening, and they are no more.'

In a single day; or because it is continual.

And because they were unable to help themselves, they perished.

For no one is able to withstand God.

We are unable to help ourselves both because of the surpassing greatness of God's nature and because of the multitude of our evils.

For the things which the holy hand has purposed, who shall scatter them? For He breathed

upon them, and they died; and because they had no wisdom, they perished.