文集（天主之城·論三位一體等） 第 41 章 第 2/2 段

namely, suppose that he had said 'magnum' (great) and then fallen silent. Attend to what uncertainties they suffer at hearing this name, for what if he were about to say 'what part of speech is it?' What if, about to inquire concerning meters, 'what foot is it?' What if concerning history, as for instance 'how many wars did great Pompey wage?' What if, for the sake of commending poems, he were about to say 'great, and almost the only poet, is Vergil'? What if, about to rebuke the negligence of his disciples, he then burst out into these words: 'a great torpor toward your studies has invaded you'? Do you see, the fog of obscurity being removed, that which was said above stand out, as it were, the many-forked way?

For this one thing which was said, 'magnum,' is both a noun, and a choriamb foot, and Pompey, and Vergil, and the torpor of negligence, and any other, or innumerable others not mentioned, which nevertheless can be understood through this utterance of the word. IX. And so it was most rightly said by the dialecticians that every word is ambiguous. Nor let it disturb us that in Cicero, Hortensius cavils in this manner: 'They dare, they say, to explain ambiguities clearly. The same men say that every word is ambiguous. How then will they explain ambiguities by ambiguities?'

'For this is to bring a light quenched into the darkness.' Wittily indeed and cleverly said, but this is what in the same Cicero Scaevola says to Antonius: 'in short, so that you seem to speak eloquently to the wise, and even truly to the foolish.' For what else did Hortensius do in that passage except that, by the sharpness of his wit and the charm of his speech, as it were with an unmixed and sweet cup, he poured a fog over the unskilled? For what was said, that every word is ambiguous, was said of single words. But ambiguities are explained by disputing, and no one disputes with single words.

No one, therefore, will explain ambiguous words by ambiguous words; and yet, though every word is ambiguous, no one will explain the ambiguity of words except by words—but now joined together, which will not be ambiguous. For just as, if I were to say 'every soldier is two-footed,' it would not follow from this that a cohort composed of soldiers who are certainly two-footed would itself be two-footed, so, when I say that every word is ambiguous, I do not say that a sentence is, nor that a disputation is, although these are woven of words. Every ambiguous word, therefore, will be explained by a non-ambiguous disputation. Now let us see the kinds of ambiguities; of which the first two are: one which makes doubt even in those things which are spoken, the other which does so only in those things which are written.

For whether someone hears 'acies' or someone reads it, he can hold it uncertain—unless it becomes clear through the sentence—whether a battle-line (acies) of soldiers, or a sharp edge (acies) of iron, or a keenness (acies) of eyes is spoken or written. But indeed if someone finds written, for example's sake, 'lepore,' and it does not appear in what sense it is placed, he will surely doubt whether the next-to-last syllable of this word is to be lengthened, from that which is 'lepos' (charm), or to be shortened, from that which is 'lepus' (hare)—an ambiguity which of course he would not suffer if he received the accusative case of this noun by the voice of a speaker.

But if someone should say that even a speaker could have pronounced badly, then the hearer would be impeded not by ambiguity but by obscurity—yet of that kind which is like the ambiguous, because a word pronounced in bad Latin does not draw the thinker into diverse notions, but impels him toward that which is apparent. Since therefore those two kinds differ from each other very much, the first kind is again divided into two. For whatever is said and can be understood through several things—those same several things can, namely, either be contained not only under one term but even under one definition, or are held only by a common term but are explained by diverse expositions.

Those things which one definition can include are called 'univocal'; but to those things which under one name must be diversely defined the name 'equivocal' is given. First, therefore, let us consider univocals, so that, since this kind has now been made plain by definition, they may be illustrated by examples. When we say 'man,' we say a boy as much as a youth, as much as an old man; a fool as much as a wise man; a great man as much as a small; a citizen as much as a foreigner; a townsman as much as a rustic; one who has already been as much as one who now is; one sitting as much as one standing; a rich man as much as a poor; one doing something as much as one at leisure; one rejoicing as much as one grieving, or neither.

But in all these expressions there is nothing which, as it has received the name of 'man,' is not likewise enclosed by the definition of man. For the definition of 'man' is: a rational mortal animal. Can anyone then say that a rational mortal animal is a youth only, and not also a boy or an old man; or a wise man only, and not also a fool? Nay, both these and the rest which have been enumerated are, as by the name of 'man,' so also by its definition, contained. For whether a boy, or a fool, or a poor man, or even one sleeping, if he is not a rational mortal animal, neither is he a man; but he is a man; therefore it is necessary that he too be contained by that definition. And concerning the rest indeed nothing will be doubtful.

But concerning a small boy, or a fool or one utterly witless, or concerning one sleeping or drunk or raving, it can be doubted how they can be rational animals. It can indeed be defended, but for those hastening to other matters it is long. For what is at issue, it is enough that this definition of 'man' is not right and valid unless both every man is contained by it and nothing besides man. These, therefore, are 'univocals,' which are enclosed not only by one name but also by one definition of the same name, although they can be distinguished among themselves by their proper names and definitions. For 'boy,' 'youth,' 'rich' and 'poor,' 'free' and 'slave,' and whatever other differences there are, are diverse names. Therefore they have among themselves diverse proper definitions.

But as to them there is one common name, 'man,' so also 'rational mortal animal' is one common definition. X. Now let us see 'equivocals,' in which the perplexity of ambiguity grows into an almost infinite thicket. Yet I shall try to distinguish them into definite kinds. But whether ability may follow my attempt, you will judge. Of the ambiguities, therefore, which come from equivocals, the first kinds are three: one from art, another from usage, the third from both. I now call 'art' on account of the names which in the disciplines of words are imposed upon words. For 'equivocal' is defined otherwise among the grammarians, otherwise among the dialecticians. And yet this one thing which I say, 'Tullius,' is both a noun, and a dactyl foot, and an equivocal.

And so if someone should demand of me that I define what 'Tullius' is, I answer by the explanation of whichever notion. For I can rightly say: 'Tullius' is a name by which is signified a man, a certain supreme orator, who as consul crushed the conspiracy of Catiline. Attend subtly: I have defined the name itself. For if that Tullius himself, who if he were living could be pointed out with the finger, were to be defined by me, I would not say: 'Tullius' is a name by which a man is signified; but I would say: Tullius is a man, and so I would join the rest. Likewise it could be answered in this manner: 'Tullius' is a dactyl foot consisting of these letters—for what need is there now to enumerate the letters? It is also permitted to say:

'Tullius' is a word through which all the things mentioned above, together with this very thing, are equivocal among themselves, and if any other can be found. Since therefore this one thing which I have said, 'Tullius,' I have been permitted to define so variously according to the terms of the arts, why do we doubt that there is a kind of ambiguities coming from equivocals which can rightly be said to arise from art? For we have said that equivocals are those which, as they cannot be held by one name, so neither can they be held by one definition. See now the other kind, which we recalled comes from the usage of speaking. I now call 'usage' that very thing on account of which we come to know words. For who would seek out and collect words for the sake of words?

And so now suppose someone to be listening in such a way that it is known to him that nothing is being asked concerning parts of speech, or concerning meters, or concerning any discipline of words. Nevertheless, he can still, when 'Tullius' is said, be impeded by the ambiguity of equivocals. For by this name can be signified both the man himself who was the supreme orator, and his painted image or statue, and the volume in which his writings are contained, and whatever there is of his corpse in his tomb. For with diverse notions we say: 'Tullius freed his fatherland from ruin,' and 'Tullius stands gilded on the Capitol,' and 'the whole of Tullius is to be read by you,' and 'Tullius is buried in this place.' For it is one name, but all these things are to be explained by diverse definitions.

This, therefore, is the kind of equivocals in which no ambiguity now arises from the discipline of words, but from the very things which are signified. But if either kind should confound the hearer or reader—whether what is said from art or what from the usage of speaking—will not a third kind rightly be reckoned? An example of which appears indeed more openly in a sentence, as if someone should say: 'many have written in dactylic meter, as is Tullius.' For here it is uncertain whether 'Tullius' is placed for an example of the dactyl foot or of the dactylic poet, of which the former is taken from art, the latter from the usage of speaking. But it happens also in simple words, as if a grammarian should utter this word to his listening disciples, as we showed above.

Since, then, these three kinds differ from one another by manifest principles, the first kind is again divided into two. For whatever produces ambiguity through the art of words can partly serve as its own example and partly cannot. For when I have defined what 'noun' signifies, I can supply this very word by way of example. For this word 'noun' which I utter is itself indeed a noun; for by this rule it is inflected through the cases when we say 'noun, of a noun, to a noun,' and the rest. Likewise, when I have defined what 'dactyl' signifies, this very word can serve as an example. For when we say 'dactyl,' we pronounce one long syllable and then two short ones. But when 'adverb' is defined as to what it signifies, this word itself cannot be adduced as an example.

For when we say 'adverb,' this very utterance is a noun. Thus according to one notion 'adverb' is indeed an adverb, and a noun is a noun; but according to another notion 'adverb' is not an adverb, because it is a noun. Likewise, when it is defined what 'the cretic foot' signifies, this word itself cannot serve as an example. For this utterance which we speak, 'cretic,' consists of a first long syllable and then two short ones, whereas what it signifies is a long syllable, a short, and a long. Thus here too, according to one notion 'cretic' is nothing other than a cretic and is not a dactyl; but according to another notion 'cretic' is not a cretic, because it is a dactyl.

The second kind, which we have already said pertains not to the disciplines of words but to the usage of speaking, has two forms. For equivocal terms arise either from the same origin or from a diverse one. I call those 'from the same origin' which, though held under one name and not under one definition, yet flow as it were from one source; as is that case in which 'Tullius' can be understood to mean a man, a statue, a book, and a corpse. These indeed cannot be enclosed within one definition, yet they have one source, namely the true man himself, whose both that statue and those books and that corpse are. So when we say 'nepos,' it signifies, from far more diverse origins, both a grandson (a son's son) and a spendthrift.

Let us therefore keep these distinctions clear, and observe into what further divisions that kind which I call 'from the same origin' is divided. For it is divided into two, one of which arises by transference (metaphor), the other by inflection. I call it transference when, by likeness, one name is applied to many things—as 'Tullius' is said both of the man in whom there was great eloquence and of his statue; or when the whole is named from the part—as when his corpse can be called 'Tullius'; or the whole from the part—as when we say 'roofs' for whole houses; or the species from the genus—for 'words' are in the primary sense all those by which we speak, yet 'verbs' are properly so named which we inflect through moods and tenses; or the genus from the species:

for although 'scholastics' are properly and even originally said of those who are still in the schools, yet this name has been extended to all who live among letters—or the effect from the efficient cause, as 'Cicero' is a book of Cicero's—or the efficient cause from the effect, as 'terror' is that which produces terror—or what is contained from the container, as those who are in a house are also called 'the house'—or by a reversed exchange, as 'chestnut' is also said of the tree—or whatever else can be found which, from the same origin, is named as it were by transference. You see, as I judge, how much ambiguity this creates in words. But those things which, though belonging to the same origin, we have said are ambiguous by the condition of inflection, are of the following sort.

Suppose, for example, that someone has said 'pluit'—these must certainly be defined differently (as either 'it rains' or 'he has rained/it has rained'). Likewise, when someone says 'scribere,' it is uncertain whether he has pronounced the active infinitive or the passive imperative. 'Homo,' although it is a single word and a single utterance, yet one thing comes from the nominative and another from the vocative—unlike 'doctus' and 'docte,' where the utterance too is different. 'Doctius' is one thing when we say 'a more learned slave' (neuter comparative adjective), and another when we say 'this man argued more learnedly than that one' (adverb). Ambiguity has therefore arisen through inflection. For I now call 'inflection' whatever befalls words by their being bent, whether through their sounds or through their significations.

For 'hic doctus' and 'o docte' are bent even through their sounds, whereas 'hic homo' and 'o homo' are bent through their significations alone. But to cut apart and pursue this kind of ambiguity in every particular is well-nigh endless. And so it will suffice to have marked out the topic itself thus far, especially for one of your talent. Now consider those things which come from a diverse origin. For these too are further divided into two primary forms, one of which arises from the diversity of languages: as when we say 'tu,' this single sound means one thing among the Greeks and another among us. This kind had certainly to be noted; for it is not prescribed to anyone how many languages he must know, or in how many languages he must dispute.

The other form is that which produces ambiguity within one and the same language, yet from a diverse origin of the things signified by one and the same word—such as that which we set down above concerning 'nepos.' This in turn is split into two. For it occurs either under the same genus of part of speech—for 'nepos' is a noun whether it signifies 'a son's son' or 'a spendthrift'—or under a diverse one. For it is not only one thing when we say 'qui,' as it is said [Terence, Andria] 'how then do you know that, unless you have made trial of the danger?' but that same word is also a pronoun in one place, an adverb in another.

Now from both together—that is, from both the art and the usage of words—there can arise as many forms of ambiguity in that third kind which we had placed among equivocals as we have enumerated in the two preceding kinds. There remains that ambiguous kind which is found in writing alone, of which there are three species. For such an ambiguity arises either from the quantity of syllables, or from the accent, or from both: from quantity, as when 'venit' is written, and it is uncertain as to tense because of the hidden quantity of the first syllable; from accent, as when 'pone' is written, and it is uncertain whether it comes from 'pono' (I place) or, as it is said [Virgil, Georgics] 'following behind, for this law Proserpina had given,' because of the concealed position of the accent;

but it arises from both together, as in the case of what we said above concerning 'lepore.' For the penultimate syllable of this word must be not only lengthened but also accented, if it is derived from 'lepos' (charm) and not from 'lepus' (hare).