傳道書講道 第 1 章 第 3/8 段

Therefore he broadens the outlines of his constructions on every side, building for himself, as it were, another inhabited world in the enclosure of his mansion; and he stretches the walls up to the greatest possible height, and diversifies it with the internal arrangements of the chambers, one leading out of another and through one another,

lending to the construction of the inner rooms their variety.

Then Laconian stone, and Thessalian, and that from Carystus, is split by iron into slabs; the mines of the Nile and those of Numidia are sought out; and somewhere the Phrygian rock too is included in these pursuits — a stone which, scattering its purple dye upon the whiteness of the marble as chance falls, becomes a luxury for the more gluttonous eyes, having painted, in the white, a manifold and variously-shaped diffusion of color.

Oh, how much zeal is expended on these things, how many the machines — some sawing through the materials with water and iron, others, by human hands, toiling night and day at the work of sawing! And not even this was sufficient for those toiling over this vain world, but even the purity of glass is stained through drugs into various dyes, so that from this too something might be contributed to the wantonness of the eyes.

I pass over in silence the gold that is stretched out into thin, airy films, and gilds everything with these, so as to turn the gluttony of the eyes upon itself; and the contribution of ivory toward the elaborate ornamentation of entrances, and the gold that is smeared upon their carvings, or the silver hammered in with nails, and all such things.

What should one say of the floors of the houses gleaming with the varied dyes of stones, so that even their feet might luxuriate in the radiance of the stones; and of the ambition, according to the sheer number of such houses, whose construction is made necessary not by the need of life, but which desire, advancing through useless things, discovers as an untimely occasion? For it is thought necessary that of the houses some be running-courses, others walking-places, others entrance-halls, others ante-halls, and others again gate-houses;

for they do not think the gates and the vestibules and the spaciousness within the gates sufficient for ostentation, unless something of such a kind meets those entering as will at once strike the one coming in with amazement at the greatness of what is seen;

and, besides these, baths that exceed need through ostentation, deluged with whole rivers in the abundance of their spouts; and gymnasia set before these, and these too elaborately worked out for adornment with various marbles; and porticoes on every side about the dwelling, propped up by Numidian or Thessalian or Syenite pillars; and the bronze in statues, fashioned into countless forms, wherever the desire for elaborate craft pours out the material; and the idols made of marble, and the paintings on panels, through which men fornicate even with their eyes, art stripping bare, through imitation, things not meant to be seen; and whatever else one may see contrived in such places for astonishment and beauty.

How could one recount each of these things in discourse — things in which the very zeal is an accusation and a proof of negligence concerning what is more worthy of honor? For the more one increases his zeal for what is being constructed, both in multitude and in ostentation over materials, the more he thereby exposes the unadorned state of his soul.

For he who looks to himself and truly adorns his own dwelling, so that it might one day even receive God as an indweller, has other materials, from which beauty is gathered together for such a dwelling.

I know a gold that gleams in such works, which is mined out of the thoughts of Scripture; I know a silver — the divine oracles that have been refined by fire — from which flashes forth a brightness shining out through truth.

And if you understand the radiances of various stones — by which the walls of such a temple are adorned, and the floors of the construction — to be the various dispositions of the virtues, you would not miss the ornament befitting this house.

Let the floor be paved with self-control, through which the dust of earthly understanding will not trouble the one who dwells there.

Let the hope of heavenly things beautify the roof; looking up to which with the eye of the soul, you will not gaze fixedly upon images of beauty shaped by carvings, but you will behold the archetypal beauty itself — not adorned with any gold or silver, but that which is beyond much gold and precious stone.

And if it is necessary to sketch out in words the adornment made of panels as well, let incorruptibility and freedom from passion tile the house on this side; let righteousness and freedom from anger adorn the dwelling on that side; in another part let humility and long-suffering shine through; and in yet another, piety toward the divine.

And let love, the good craftsman, fit all these things together fittingly with one another.

As for the pillars that support the portico of the soul, do not go seeking after any Phrygian or porphyry ones, but let steadfastness and immovability in every good thing be, for you, more precious than these material adornments.

That dwelling in which the images of truth abound does not admit the things that men contrive through deceit.

And if you desire running-courses and walking-places, you have your way of life in the commandments.

"I walk in the ways of righteousness, and I go to and fro in the midst of the paths of justice."

How good it is to be moved about in these and to exercise the soul thoroughly, and, having traversed by motion the place of the commandment, to turn back again to the same point — that is, having fulfilled the commandment zealously pursued by him, not to grow weary of running again toward the second and third and countless further course of piety.

And let the rectitude of character and the decorum of life adorn the beauties of the entrance-halls and ante-halls.

He who trains his own building toward beauty in this manner will take little thought for earthly matter; he will not trouble the mines, he will not cross the Indian seas in order to traffic in the bones of elephants, he will not hire the elaborate craft of artisans whose skill wears itself out further upon matter;

but he will have from within himself the wealth that supplies materials for such constructions;

and this wealth is free choice.

And the nature of his own body, for as long as he lives together with the flesh, he will tend only so far as not to deprive it of any of the necessities.

For he will fit around himself only so small a house as to warm him, if there be need of this, and again to shade him, when bodies are being scorched by the blazing heat of the rays; and he will provide the covering of a garment with a view to the same purpose, so that the nakedness of the body might be covered, not seeking out purple-dyers or scarlet-dyers, nor those who fraudulently work the nature of gold into thread, nor busying himself over the silkworms from the Chinese, making from their thread, through elaborate weaving-craft, a garment mingled with gold and purple; and with whatever food comes to hand he will relieve what is lacking of need, bidding farewell to the sorceries of fancy cookery.

And having ministered to the flesh, in spare sufficiency, by means of what comes readily to hand, he will devote the whole of his own life to the care of the soul, magnifying the work of God, not his own — lest he too should ever come to the necessity of publishing through confession his vain zeal, as we have now learned from him who said, "I magnified my work" — not the work of God, which he himself was, but his own work, which was the dwelling-place of the flesh, not bounded by needs but broadened alongside vain desires.

And the text adds to these also a confession of another matter, which someone would not err in calling the primal source both of the derangement of thoughts and of the departure from a settled state.

And this is the corruption of the understanding that comes from wine.

For having said, "I magnified my work" and "I built houses for myself," he adds to these, "and I planted vineyards for myself."

so that clearly "I magnified" is understood also, in common, over the things enumerated in what follows.

He has thus given us to understand by this that the planting of the vineyards also, through being magnified, exceeded need.

"I planted vineyards for myself" — which is equal to saying, "I prepared fuel for the fire, by which I increased the flame of pleasures," or that "I buried the mind in depth, having heaped drunkenness upon the understanding like some funerary earth over a tomb."

"I planted vineyards for myself" — I was not brought to soundness of mind, he says, by the narrative of Noah's derangement, in that such planting also stripped him of the ornament of decorum and showed him to those who saw him both pitiable and, at the same time, laughable.

For to the more well-disposed of his children the unseemly thing was reckoned worthy of pity, but for the reckless and undisciplined son the spectacle of drunkenness becomes an occasion for laughter.

And the confession of the planting of the vineyards embraces a long catalogue of sufferings.

For as many and as varied as are the passions brought about by wine, the text embraces them all in its potency.

Is it not provision for derangement, poison of the soul, deadening of the understanding, estrangement from virtue? From it comes unprovoked laughter, wailing without cause, spontaneous tears, groundless boasting, shamelessness in falsehood, desire for things that do not exist, hope for things impossible, monstrous threats, irrational fear, insensibility to what is truly fearful, suspicion without cause, senseless benevolence, the promise of impossible things;

to say nothing of the rest: the unseemly drowsiness, the palsied heaviness of the head, the indecency arising from immoderate fullness, the loosening of the joints, the bending of the neck no longer able to hold itself up upon the shoulders, since the moisture from the wine relaxes the ligament of the neck.

What accomplished the unlawful abomination of intercourse with his daughters? What stole away Lot's understanding from the things being done — he who both dared the abomination and was ignorant that he dared it? Who, as it were in a riddle, invented the strange naming of those children? How did the mothers of that accursed offspring become sisters of their own children? How did the sons have the same man as both father and grandfather at once? Who is it that confounded nature in lawlessness? Did not wine, exceeding its measure, bring in this scarcely credible tragedy? Did not drunkenness fabricate such a tale for history — a tale that in its excesses surpasses even the actual myths? "For they gave their own father wine to drink," it says, and thus, his understanding being driven out by the wine, held fast as though by a kind of madness, he left behind this tragic tale to human life, his perception having been stolen from him by drunkenness at the very moment of the abomination.

Oh, how ill did those women carry the wine out with them from the Sodomite stores!

Oh, evil loving-cup, poured out for their father from a wicked mixing-bowl!

How much better it would have been for that wine too to have perished in Sodom along with everything else, before it became the supplier of such a tragedy!

And though such examples exist, and so many evils from wine are engendered in life every day, he too says that he did this — he who unashamedly, through his confession, brands his own self with infamy: not only that he really made use of wine, but that he took forethought that the supply of such a possession might even be increased.

"For I planted for myself," he says, "vineyards" — of which the true vine itself, when it comes to flourish, would have no need: a spiritual vine, luxuriant and wide-spreading, interwoven through the branches of life and the tendrils of love with its kindred, putting forth foliage — in place of leaves — in the comeliness of its manners, and nourishing the sweet and ripe cluster of virtue,

he who plants these things in his own soul, and cultivates the wine that gladdens the heart, and "works his own land," according to the proverbial saying, as the law of such husbandry demands — hoeing, as it were, his life with his reasonings, and plucking out the illegitimate growths that spring up beside the roots of the virtues, watering his soul with teachings, and pruning with the sickle of critical reason the drift of his understanding toward what is superfluous and unprofitable — blessed indeed would this man be in his husbandry, pressing his own cluster into the bowl of wisdom.

But he who looks toward the earth, and embraces the things that come from it, does not know such planting as this.

For to these he adds the adornments of wealth found in gardens and parks.

What need is there of many parks for one who looks toward the one Paradise? And what benefit is there for me from a garden growing vegetables, the food of the weak? If I were in the one Paradise, I would not have been dispersed into desire for many parks.

If I had been leading my soul in health, so as to be able to partake of more solid food, I would not have busied myself with vegetables, cultivating for myself the food suited to weakness.

For trees are cultivated for him by husbandry, evergreen and thick, becoming a roof against the sky, so that even in the open air he might live in luxury as though in a house; and the surface of the earth is clothed with plants of every kind through the gardeners' art, so that pleasant things fall upon the eye from every side, wherever the gaze is turned, and he is continually amid things after his own heart, and beholds in every season of the year things beyond that season — grass in winter, and premature flowers, and the vine trained aloft on a tree, interweaving its own branches with those not its own, and the graceful entwinings of ivy about the trees, and however many kinds of fruit, mixed together from different species, do violence to nature, signifying by their form and taste an ambiguous character, so that whatever results from the mingling of things of different growth seems to be both at once.

All these things — and whatever else art, doing violence to nature, has devised among plants — things which the need of life did not seek, but which undisciplined desire seeks after.

These things, he who confesses his own affairs says, came to be in the artful contrivance of gardens and parks.

For he who said, "I planted every kind of fruit tree," by this all-embracing expression indicated together that he had left out none of such things.

Then, after the luxury of the open air and of what lies beneath a roof, not even water is left uncontributing to the sum of pleasures — as though it were necessary to luxuriate in every element: in earth through houses, in air through trees, in water through a handmade sea.

For in order that even the sight of water might sweeten the deception of the eyes, the ground becomes a lake, the water being built round about, so that swimming too might bring pleasure to those refreshing their bodies, and the outflow might make the parks bloom the more richly, being channeled everywhere according to the needs of what is being watered.

"For I made for myself," he says, "pools of water, to water from them a grove of sprouting trees."

But if I had had the fountain of Paradise — that is, the teaching of the virtues, through which the parched dryness of the soul is bedewed — I would have looked down upon the earthly waters, whose enjoyment is but for a season, and whose nature is transitory.

It would therefore be better for us to draw off for ourselves a small channel from the divine fountain, through which the virtues of the soul both spring forth and are watered, so that the grove of good pursuits may flourish in our souls, through our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory unto the ages.

For he who recounts his own affairs proceeds almost through everything in order, by means of which the vanity of the affairs of this life is made known.

But now he touches, as it were, upon a graver accusation concerning the things he has done, from which the passion of pride is exposed.

For among the things enumerated, what tends so much toward conceit — a costly house, a multitude of vines, the beauty in gardens, the arrangement of the waters in pools, and their diffusion in the parks — as does the fact that a man, being human, should think himself the master of those of his own kind? "For I acquired," he says, "male and female slaves, and servants born in my house became mine."

Do you see the swelling of arrogance? Such a word rises up directly against God himself.

For we have heard from prophecy that all things together are slaves of the authority set above all.

He, then, who makes God's own possession into his own possession, and apportions to his own kind a lordship, so as to think himself lord of both men and women alike — what else does he do, and does he not thereby transgress nature itself through his pride, regarding himself as something other than those he rules? "I acquired male and female slaves."

For the one who came into being for this — to be lord of the earth, appointed to rule by the one who fashioned him — this one you subject to the yoke of slavery, as though opposing and warring against the divine command.

You have forgotten the bounds of authority — that your rule is limited to dominion over the irrational creatures.

"Let them rule," it says, "over the birds and the fish and the four-footed creatures and the creeping things."

How is it that, passing over the servitude subjected to you, you exalt yourself against that very free nature, numbering your own kind together with four-footed creatures, or even footless ones? "You have put all things in subjection under man," the word cries out through prophecy, and by that word it brings under number the things subjected — the cattle and the oxen and the sheep.

Have men, then, come into being from cattle for you? Have oxen borne human offspring for you? The one and only servitude belonging to men is the irrational creatures.

But are these too little for you? "He makes grass spring up," it says, "for the cattle, and green plants for the service of men."

But you, having split nature by servitude and lordship, have made it a slave to itself, and a lord over itself.

"For I acquired male and female slaves."

At what price, tell me? What did you find among existing things equal in worth to this nature? For how small a coin did you appraise reason itself? For how many obols did you weigh out the image of God in exchange? For how many staters did you sell off the nature fashioned by God? God said:

"Let us make man according to our image and likeness."

The one who exists according to the likeness of God, and who rules over all the earth, and who has received by lot from God authority over all things upon the earth — who is it, tell me, that sells him off? Who is the buyer? To be able to do this belongs to God alone — or rather, not even to God himself.

"For his gifts," it says, "are without repentance."

God, then, would not enslave nature — he who even called us back into freedom, though we had of our own will become enslaved to sin.

But if God does not enslave what is free, who is it that sets his own power above God's? And how, indeed, shall the ruler of all the earth and of all things upon it be sold? For it is altogether necessary that the possession of the one being sold be surrendered along with him.

At what price, then, shall we value the whole earth? And at what price all things upon the earth? But if these are beyond price, of what value, tell me, is the one who is above these? Even if you should name the whole world, not even so would you have found a price commensurate with his worth.

For not even in saying "the whole world" did he who knew human nature accurately speak, as though it were worthy to be reckoned an exchange for a man's soul.

Whenever, then, a man is put up for sale, it is none other than the lord of the earth who is led to the market.

Therefore, together with him, his existing possession will surely also be put up for sale.

And this possession is the earth, and the islands, and the sea, and all things in them.

What, then, will the buyer pay down? And what will the seller receive, when so great a possession follows upon the bargain? But has the small document, and the written contract, and the counting out of a few obols deceived you into thinking that you are master of the image of God? O what folly!

But if the document should perish, if the writing should be eaten away by moths, if some drop of water falling in from somewhere should blot it out — where then are your pledges of servitude? Where your provisions for mastery? For I see nothing further accruing to you from the one subject to you, beyond the mere name — nothing besides the name itself.

For what has authority added to your nature? Not time, not beauty, not vigor of health, not the advantages that pertain to virtue.

Your origin is from the same source, your life is of like manner; equally do the affections of soul and body prevail — both in you, the master, and in that one yoked beneath your mastery: pains and good spirits, joys and distresses, griefs and pleasures, passions and fears, sicknesses and deaths.

To say "I acquired male and female slaves" is as if speaking of some herd of goats, or a drove of swine.

For having said, "I acquired male and female slaves," he added the prosperity that accrued to him in flocks and herds.

"And also possession," he says, "of herds and flocks became mine in abundance" — as though these and those alike were yoked in the same rank under his authority.

Then, after these things, his confession proceeds in due course toward the graver sins:

For he cries out against himself the root of all evils, which is the love of money.

And he says, in these very words: "I gathered for myself both silver and also gold."

For how did the gold, mingled with the earth and poured into those places into which it was set from the beginning by the Creator, cause you grief? Did the one who fashioned the earth make it owe you anything more than its fruits? Did he not allot to you, for your food, only the fruit-trees and the seeds? Why do you transgress the bounds of your authority? Or else show that these things too have been granted to you by the Creator — to mine, and to dig up, and to smelt with fire that which lies beneath, and to gather together what you did not scatter.

Or perhaps someone will reckon that these things are not even a fault — to gather for oneself in this way wealth out of the mines of the earth.

But since the text goes on to add, "the abundance of kings and of the provinces," the intention of gathering is no longer directed toward what is blameless.

For as though it were permitted to royal power to gather abundance of wealth from the provinces — that is, evidently, to impose tribute, to exact tithes, to compel subjects to contribute money — so he says he has amassed the gold and the silver.

Nevertheless, whether in this way or in some other, I would gladly learn what more will accrue to the one who gathers such matter.

Let it be granted, hypothetically, that it should not accrue to those who love money by the mina, or the drachma, or the talent, but that everything should be turned to gold for them all at once.

Let us suppose that the earth, the sand, the mountains, the plains, the wooded valleys — that everything, all at once, has been transformed into this substance.

What advantage toward happiness will life gain through these things? If one sees in everything what he now sees in a little, what good of the soul, what object of concern for the body will come about through such abundance? Is there any hope through this that the one living amid so much gold should become wise, keen-witted, contemplative, learned, a friend of God, self-controlled, pure, free from passion, unmixed with and unreceptive of everything that drags toward vice? Or, if not this, might it at least be possible for him to appear strong and pleasing in body, and to prolong his life to many hundreds of years, ageless and diseaseless and unharmed, and everything that men are eager for regarding the life in the flesh? But no one is so vain, nor so unobservant of our common nature, as to suppose these things would accrue to men, even if the substance of wealth should be poured out to all in unlimited abundance according to their power.

Since even now one may see many of those who excel in such abundance living in a pitiable body, so that, were their attendants not present, they would not be sufficient of themselves for life.

If, then, the abundance of gold hypothetically set before us in this argument has shown no profit either for body or for soul, it is far more reasonable that what is shown to be useless even in small measure should be convicted of being unprofitable to those who possess it.

Or indeed, what gain could come to the possessor from this very matter itself — a thing that becomes operative neither for taste, nor for smell, nor for hearing, and which, as regards touch, stands in equal worth with everything else that offers resistance? For let no one, on my account, attribute to gold the food or the clothing that is procured through exchange.

For the one who exchanges gold for bread or a garment has traded the useless for the beneficial, and lives by making bread, not gold, his food.

But the one who, through such transactions, has gathered this matter for himself — in what has he profited from his wealth? What counsel comes through it, what instruction in affairs, what prediction of the future, what comfort against the pains of the body? He possessed it, he counted it, he stored it away, he sealed it with a seal; being asked, he refused; being disbelieved, he even swore an oath.

This is the end of his zeal, this the enjoyment, this far the happiness — to procure matter through perjury.

"But," he says, "the form of gold has a fine hue."

Is it, then, of finer hue than fire? More beautiful than the stars? More radiant than the rays of the sun? Who is it that hinders you from this enjoyment, so that you should have any necessity, through the fine hue of gold, to procure for your eyes what is pleasing? "But," he says, "fire is quenched, and the sun sets, and the grace of its brightness does not endure."

But of gold, tell me, in the darkness, what difference is there from lead? "But," he says, "from fire or from the stars we could not have necklaces, and bracelets, and clasps, and belts, and torques, and crowns, and such things — whereas gold both makes these, and whatever else is devised for adornment."

The advocacy for this matter has led the pursuit to the very sum of vanity:

For this very thing I would say to them:

For the sake of what does he strive, who adorns his hair with gold, or hangs ornamental trinkets from his ears, or wraps his neck in golden luxuries, or wears it upon some other part of the body? He merely displays gold, wherever it happens to be set forth upon his body, while he himself undergoes no transformation whatsoever toward the brightness of the gold.

For he who looks at the man adorned with gold sees the gold itself just as it would appear if, say, it were set out for sale in the shops, but he sees the wearer as he is by nature. Such is what he sees.

And even if the gold is well-wrought and finely engraved, even if it encloses within itself gems of green or of fiery gleam, nature has received no greater perception of the things set beside it; but whether there be some disfigurement about the face, or something lacking of what is natural — whether an eye has been gouged out, or a cheek hideously hollowed with a scar — the ugliness remains in what appears, in no way overshadowed by the radiance of the gold.

And even if someone happens to be in pain of body, the material brings no consolation at all to the one who suffers.