論天意(十講) 第 1 章 第 7/11 段

For the present, then, let us hymn Him who bestows upon men both common and particular gifts, and who floods our race with countless good things.

To Him be the glory forever.

That not even servitude to wicked masters harms those who are of sound mind.

I know full well that great eloquence and great understanding are needed by one who attempts to undertake so great a subject of discourse;

for somehow the reputation of the matters themselves tends to be put at risk in the discourse about them;

for those who are unwilling to attend to the nature of the matters, but wish to attend only to the cleverness of the words, are wont to judge the matters by the weakness or strength of these words.

But I, trusting in the power of my subject, did not measure by this the offspring of my thought, nor did I take account of its small and fading birth-pangs, but I considered only this: that the light of truth is plain to those who wish to know it, just as the sun is to those whose sight is sound.

For even when no one pleads its case, the providence of our Maker and Savior cries out.

I thought, then, that I was doing nothing unfitting, nor anything deserving of blame, in offering my tongue in service to the voice that is borne from every side, and in sounding it into the stopped-up ears of the ungrateful.

That both poverty and wealth are necessary and useful for life, and that a certain slavery and mastery too the physician of souls has applied, like certain remedies, to the sores of sin, having had divine grace as our fellow-worker, we have sufficiently demonstrated.

But that slavery does not maim those who undergo it, but rather greatly benefits those who are willing, will presently be shown, God willing:

for this is what we promised yesterday to say.

It will perhaps not be superfluous to bring forward into our midst a few of those who were slaves long ago, and to lay bare the treasure of piety that they amassed, as a refutation of those who attempt to slander slavery, and who make of this an occasion for the greater blasphemy, and who from this point dare to let fly their arrows against the providence of God.

Let there come forward, then, first of all, the first servant of the patriarch Abraham.

This man, then, when the patriarch was seen to have grown old — knowing the limit set by nature, and seeing the end of life (for old age is the prelude of death) — gave him a charge concerning his son;

and he ordered him to bring him a wife from his own kindred, and enjoined him to flee kinship with the Canaanites, trusting in the ancient curses and blessings:

then this admirable household servant first scrutinizes exactly all the words of his master, and, fearing the oath being administered to him, and dreading the eye that watches over all things, he inquires first whether it is necessary to lead the son back to the ancestral house, should the woman decline to leave her homeland.

But when Abraham forbade this, and said that he ought not to lead him back, but rather to trust in the God who had called him, and to have confidence in his helm, the servant departed from his master's house, and having journeyed many stages, arrived at Haran late in the day:

and to betroth to him a maiden suited to his master's character.

It is worth hearing also those very pious words themselves.

‘Lord,’ he says, ‘God of my master Abraham, behold, I am standing at the spring of water, and the daughters of those who dwell in the city are coming out to draw water; and let it be that the maiden to whom I shall say, “Incline your water-jar, that I may drink,” and who shall say to me, “Drink, and I will also draw water for your camels until they stop drinking” — this one you have prepared for your servant Isaac:’

‘and by this I shall know that you have shown mercy to my master Abraham.’ Who would not admire the man for his piety? Or rather, who could worthily praise each of the things said? For it is possible to see the prayer adorned at once with faith and wisdom and piety.

For to bid farewell to all things and to hang the whole ground of his journey upon the forethought of God — how is this not a mark of piety and of the highest wisdom? And to place confidence in the righteousness of his master, and to call the God common to all the God of that man, and on his account to hope that the prayer would by all means attain its end, and the petition be brought to fulfillment — what excess of faith does this leave beyond it? And having obtained what he asked, he has been shown to be beloved of God.

For he would not have obtained it so readily, had he not been exceedingly well-disposed toward the one who gave it:

and this good disposition the virtue of his soul produced.

That he obtained it, and obtained it immediately, the narrative teaches.

For Rebecca arrived just at the conclusion of the prayer, and shows the token of hospitality:

and though asked for only a little water, she hastens to water all the camels as well:

and drawing up the water with toil, she relieves the thirst of both rational and irrational creatures, displaying courage together with humanity, and appearing as the very archetype of the maiden depicted in the words of the prayer, and showing herself worthy of the house of Abraham, and possessing a disposition in accord with her hospitable future father-in-law.

For this is exactly what that faithful servant asked for in his supplication — not beauty, not stature, not the bloom of the cheeks, not the loveliness of the eyes, not the well-set lines of the eyebrows, not distinction of family, not abundance of wealth, but a hospitable disposition, a gentle manner, a mild and moderate voice, a fair and humane character, worthy of his master's house, which was open to all strangers, which received guests of every sort, and offered to all what was fitting.

Nor did he accept this at once without testing it, but examining each of the things that occurred, he wished, it says, to see whether the Lord had made his journey prosper, or not.

But when he saw all the signs he had asked for, even then he did not give the tokens of betrothal before the hymn of praise, nor, overcome by pleasure, did he forget the one who had granted it.

But while looking upon the gift, he believed that he also beheld the giver of the gift, and first hymned him to the best of his ability, and only then received the gift.

For having inquired who she was, and from whom she was born, and having learned that she was the daughter of Bethuel, and that she had both lodging and fodder sufficient for the camels, ‘the servant hastened,’ it says, ‘and did obeisance, and said:’

‘Blessed be the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who has not abandoned his righteousness and his truth toward my master, and has led me on the way to the house of my master's brother.’ For since he had received more than he had asked — for the maiden gave not only water, but also of her own accord promised to provide lodging, and undertook to furnish food both for him and for the camels, and he saw the kinship, which he had not asked for, brought forth along with what he had asked for — with such hymns as he could offer, he repaid the giver of this grace, and bore witness to the truthfulness of the divine promises.

And the facts themselves proclaim the truth of your words:

for in your servants you confirm the promises you have given to my master.

Having thus hymned the great giver, he presents to the maiden the tokens of betrothal.

And he adorns her ears with gold, as readily and very swiftly receiving the requests of strangers:

and he likewise adorns her hands, as ministering well to the magnanimity of her disposition.

But when he had entered the house, and beheld her parents, and revealed the instructions of his master, and made known the assistance of God, and — being now a recognized kinsman — enjoyed the very greatest attention, did he then forget his master, and, goaded by cares, overlook his master, and prefer his own repose to attending upon him? By no means.

But rather, when the maiden's father, and her mother, and the one who had shared in her birth-pangs, entreated him to remain, so that, since the girl was about to leave her homeland, they might at least enjoy her presence for a few days, he said:

‘Do not detain me, for the Lord has prospered my way:’

‘send me away, that I may go to my master.’ And everywhere he adorns his words with the divine name, and derives the supply of good things from that source, and attaches all that concerns him to that providence.

Tell me, in what way did slavery harm this man? And which of those raised in freedom, and priding themselves on free-born ancestors, gave such a display of virtue? What excess of the highest piety could surpass it? But perhaps someone among those skilled at stitching together calumnies, and trained to slander good things, might say that it was the philosophy of his master that thus trained him, and that, looking toward that man as toward a mirror, he drew from there the marks of virtue:

whereas those who have had wicked masters likewise stamp out the copy from the original, and, taking from there the first-fruits of wickedness, become workers of vice, showing forth in themselves their teachers.

Come then, let us refute their falsehood, and show that the acquisition of both virtue and vice is a matter of free choice, and that no wicked master could compel a servant unwilling to live together with vice.

Let there now be brought forward the most godly Joseph, offspring of that woman, and descendant of the patriarch Abraham — in spring, in prime, in bloom (for spring happens to be the most vigorous of the seasons); he was in the springtime of his age, and possessed the flower of his years, and while shining in bloom as to his body, he had a soul more radiant still than his body.

He was beloved by his father, and exceedingly dear to him, not only as the child of his old age, but also as one whose character matched, and who was an impression of his father's virtue.

When this man saw those dreams, and recounted them to his father while his brothers listened, he was at once assailed by envy, and received the reproaches that envy engendered.

After a little time had passed, unable to bear the good fortune promised by the dreams, when they saw the youth arriving toward them, they rushed upon him as wild beasts upon a lamb separated from the flock and stripped of the shepherd's care:

and neither respecting their father's gray hair, nor pitying his old age, which leaned upon the young man as upon a staff, nor the ordinance of nature, nor the justice due to kinship, nor the identity of the root, nor the immaturity of his age untried in wickedness, nor the involuntary rule promised only in a dream — an authority as yet feebler than any shadow — they attempted at once to hand him over to slaughter, and to defile their hands with kindred blood.

Then, when Reuben forbade the slaughter and urged them to avoid this stain, they hid him for a short time in a certain pit, and a little later sold him to Ishmaelite merchants, and by the sale sought to remedy the murder, not even enduring to look upon him who had ruled over them in the dream.

And so Joseph is led into Egypt, and is sold again, to Potiphar:

and this man was the captain of the king's guard.

But even here, he preserved the freedom of his fathers, and kept unsullied the nobility of his ancestors, and did not alter his disposition with the change of circumstance, nor did any change of character follow upon his misfortunes, nor did he change his moral purpose as one might change color; but though he had exchanged his manner of life, and had fallen from freedom into slavery, he remained firmly fixed upon his former disposition, and, whatever he said or did, he had modesty shining forth upon his brow.

For this reason he was straightway deemed worthy of every honor, and was entrusted with the helm of his master's household.

And he continued to show goodwill toward his masters, and fairness toward his fellow-servants.

And being grateful toward those who had honored him, he took the fitting care of those under his direction.

And he was beloved both by these and by those.

For he received grace from God in proportion to his virtue, or rather, he reaped fruits many times over in return for his labors.

But once again from this point another wave succeeded him, and a still more grievous storm followed upon the triple swell of his servitude:

and one billow had scarcely left him when another overtook him.

And journeying through so many waves and winds, he kept his vessel unsunk.

He was, as has been said, young, adorned with the prime of his age, like some flower just now peeping forth from its bud, having the first down creeping upon his jaw, and encircling his cheek like a garland:

emitting the radiance of youthful bloom, mingled with modesty, blended with freedom of bearing:

having modesty seated upon his brow, and persuasion resting upon his lips.

His mistress, continually beholding these things — though she ought rather to have drawn benefit from them — fell instead into the pit of licentiousness.

And as the flame of desire, fed by the fuel of her gazing, rose ever higher within, and reason, not having quenched the spark at once, was no longer able to extinguish the fire that had afterward grown enormous, then she, taking shamelessness as her ally, attempted with words to ensnare the young man in her net.

But when the quarry proved stronger than the nets, and easily leapt over the stakes that had been fixed, and the words — courtesan-like and tinged with pleasure — which she brought forth in her frantic pleading went away unaccomplished and unavailing, then at last, bidding words farewell, she brought the trial to deed, and, taking as her ally the solitude of the chamber, she laid hold of the young man, supposing him her slave in the grip of passions, but not her master.

But he did not put his trust in the absence of human witnesses, but beheld instead the Eye that is present everywhere:

and he neither took his servitude into account, nor feared her mastery over him, nor, reckoning the magnitude of the calamity he was undergoing, did he wish to let loose the reins of the passions, as though no one were overseeing human affairs and exacting requital from those who choose to do wrong.

But he set his reason in array against both his servitude and her mastery, against the change of his life's circumstance, against the onrush of desire, against an age inflamed with passion, against the persuasive and wheedling words offered to a slave by his mistress, against the absence of accusers, against the calumny to be expected, and against the countless calamities that would spring from it.

And first, bidding farewell to the laws of servitude, and taking up the role of counselor and teacher, he becomes an advocate of chastity, and an accuser of licentiousness.

And though young facing an elder, though a slave facing his mistress, though facing one who was joined to a husband and who could lawfully satisfy her desire, he who had not yet taken up the yoke of marriage, but who was receiving the fierce assaults of desire, offers exhortation concerning chastity.

It is worth hearing also those very sacred words of the chaste man himself.

‘...is not to be found in this house, nor is anything withheld from me but you, because you are his wife; and how should I do this evil thing? I will have sinned before God.’ ‘You do not see,’ he says, ‘him whom I see:’

For you are drunk with passion, but I have not taken on this drunkenness; rather, I see the Pilot of this universe, who beholds each thing that happens.

For roof and wall and closed doors do not check that eye, when it wishes to behold.

Nor does the gloom of night become an obstacle to his sight.

He knows clearly even the conceptions of the mind, and before the birth-pangs he beholds precisely the thoughts still in the womb.

Beholding him, I am afraid and I tremble, and I cannot bear to outrage marriage — the fountain of nature, the door of entrance into life, through which the race of men has not failed, which does not allow nature to be quenched by death, but by its power of generation conquers the hands of the one who cuts it down, and by its budding prevails over the sickle of the reaper.

which imitates spring, appearing after the plundering of winter, and clothing again what winter had stripped bare.

Do not break the yoke, nor look about at things outside it, but attend to your yoke-fellow.

With him you were appointed to draw the plow of husbandry.

Do not dishonor the laws of marriage and the boundaries of nature, nor outrage the marriage-bed that God has honored.

You were appointed to rule over others; do not become a slave of pleasures, do not disgrace your mastery by this wicked slavery;

do not make slavish desires mistress of your soul, nor overturn the order, nor strip reason of its rule, nor hand over the reins to the passions.

I, then, wish that you too become free of this passion.

But if you will not be persuaded, and do not wish to be delivered from this drunkenness, I nevertheless will not endure to transgress the law;

for I became a slave in body, but not in soul.

And besides, I abhor the injustice of the matter.

Owing you many benefactions, O mistress, I will not endure to repay my master with their opposites;

for though I was bought with silver, I have been honored above those born in the household;

and having entered your house but yesterday and the day before, I received the reins of everything;

my master appointed me steward over everything in the household, and commanded the newly-purchased man to have charge of all;

you alone he has kept within the bounds of his own authority, out of reverence for the laws of marriage.

With what eyes, then, shall I look upon him who has honored me so, if I repay him with such deeds? Abominable, O mistress, utterly abominable, is forgetfulness of kindness and the failure to remember benefactions;

but more grievous than these, and altogether most grievous, is injustice — and such injustice committed against a benefactor.

I was appointed to guard, not to steal, my master's possessions.

I will not become a robber instead of a trustworthy guardian;

I do not lay hands on what lies outside my charge, nor do I imitate our forefather Adam, who, having received authority over all the trees, stretched out his hand to that one which lay outside his dominion, and, desiring the one thing, fell from possession of all.

Such were the words that slave addressed to that wicked mistress;

and neither his slavery maimed him, nor the wickedness of his mistress;

rather he showed himself all the more brilliant, like gold or a gem. And since by speaking he did not persuade her, and being assaulted he fled, casting off his garment he leapt away naked, clothed only in the mantle of chastity.

For he was not ashamed, as Adam was after the transgression, but he went forth having the same disposition toward the nakedness of the body that Adam had before the transgression.

Then that woman brought false accusation, and persuaded her husband, calling the champion of chastity a plotter against chastity;

but he, keeping silence, accepted his master's verdict, and could not bear to expose his mistress's wickedness —

to unmask the false accusation, or to relate the tragedy of the plot, and openly to convict the household of its master of licentiousness.

For he offered the counsel that was needed;

but he did not bring the indictment that he could have brought;

but, as though condemned by default, neither present before the judge nor hearing the accusation, he accepted the punishment pronounced against him, and dwelt in prison, and was bound together with evildoers, and bore all his hardships nobly.

And the frequent, unrelenting succession of his misfortunes did not despoil the strength of his soul, nor did it turn its courage into cowardice.

And even amid his troubles he had such cheerfulness and gladness of heart that he even delighted the other prisoners, and whenever he saw them distressed, he continued to comfort them.

For often the arrangement of the countenance bears witness to the disposition of the soul, and is affected along with the movements of thought — not only the color of the face, but also the movement of the eyes, and the knitting and relaxing of the brows.

And the grimness of the eyes signals the uprising of anger, while the folds of the eyelids that produce a smile betray the easing of despondency;

cares are hinted at by the meeting of the eyebrows at the middle;

and vanity by the curved arching of these same brows upward.

Since, then, most of the soul's movements are betrayed in the countenance, that admirable athlete, reading faces as though they were messengers of the soul, continued to console those who were despondent.

And once, having observed two servants of the king in a despondent state — the chief cupbearer and the chief baker —

for on account of certain offenses they had been shut up there —

he approached them both, and asked, and sought out the cause of their despondency.

A man overwhelmed by so many misfortunes — descendant of Abraham, grandson of Isaac, son of Jacob, the most beloved of them all, regarded as very light itself, a source of gladness to others — having fallen into slavery, and having endured this calamity not at the hands of savage barbarians who had taken him captive by the spear, but enslaved by the envy of brothers who showed him no other wrong, but had taken his dreams as provision for their ill will — taking none of these things to heart, nor what had befallen him after his slavery, and his struggles for chastity, and his condemnation after victory, and his punishment instead of crowns, and imprisonment instead of proclamations of honor — he came forward comforting the others in their despondency, and inquired of his fellow prisoners, saying:

'Why are your faces sullen today?' And when they said that they had seen dreams, and that their reasoning was confounded by ignorance of their interpretation, that divine man, on hearing of the dreams, did not lament, nor did he wail as he recalled his own misfortunes, nor did he let fall an ignoble tear, nor did he groan and bring forth the tragedy of his own sufferings into their midst;

rather, he did not laugh aloud on hearing of dreams, whose falsity he had hitherto found evident from his own experience, nor did he say to those prisoners:

'You are ignorant, it seems, my friends, of the falsehood of dreams — being, as is likely, untried in their deceit — and yet you long for their interpretation;'

'but I, having experience as my teacher, counsel you to laugh these things to scorn;'

'for they signify nothing true, but foretell everything contrary to the truth.'

'I myself once hoped to rule over my brothers and to govern my father's house, having put my trust in dreams;'

'and not only did I fail to obtain that rule, but, falling even from freedom, wretched man that I am, I became a slave;'

'And not even in my slavery was I carried by fair winds, but here too, having fallen into countless storms, I am compelled to dwell in a prison.'

'Let not, then, the visions of the night trouble you;'

'the whole race of dreams stands far from the truth.'

None of this did that noble man say, none of it did he even think; but he said to them:

'...does not the interpretation of them belong to God? Tell them to me, then.' And everywhere he carries the divine name upon his lips, and with it adorns both his soul and his words together.

And in saying that the interpretation belongs to God, he has confidence in it, having made himself, as it were, a temple of God.

So they related their dreams, and he interpreted them, and laid bare what was enigmatic and obscure.

And after the interpretation was finished, he said to the chief cupbearer:

'But remember me, when it goes well with you, for I was stolen away by theft from the land of the Hebrews, and here too I have done nothing wrong, and they cast me into this dungeon.' And even though necessity called for it, he did not expose the wickedness of his brothers, but merely intimates the outward fact of the drama of the theft, and cannot bring himself to abuse in word those who had made him a slave in deed, but out of reverence for nature conceals their injustice;

and not only did he refuse to bring an accusation against his brothers, but he did not even make his mistress's wickedness known to those who did not know of it;

and though he was privy to such great lust, licentiousness, falsehood, slander, and treachery in her, he brought none of these to light, but offered only a simple defense on his own behalf:

'For,' he says, 'I was stolen away by theft from the land of the Hebrews, and here too I have done no wrong, and they cast me into the pit of this stronghold.' Behold the philosophy of his words; behold the magnanimity of his mind; behold a spirit unenslaved and undismayed; behold a soul ever the same, neither puffed up in prosperity nor cast down in misfortune, but laughing at all things alike, both the sorrows and the delights of life, admiring virtue alone, and eager to pursue it.

In what way did his mistress's foulness corrupt him? How did her wickedness injure him? Do not, then, reckon the depravity of masters to be harm to their slaves;

for it is possible, even while serving wicked masters, to flee with all one's strength from imitating their wickedness.

And that mastery is no teacher of wickedness, nor wealth a maker of evil, behold this same man: delivered from slavery, and receiving the second place in the kingdom, he was not puffed up by the throne, but tempered his rule with gentleness, and showed his governance to be an act of care; and though he saw his brothers had once contrived his murder, he did not murder them in return;

and, while remembering the dreams, forgetting the envy those dreams had provoked.

For the famine drew his brothers into Egypt, and their need compelled them to bow down, not knowing the one before whom they bowed.

But the dreams that were fought against received their fulfillment through the very ones who had plotted against them.

And those who sold their brother on account of the dreams, so that he might not bow down as the dreams had foretold, by that very sale brought about the obeisance.

Having become a slave, he hated the wantonness of his mistress;

having hated it, he endured false accusation;

having been falsely accused, he dwelt in a prison;

having been shut up, he interpreted the dreams for the king's servants.

From this he became known to the king, and delivered him when he was troubled by dreams;

and having clearly interpreted them, and having advised what should be done, he was thereafter appointed steward of the very things he had advised.

He tempers the expected barrenness of the land with the abundance of the crops, and preserves the plenty as a remedy for the famine;

and he becomes nourisher—not of the Egyptians alone, but also of the brothers who had made him the price of their own sustenance.

Therefore those who had envied him because of the dreams truly bow down to him, and those who had refused the obeisance shown in the dream now performed the true obeisance.

But he accepts the obeisance, yet does not repay his brothers in equal measure; rather he nourishes them, cares for them, and gives them the grain as a free gift,

removing the threat, and ordering everyone to go outside the hall;

"I," he says, "am Joseph your brother, whom you sold into Egypt." And lest, being immediately struck with fear, they should suffer the ruin of apoplexy, he at once went on to say:

"And now do not be afraid, nor let it seem harsh to you;

for God sent me before you for life." For since he knew that they were stripped bare of every defense, and that their tongue was fettered by their sin, he who himself had suffered those countless terrible things sets aside the accusation and brings forward the defense instead.

"For God sent me before you for life, that a great people might be preserved." "It is not your doing," he says, "but God's."

"Do not be grieved at my slavery, for it was a divine dispensation;

nothing grievous has come from it.

I received the governance of all Egypt through slavery;

through it I hold the second place in the kingdom, and I have been entrusted to hold the reins of so great a nation."