制度與會談錄 第 1 章 第 16/44 段

'What, then, did it please your God, that after so many thousands of years he willed to promulgate a law, having allowed so many ages to pass without a law? But if he afterward devised something better, it appears that in the beginning of the world he understood inferior or worse things, and afterward, as though taught by experiments, began to foresee more correct things and to amend his primary ordinances for the better.' Which can by no means befit the immense foreknowledge of God, nor could these things be brought forth concerning him by heretical madness without enormous blasphemy — Ecclesiastes saying: 'I have known that all the things which God made from the beginning shall themselves be forever; upon them there is nothing that may be added, and from them there is nothing that may be taken away.'

And therefore the law is not laid down for the just, but for the unjust and the insubordinate, for the impious and sinners, for the wicked and the defiled. For those first, having the sound and whole discipline of the natural and implanted law, by no means needed this law applied from without and set down in letters, which was given as a help to that natural one. From which it is gathered, by most evident reasoning, that neither ought this law written in letters to have been given from the beginning — for it was superfluous that this be done while the natural law still stood and was not violated to the full — nor could evangelical perfection have been handed down before the keeping of the law. For they could not have heard:

'Whoever shall strike you on your right cheek, offer him the other also' — those who, not content to avenge their own injuries by the equality of retaliation, repaid deadly kicks and the wounds of weapons for the lightest blow, and demanded the souls of their strikers for a single tooth. But neither could it be said to them, 'Love your enemies,' among whom it was reckoned a great fruit and benefit that they should love their friends, but turn away from their enemies and be at odds with them by hatred alone, and not hasten to oppress and kill them. But as for that which had troubled you concerning the devil, 'that he is a liar and the father of it' — namely, that both he himself and his father seem to be pronounced a liar by the Lord — it is quite absurd to suppose this even in the slightest.

For, as we said a little before, a spirit does not beget a spirit, just as neither can a soul procreate a soul — although we do not doubt that the concretion of the flesh coalesces from human seed. So, as to which author each of the two substances, that is of flesh and of soul, is to be ascribed, the Apostle distinguishes it more manifestly, saying: 'Then we have had the fathers of our flesh as instructors, and we revered them; shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits, and live?' What could he have defined more clearly by this division, than to pronounce men indeed the fathers of our flesh, but to declare constantly that God alone is the Father of souls?

And yet, even in the concretion of this body, only the ministry is to be ascribed to men, but the sum total of its condition to God the creator of all — David saying, 'Your hands have made me and formed me,' and blessed Job, 'Have you not,' he says, 'milked me like milk, and curdled me like cheese? With bones and sinews you have knit me together,' and the Lord to Jeremiah, 'Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.' But Ecclesiastes, gathering quite evidently and properly the nature and origin of each substance — by examination of the rise and beginning from which each proceeded, and by consideration of the end toward which each strives — and likewise discussing the separation of this body and soul, discoursed thus:

'Before the dust returns into the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God, who gave it.' What could have been said more plainly, than that he should declare the matter of the flesh — which he called dust, because it takes its beginning from the seed of man and seems to be sown by its ministry — to return again, as taken from the earth, to the earth; but should signify that the spirit, which is not generated through the commixture of the two sexes, but is bestowed peculiarly by God alone, returns to its author? Which is also evidently expressed through that inbreathing of God by which he first gave life to Adam.

And so, by these testimonies, we manifestly gather that no one can be called the Father of spirits except God alone, who makes them out of nothing when he wills, but that men are named only the fathers of our flesh. Therefore the devil too, according to that whereby he was created either a spirit or an angel or good, had no father except God his Creator. And when he had been lifted up with pride and had said in his heart, 'I will ascend above the height of the clouds, I will be like the Most High,' he was made a liar and stood not in the truth, but, bringing forth a lie from his own treasury of wickedness, was made not only a liar but even the father of that very lie — whereby, promising divinity to man and saying:

'You shall be as gods,' he stood not in the truth, but from the beginning was a murderer — whether by leading Adam into the condition of mortality, or by slaying Abel through his instigation by the hand of his brother. But now the following dawn concludes our disputation, which was wrought by the lucubration of nearly two nights, and by the shortcut of our rusticity has drawn the skiff of this conference from the most profound sea of questions to the safest harbor of silence. In which deep, indeed, the more inwardly the breath of the divine Spirit has led us, the more diffusely will the immensity that lies before us ever open to the sight of the eyes; and, according to the sentence of Solomon, it will become farther from us than it was, and 'the deep profundity, who shall find it?'

Wherefore let us beseech the Lord, that in us either his fear or the charity which knows not to fall may persevere unshaken — which will both make us wise in all things and ever protect us unharmed from the darts of the devil. For with these as our guardians, it is impossible for anyone to run into the snares of death. But between the perfect and the imperfect this is the difference: that in the former, a fixed and, so to speak, more mature charity, persevering more tenaciously, makes them endure in sanctity more firmly and more easily; whereas in the latter, as being more weakly settled and more easily growing cool, it quickly and more often compels them to be entangled in the snares of sins.

Having heard these things, the discourse of this conference so inflamed us that, departing from the old man's cell with a greater ardor of mind than when we had come before, we thirsted for the fullness of his teaching. CHAPTERS. The proem of the conference. The words of abbot Isaac on the quality of prayer. In what manner pure and sincere prayer may be brought forth. On the mobility of the soul, compared to a feather or a little wing. On the causes by which our mind is weighed down. On the vision of a certain old man which he beheld concerning the restless activity of a brother. A question concerning that which is of greater difficulty: to guard good thoughts than to give birth to them. A response concerning the diverse qualities of prayers. On the fourfold kind of prayer. On the order of the kinds which are set down concerning the quality of prayer.

On supplication. On prayer. On intercession. On thanksgiving. Whether the four kinds of prayer are necessary all together and to everyone, or singly and in turn to each individual. To which kinds of prayer we ought to direct ourselves. On the four sorts of supplication instituted by the Lord. On the Lord's Prayer. On the words, 'Thy kingdom come.' On the words, 'Thy will be done.' On the supersubstantial or daily bread. On the words, 'Forgive us our debts,' and the rest. On the words, 'Lead us not into temptation.' On the fact that we ought not to ask for anything other than only these things which are contained within the compass of the Lord's Prayer. On the character of a more sublime prayer.

On the various causes of compunction. On the various qualities of compunction. A question concerning the fact that the pouring forth of tears is not within our power. A reply concerning the diversity of the compunctions that are discharged through tears. On the fact that tears ought not to be forced out when they are not offered spontaneously. The opinion of Abba Antony upon the state of prayer. On the sign of being heard. An objection, that the confidence of the aforesaid being heard belongs only to the saints. A reply concerning the various causes of being heard. On the prayer to be offered within one's chamber and with the door shut. On the usefulness of brief and silent prayer.

That perpetual and unceasing continuity of prayer which was promised in the second book of the Institutes, the conferences of this elder whom we now bring forward into the midst—that is, of Abba Isaac—will, by the Lord's favour, fulfil. When these have been unfolded, I believe I shall have satisfied both the injunctions of Pope Castor of most blessed memory and your desire, O most blessed Pope Leontius and holy brother Helladius—the length of the volume being first excused, which, while in our zeal we strove not only to touch upon in a compressed discourse the things to be told, but even to pass over very many in silence, has been extended to a far greater measure than we had planned.

For, a copious discussion concerning the various institutions having been sent before, which for the sake of brevity we chose to prune away, the blessed Isaac at last brought forth these words. The whole aim of a monk and the perfection of his heart tends toward a continual and unbroken perseverance in prayer, and, so far as is granted to human frailty, it strives toward an unshakable tranquillity of mind and a perpetual purity; for the sake of which we tirelessly seek and unremittingly practise every labour of the body as well as contrition of spirit. And between the two there is a certain reciprocal and inseparable connection.

For just as the whole edifice of the virtues tends toward the perfection of prayer, so, unless all these are bound together and compacted by its summit, they can in no way endure firm or stable. For just as this perpetual and unceasing tranquillity of prayer of which we speak cannot be acquired or brought to completion without them, so neither can those virtues which build it up beforehand be fulfilled without its constancy.

And therefore we shall be able neither rightly to treat of the effect of prayer, nor by any sudden discussion to enter upon its chief end—which is perfected by the exertion of all the virtues—unless first all those things which for its sake are either to be cut away or to be made ready have been reckoned up in order and examined, and, according to the discipline of the Gospel parable, those things which pertain to the raising of that spiritual and most sublime tower have been counted up and diligently gathered beforehand.

Yet these materials, though prepared, will neither be of profit, nor allow the lofty summits of perfection rightly to be set upon them, unless first, when all the refuse of the vices has been cleared away and the crumbling, dead rubble of the passions has been dug out down to the living—as they say—and solid ground of our breast, or rather upon that Gospel rock, there have been laid the most firm foundations of simplicity and humility, upon which this tower, to be raised by the labours of the spiritual virtues, may both stand fast immovably and, in confidence of its own firmness, be lifted up to the highest summits of the heavens.

For the tower that rests upon such foundations—though the most abundant rains of the passions pour down, though the violent torrents of persecutions dash against it like a battering ram, though the savage tempest of the adversary spirits rush in and press upon it—not only will no downfall overthrow it, but the very onslaught will not trouble it in any degree. And therefore, that prayer may be sent forth with the fervour and purity with which it ought, these things are in every way to be observed.

First, solicitude for carnal things must generally be cut away; then not only the care but not even the very memory of any business or affair is to be admitted at all; detractions, idle talk or wordiness, and buffooneries likewise are to be pruned away; the disturbance of anger above all, or of sadness, is to be utterly rooted out; the noxious kindling of carnal concupiscence and of avarice is to be plucked out by the very root.

And so, when these and similar vices—which can also lie open to the sight of men—have been thoroughly thrust out and cut off, and when such a cleansing of purgation as we have said has been sent before (which is accomplished by the purity of simplicity and innocence), there are first to be laid the unshaken foundations of deep humility, foundations able to sustain a tower that shall reach the heavens; then the spiritual building of the virtues is to be set upon it, and the mind is to be restrained from every distraction and slippery wandering, so that thus, little by little, it may begin to be raised up to the contemplation of God and to spiritual insights. For whatever our soul has conceived before the hour of prayer must needs recur to us as we pray, through the intrusion of recollection.

Wherefore, such as we wish to be found when praying, such must we prepare ourselves to be before the time of prayer. For from the preceding state the mind is fashioned in supplication, and, as we prostrate ourselves in prayer, the image of those same acts, of words too or of thoughts, playing before our eyes beforehand, will make us either grow angry according to our former disposition, or grow sad, or dwell again upon past lusts or affairs, or—what it is even shameful to say—be struck by foolish laughter at the titillation of some buffoonish word or deed, or fly off again to former wanderings. And therefore, whatever we do not wish to creep in upon us while we pray, let us hasten to thrust it out from the inner shrine of our breast before prayer, that we may thus be able to fulfil that word of the Apostle:

'Pray without ceasing,' and: 'In every place lifting up pure hands without anger and dispute.' For otherwise we shall not be able to fulfil this command, unless our mind, purified from every contagion of the vices and given over to the virtues alone as to natural goods, be fed by the continual contemplation of Almighty God. For indeed the quality of the soul is not inaptly compared to a most delicate feather or a very light wing; which, if it has not been damaged or soaked by the corruption of some moisture coming upon it from without, is, by the mobility of its own substance, borne up as if naturally to the heights and to heavenly things by the aid of the slightest breath.

But if it has been weighed down by the sprinkling or infusion of some moisture, not only will it not be snatched up by its natural mobility into any airy flights, but it will even be pressed down to the depths of the earth by the weight of the moisture it has taken in. So too our mind, if it has not been burdened by the vices and worldly cares that come upon it, nor corrupted by the moisture of noxious lust, then—lifted up as it were by the natural benefit of its own purity—will be raised to the heights by the lightest breath of spiritual meditation, and, forsaking things low and earthly, will be transferred to those things heavenly and invisible. Whence we are quite fittingly admonished by the Lord's precepts: 'Take heed lest at any time your hearts be weighed down with surfeiting and drunkenness and the cares of this world.'

And therefore, if we wish our prayers to penetrate not only the heavens but even those things which are above the heavens, let us take care to lead the mind—purged of all earthly vices and cleansed of all the dregs of the passions—back to its natural subtlety, that so its prayer, weighed down by no burden of vices, may ascend to God. Yet it is to be noted for what causes the Lord has designated the mind to be weighed down. For he did not set down adulteries, nor fornications, nor murders, nor blasphemies, nor robberies—which no one is ignorant are mortal and damnable—but surfeiting and drunkenness and worldly cares or anxieties.

Which no man of this world so guards against, or judges to be damnable, that even some—what it is shameful to say—who call themselves monks are entangled in these very distractions as though they were harmless and useful. And these three, although, when carried out according to the letter, they weigh down the soul and separate it from God and press it down to earthly things, yet there is an easy turning aside from them, and especially for us, who are severed by so long a withdrawal from all the intercourse of this age, and are mingled with these visible cares and drunkennesses and surfeitings on no occasion whatsoever.

But there is also another surfeiting, no less noxious, and a spiritual drunkenness harder to avoid, and worldly care and anxiety as well, which frequently entangle us even after the perfect renunciation of all our possessions and abstinence from wine and from all feasting, and indeed even when we are established in solitude. Concerning these the prophet says: 'Awake, you who are drunk, and not from wine.' And another: 'Be astonished and wonder, waver and reel; be drunk, and not from wine; be moved, and not with drunkenness.' The wine of which drunkenness must, according to the prophet, consequently be 'the fury of dragons'; and mark from what root that wine proceeds:

'For from the vine,' he says, 'of Sodom is their vine, and their branches from Gomorrah.' Would you also recognize the fruit of this vine and the sprout of the branch? 'Their grape is a grape of gall, a cluster of bitterness to them.' For indeed, unless we have been utterly purged of all vices and are sober from the surfeit of all the passions, then, apart from any drunkenness of wine or abundance of all feasting, our heart will be weighed down by a drunkenness and surfeiting yet more noxious. For that worldly cares can sometimes fall even upon us, who are mingled in no doings of this world, is shown by manifest reasoning, according to the rule of the elders, who defined that whatever exceeds the necessity of daily sustenance and the unavoidable use of the flesh pertains to worldly care and anxiety:

as, for example, if, when the labour of one solidus can meet the necessity of our body, we should wish by more eager work and toil to stretch ourselves to the acquiring of two or three solidi; and when the covering of two tunics suffices—that is, for the use of night and day—we should procure for ourselves three or four to be made; and when the habitation of one or two cells suffices, then, delighted by worldly ambition and largeness, we should build four or five cells, and these too of choice adornment and more spacious than use requires—preferring in whatever ways we can the passion of worldly desire. That this is not done without the prompting of demons the most manifest experiences have taught us.

For a certain most approved elder, when he was passing by the cell of a certain brother who was labouring under that sickness of soul of which we have spoken—inasmuch as he sweated restlessly amid daily distractions in building and repairing superfluous things—and had caught sight of him from afar crushing a very hard stone with a heavy mallet, and had seen a certain Ethiopian standing beside him and, together with him, dashing down the blows of the mallet with joined and clasped hands, and goading him on to persistence in that work with fiery torches, stood still for a very long time, marvelling either at the pressure of that most cruel demon or at the fraud of so great a delusion.

For when the brother, worn out with excessive weariness, now wished to rest and to put an end to the work, animated by the prompting of that spirit he was urged again to take up the mallet and not to cease from his intent upon the begun work, so that, tirelessly sustained by these same incitements, he did not feel the injury of so great a labour. At length, therefore, the old man, deeply moved by so dire a mockery of the demon, turned aside to the brother's cell, and, greeting him, said: 'What is this work, brother, which you are doing?' And he replied: 'We are labouring against this most hard stone, and scarcely at last could we crush it.' To this the old man said: 'Well have you said, We could.'

'For you were not alone when you struck it, but there was another with you whom you did not see, who stood by you in this work not so much as a helper as a most violent driver.' And therefore that the disease of worldly ambition is not in our minds will surely be proved not only by abstinence from those affairs which, even if we wished, we cannot seek or accomplish, nor by the contempt of those things which, if we hankered after them, would at first sight render us remarkable both among spiritual men and among men of the world; but rather when, with a rigid strictness of mind, we reject even those things which lie within our power and seem to be veiled under a certain honourableness.

And in very truth, these things which seem small and least, and which we see indifferently admitted by those who are of our profession, weigh down the mind according to their own quality no less than those greater things which, according to their state, are wont to intoxicate the senses of worldly men—not suffering the monk, when the earthly dregs have been laid aside, to breathe toward God, on whom the intention ought ever to be fixed; and for the monk even a small separation from that supreme Good is to be reckoned a present death and a most pernicious destruction. And when the mind has been grounded in such tranquillity and loosed from the bonds of all carnal passions, and the intention of the heart has clung most tenaciously to that one and supreme Good, it will fulfil that word of the Apostle: 'Pray without ceasing,' and:

'In every place lifting up pure hands without anger and dispute.' For by this purity, if it may be so said, when the sense of the mind is absorbed and reformed from its earthly condition into a spiritual and angelic likeness, whatever it takes into itself, whatever it handles, whatever it does, will be a most pure and most sincere prayer. GERMANUS: Would that in like manner and with the same ease with which we very often conceive the seeds of spiritual thoughts, we might also be able to possess their perpetuity! For when they have been conceived in our heart—whether through the memory of the Scriptures, or through the recollection of any spiritual acts, or indeed through the contemplation of the heavenly mysteries—having slipped away by a certain imperceptible flight, they vanish as swiftly as may be.

And when our mind has found any other occasions whatever of spiritual perceptions, then again, as others creep in, those very ones which had been grasped flee away with slippery volubility, so that the soul, retaining no constancy of its own and possessing by its own power no firmness of holy thoughts, even then, when it seems in some way to hold them, is believed to have conceived them by chance and not of set purpose. For how shall the origin of those thoughts be thought to be ascribed to our own choosing, whose perseverance does not stand fast within us?

But lest perchance, straying too far from the begun order of the narration under the search of this question, we too long delay the proposed exposition upon the state of prayer, reserving this for its own time, we most urgently beg to be instructed concerning the quality of prayer—especially since the blessed Apostle admonishes us to cease from it at no time, saying: 'Pray without ceasing.' And therefore we desire first to be instructed concerning its quality, that is, of what sort prayer ought always to be sent forth; then, how we may be able to possess or to practise this same prayer, whatever it be, without ceasing.

For that it cannot be accomplished with any small intention of heart, both daily experience and the pursuit of your holiness has shown, whereby you have defined the end of the monk and the summit of all perfection to consist in the consummation of prayer. ISAAC: All the kinds of prayers, I judge, cannot be comprehended without immense purity of heart and soul and the illumination of the Holy Spirit. For there are as many of them as the states and qualities which can be generated in one soul—nay, in all souls. And therefore, although we know that, because of the dullness of our heart, we cannot survey all the kinds of prayers, yet, so far as the mediocrity of our experience shall have availed to attain, we shall attempt to sort them out as best we can.

For according to the measure of purity to which each mind advances, and according to the quality of the state into which it is either inclined by things that befall it or renewed by its own industry, the prayers themselves too are refashioned at every moment. And therefore it is most certain that uniform prayers can never be sent forth by anyone.

For each one supplicates otherwise when he is cheerful, otherwise when he is weighed down by the burden of sadness or despair; otherwise when he flourishes with spiritual successes, otherwise when he is pressed down by the mass of assaults; otherwise when he asks pardon for sins, otherwise when he begs for the acquisition of grace or of some virtue, or indeed prays for the extinction of some vice; otherwise when he is pricked with compunction by the consideration of Gehenna and the fear of the judgment to come; otherwise when he is inflamed with the hope and desire of the good things to come; otherwise when in necessities and dangers, otherwise when engaged in security and tranquillity; otherwise when he is illumined by revelations of the heavenly mysteries, otherwise when he is constrained by barrenness of virtues and dryness of the senses.

And therefore, these matters concerning the quality of prayers having been set out—not indeed as much as the greatness of the subject demands, but as much as either the narrowness of the time allows, or as the slenderness of our talent can grasp and the dullness of our heart prevails to hold—a greater difficulty now presses upon us: that we should expound the very kinds of prayers one by one, which the Apostle distinguished by a fourfold reckoning, saying thus: 'I exhort therefore, that first of all supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made.' That these were not idly divided thus by the Apostle is by no means to be doubted. And first it must be examined what is signified by supplication, what by prayer, what by intercession, what by thanksgiving.

Then it must be inquired whether these four kinds are to be taken up together by the one praying—that is, so that all are joined at once in each single supplication—or whether they are to be offered in turn and singly, so that, for instance, now supplications, now prayers, now intercessions or thanksgivings ought to be brought forth; or whether indeed one man ought to render supplications, another prayers, another intercessions, another thanksgivings to God, according, that is, to the measure of his own age into which each mind advances by the industry of its intention.