約伯倫理 第 376 章

Ibid. Why hast Thou set me contrary to Thee, and I am become a burden to myself? 52. By sinning man became contrary to God. Then did God set man contrary to himself, when man by sinning forsook God. For, captured by the persuasions of the serpent, he became the enemy of Him whose commandments he despised. But the just Creator set him contrary to himself, because He reckoned him an enemy on account of his pride. Yet this very contrariety of his fault became to man the weight of his punishment, so that, being evilly free, he should serve his own corruption—he who, being well a servant, had rejoiced in the freedom of incorruption.

For, forsaking the wholesome citadel of humility, he came by his pride to the yoke of infirmity, and by lifting up the neck of his heart he placed it beneath the yoke; because he who would not be subject to the divine commands laid himself low beneath his own necessities. This we show more plainly if we set forth the things which, once cast down, he endures—first the burdens of the flesh, and afterward those of the mind. 53. In how many ways man is a burden to himself, on account of the body, and on account of the mind. Our mind is both ample and narrow. For, to say nothing of this, that it endures pains, that it pants with fevers, this very thing of ours which is called the health of our body is itself constrained by a certain sickness of its own. For in leisure it wastes away, in labour it fails; failing through fasting, it is restored by food that it may subsist;

wearied by refreshment, it is relieved by abstinence that it may flourish; it is drenched with water lest it grow parched; it is wiped with linen cloths lest it be dissolved by too much drenching; it is invigorated by toil lest it grow torpid with rest; it is refreshed by rest lest it sink under the exertion of labour; wearied by wakefulness, it is repaired by sleep; oppressed by sleep, it is roused by wakefulness, lest it be worse wearied by its own rest; it is covered with garments lest it be pierced by the adversity of cold; failing when the heat is sought, it is refreshed by the breath of the breezes. And when it finds troubles from the very source whence it sought to avoid troubles, being, so to speak, evilly wounded, it grows faint from its own very medicine.

When, therefore, fevers are removed and pains cease, our very health is itself a sickness, to which the necessity of being cured is never wanting. For as many comforts as we seek for the use of living, so many medicines, as it were, do we set against our sickness. But the very medicine too is turned into a wound; for by clinging a little too long to a sought-out remedy, we fail the more grievously from that which we providently prepare for our restoration. Thus assuredly ought presumption to be checked, thus ought pride to be laid low. For because we once took to ourselves an exalted spirit, behold, daily do we carry the clay that flows away. 54. Our very mind, too, shut out from the secure joy of the inner sanctuary, is now deceived by hope, now vexed by fear, now cast down by grief, now relieved by false gladness;

it loves transitory things with obstinacy, and is worn away without ceasing by their loss, because without ceasing it is changed by the snatching course of time. But being subject to changeable things, it is varied even from its own self. For, seeking what it has not, it perceives it with anxiety; and when it has begun to have this, it is wearied at having gained what it sought. Often it loves what it had despised, and despises what it loved. With labour it learns the things that are eternal, but of these it suddenly forgets, if it cease to labour. Long it seeks, that it may find some little of the highest things; but sliding back too quickly to accustomed things, it does not persevere even a little in the things it has found. Desiring to be instructed, it hardly overcomes its own ignorance; but once instructed, it fights the more grievously against the glory of knowledge.

Scarcely does it subject to itself the tyranny of its own flesh, yet still within it endures the images of guilt, whose outward works it has already restrained by conquering. In the search after its own Author it lifts itself up, but a friendly darkness of corporeal things confounds this soul when it is beaten back. It wishes to behold how, being incorporeal, it governs the body, and it is not able. It seeks wondrously that which does not suffice to answer itself, and beneath that which it prudently seeks, it fails in its ignorance. Considering itself at once ample and narrow, what it may truly esteem itself to be it knows not; for if it were not ample, it would by no means seek things so to be investigated, and again, if it were not narrow, it would at least find this very thing which it seeks. 55.

Man, when, having forsaken God, he believed that he sufficed for himself, found in himself nothing but the tumult of perturbation. Pressed by this, Job begs for the mercy of God. Well therefore is it said: Thou hast set me contrary to Thee, and I am become a burden to myself; because, while man, being cast off, endures both troubles from the flesh and questionings from the mind, he assuredly carries himself as a heavy burden. On every side he is pressed by weaknesses, on every side he is urged by infirmities, so that he who, having forsaken God, believed that he sufficed for himself for rest, should find in himself nothing but the tumult of perturbation, and, having found himself, should seek to flee himself, but, having despised his Author, should have no place whither to flee. A certain wise man, well contemplating the weights of this infirmity, says:

A heavy yoke is upon the sons of Adam, from the day of their coming forth from their mother's womb until the day of their burial into the mother of all (Ecclus. xl, 1). But blessed Job, considering these things, and groaning as to why they have been so ordained, does not reprove justice, but inquires after mercy, that by asking he may himself humbly knock at that which the divine loving-kindness by sparing may change. As if he plainly said: Why dost Thou despise man as though contrary to Thee, when I, being certain, know that Thou willest not that even he perish whom Thou art believed to despise? Whence he well still both expresses the humility of confession, and adds the voice of free inquiry, saying: