約伯記註釋 第 1 章 第 11/12 段

and this too belongs to God's wisdom, that He devised for human ills a certain release and end, namely death.

you are in ills, yet you stand outside of strife and war and tumult, and by this manner He requites you.

Why? Teach me, he says, what we shall say to Him, and let us cease from speaking many things.

Why have these things come to be? Can we not question Him? I say nothing, he says, if only we could learn these things. Is there a book, he says, or a scribe standing beside me, that I should stand and silence a man? For is it from a book, he says, that we say these things to Him? For is He a man? Do you not see, in place of writings, the whole creation everywhere crying aloud? Shall I silence a man, he says? But the creation cries out in answer everywhere, since it is present and manifest.

I bring letters of accusation, but He bears the whole inhabited world; so that it was not possible, he says, to converse with God by mere words, nor to cry out against all these things in answer. So then, behold how God thereafter entered in at the opportune moment, after the servant had prepared the way and had discoursed concerning His wisdom and had brought Job to submission:

And after Elius had ceased from his discourse, he says, the Lord spoke to Job through a whirlwind and a cloud.

It seems to me that He set a cloud over that righteous man at that time, so as to rouse his mind and to persuade him that this voice was borne from above, just as upon the mercy-seat that was over the ark.

For since a cloud is a symbol of heaven, as though wishing to set heaven itself over Job, He brought, as it were, the very throne near to him.

This too seems to me to have taken place upon the mountain, when a cloud stood over it, that we might learn that the voice is from above.

Let us then listen with exactness, since the common Master of all is speaking.

Let us see how He addresses him.

Is it with as great a vehemence as men use? By no means.

Of those earlier matters, beloved, whose solution we labored in travail to find, of the things burdensomely spoken by Job, we now find the clearest solution.

Who is this, He says, that hides counsel from Me, and holds back words in his heart, and thinks to hide them from Me? See what He does.

It seems to me, conjecturing from these words, that some other thought entered his mind.

For since there were many things which Job held in his mind and did not dare to bring forth into the open, from this first point He rouses him and shows that He provides for human affairs and knows all things clearly; so that from those earlier and more inexcusable matters He begins.

For if the things which he dared to speak were so burdensome and grievous, much more were those others.

For this reason He first applies the remedy to them.

At once, from the very outset, He shows how great is the distance between God and himself:

Who is it that attempts to hide from Me, tell me, from Me who knows the hidden things with exactness? For because you did not utter them, are they therefore not words? A word was born and came to be, even if you hide it. Do you see how gently, how correctively and reprovingly? Gird up your loins like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer Me.

Since he was cast down by despondency, He rouses him through these words, so that he might attend to what is said; and He advances the discourse by way of question, which is most reproving.

Above all He shows that He does all things with wisdom and understanding, and that it was not for Him who wrought such great things with wisdom and understanding to overlook man—for whose sake He fashioned all things—suffering evil simply and by mere chance.

Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare to Me, if you possess understanding. Who set its measures, if you know, or who stretched a measuring line upon it?

Upon what have its rings been fastened? And who is it that cast a cornerstone upon it? What do you say? He asks.

The earth indeed I established with such great exactness for your sake; and shall I overlook you, for whose sake I made it? For this reason He does not speak of the wisdom of the moulding and the fashioning that pertains to the formation of the body, but out of superabundance He shows, from the earth and from heaven, that if the world, He says, enjoys such great providence for your sake, much more do you. Where were you, He says, when I laid the foundations of the earth? This is spoken against those who wish to demand from Him accountings and explanations of the things that come to pass, and who do not take His measure aright.

Who advised? Who counseled? Who helped? He did not say:

when I made, but, when I laid the foundations.

For the mere fact that it stands firm was itself a work of great skill, since it has no foundation, no base, no support beneath it; yet to fit together and fix so securely so vast a bulk of a body, that over so long a stretch of time it is not shaken loose — this was no small thing.

'Who set its measurements,' he says, 'if you know? Or who stretched a measuring line upon it?'

Truly we are learning ineffable mysteries; and what is spoken to Job is spoken not so much to him as to us.

'Gird up your loins like a man.'

For we too have need of this eagerness and this rousing up.

Who set its measurements? Surely it did not become so great simply, nor at random, nor by chance; rather, God, looking toward some purpose, made it thus proportioned, like the most excellent of master craftsmen.

For it had to become just so great, neither smaller nor larger.

But the reason why is not possible for us to grasp, but for the Maker alone.

For he made it with such exactness as if one had stretched out a measuring line.

And it seems to me that, were even the least thing added, it would be out of place; and were even the least thing taken away, it would be out of place and would prove useless.

For just as with the symmetry of our limbs, if one were to add even the least thing, he mars the beauty of the whole body and impedes its usefulness; so, it seems to me, if one were to add the measure of a single plot to the whole earth, he would by that reasoning ruin the whole of it.

So exactly are its measurements laid out, and it could not stand otherwise than just as God made it.

Not as though these things actually happened, nor as though God stretched out a measuring line — for it is impossible both to set a measure and to bring a line to bear — but that it came to be with such exactness as it would have had if these things had been done, or rather with far greater exactness still.

Yet through these images he shows us his wisdom, by means of things familiar to us.

'Upon what,' he says, 'are its rings fixed?' First of all, he says, it hangs suspended.

What sort of rings support it? Again, not as though these existed, but that it stands so securely as if there were rings holding it up from above and fixed fast.

For since a ring bears a body aloft, and what is aloft does not stand fixed, for this reason he says:

'And who is it that cast a cornerstone upon it?' — that it stands so firmly set as if upon a building, resting upon a secure foundation, by the will of God.

For 'in his hand are all the ends of the earth.'

'When the stars came into being, all my angels praised me with a loud voice.'

From this it is clear that the angels came into being before this world.

'And they praised me with a loud voice' — that is to say:

They were struck with astonishment at the sight of it.

'And you shut up the sea with gates, when it gushed forth issuing from its mother's womb' — that is to say:

When it came into being, you walled it in. But for what reason does he say:

'When it gushed forth as at birth'? That he might show it came to be little by little, and was not brought forth thus all at once.

So he directs the hearer to the account of Moses:

Just as at a birth, so first it was diffused abroad, then it was shaped and gathered together.

For that you might not suppose it to be a natural thing that it is held fast within those bosoms, he first lets the opposite come to pass, permitting the water to spread abroad over the surface of the whole inhabited world.

And this he did also with the other elements.

For by the ordering that was to come about afterward, he displayed the former state — as, for instance, with the earth:

That, mingling with the waters, it was to be mud — this the first laying-down of the elements made plain.

That the water, if not held in check, was going to spread abroad everywhere — this the sea, which is everywhere in the inhabited world, made plain.

That even before there were seeds it was possible for God to make all things — this too he showed, when even apart from marriage he brought forth the first-formed ones.

And this too, that if the fire had not been set in order, it would have consumed all things, he showed when he rained down fire.

And in the case of the rain of Noah as well:

For since no one was present at that first ordering, he wrought it again by another means.

Not that it actually had a mother, nor that it came forth from a womb.

'And I made the cloud its clothing.'

Neither suppose this to be of nature — the vapors that rise from the...

'And this too is by my command,' he says.

'And I swaddled it with mist.'

'I swaddled it' — then, just as swaddling-bands are useful to an infant, are they so also to the sea? Or is it that this was so from the beginning, or that this holds it fast, or does he show the marvel: that he wrapped what is fluid about with air, and that it is held fast not only by the earth but also by the air, being able to be carried neither upward nor sideways beyond its measure?

And what is the usefulness? Great is the philosophy that comes from this:

For he does not speak simply of the surface, but the very body of the water has mist throughout, and especially that of the sea.

'And I set bounds for it, placing bars and gates about it.'

Again, that it stands so securely as if bound fast.

By this he shows its security, and by what follows its readiness of obedience.

'Thus far shall you come, and you shall not pass beyond, but within yourself shall your waves be broken.'

For thus securely does he hold it fast, as if with bars; and thus easily, as if merely having given a command.

And it cannot be said in reply that this comes about with no necessity forcing it; rather, it happens even though great force and violent rush lash it on.

For this reason he did not allow it to be calm and gentle, that it might proclaim the might of God, since its nature contends against the command, yet the command everywhere prevails.

For if the water were gentle, many would ascribe its good order to the nature of the water.

But as it is, when it is troubled, lashed, driven within, and yet unable through its turmoil to pass the bounds, it proclaims the might of God.

'But within yourself shall your waves be broken.'

Again, from here he draws it up to heaven itself, having first discoursed of the things below:

'In your time,' he says, 'have I appointed the morning light?' For there is also a nightly light, that of the moon.

'And has the morning star beheld its own appointed place?' — the first of the stars.

Behold there too the good order.

From the waters you have learned that in heaven also things are administered not by nature, but by the providence of God:

For if in a fluid and disordered nature there is so much good order and so great a rhythm, whenever you behold this in heaven too, call to mind the Cause that brings these things to pass.

'To take hold,' he says, 'of the wings of the earth.'

What is it 'to take hold'? That wherever it may be, it sends its light everywhere throughout the inhabited world, even to those at its farthest ends; so that this is no marvel in the case of the sun, seeing that it is so even among the stars.

And what is the gain? 'And it shall shake the ungodly out of it,' he says.

He speaks of robbers and grave-plunderers and all the others who use the night for their own wickedness.

'Or have you taken clay and fashioned a living creature and set it, endowed with speech, upon the earth?' Whence it is clear that the other creatures did not have this:

For he would not have attached it to man as something exceptional.

From the soul it possesses such a voice, well-measured and harmonious.

Do you see that he bears this witness neither to the stars nor to the other creatures? Then he says:

'And did you take away the light of the ungodly, and crush the arm of the proud? And did you come,' he says, 'to the spring of the sea?' Again he shifts the discourse to the sea — not as though the sea had a spring, but as one that does not fail, as if it possessed a spring.

'And have you walked in the tracks of the deep?' I do not say merely that you can do none of the things I have made, but that you do not even know how they came to be, nor are you able to know them or to observe them with precision. By these words He teaches him the distance between himself and God.

'And do the gates of death open to you in fear?' These invisible things are made evident, like those others, from the things that appear.

That is to say: I have authority over life and death; Hades is my prison-house. 'And did the gatekeepers of Hades cower when they saw you? And have you been instructed in the breadth of that which is under heaven? Declare to me how great, or what it is.'

'And in what kind of land does the light dwell? And of what sort is the place of darkness? If, then, you could lead me to their boundary, and if you also know their paths, then I know that you were born at that time, and that the number of your years is great.'

'Tell me,' He says, 'where the light is and where the darkness departs to.'

And why do I speak of the elements? Tell me the things concerning yourself.

When were you born? And indeed he did know—but only by learning it from others.

But how much is the time? The things concerning yourself you do not know. 'And have you come to the treasuries of snow, and have you seen the treasuries of hail?'—not that these are storehouses, but that God shows how readily, as though casting them out from treasuries, He brings them forth whenever He wills.

'And are they reserved by you against the hour of enemies, and against the day of war and battle?' You see that He wishes to show this fitness of time—that this happens in its due season and not at random? Then also concerning all the rest: rains, I mean, and hoarfrost, and the opposite, the south wind.

'And whence,' He says, 'does the hoarfrost proceed, or the south wind scatter itself over the region under heaven? And who has prepared a channel for the violent rain, and a way for the crashing thunders, to rain upon the earth where no man is—the wilderness where there is no human being in it—to satisfy the untrodden and uninhabited land, and to make the buds of green grass spring forth?' You see that God is mighty not in one part only, but in all? 'And who is the father of the rain? And who has begotten the drops of dew and the clods of dew? And out of whose womb does the ice come forth?'—not that it comes from His womb, God forbid.

But what does the begetting mean here, and the womb? Just as when He speaks concerning the sea, that when its mother travailed with it, He does not call anyone the mother of the sea; so also here He does not mean that it came forth from a womb, but rather its fashioning and its cause.

For what reason, then, has He here repeatedly used the name of birth? To me it seems that He wishes also to hint at the Cause, the First and only One, and at the fashioning of the works of creation even before they are fully completed.

So that, even if these things were spoken concerning the Son, they carry them about to no purpose.

For there we have 'Son' and 'I have begotten' and 'only-begotten' and all such expressions; but here there is nothing of the kind.

'And who has melted the face of the ungodly?' You see how He mingles the creation into His discourse? For what profit, He says, have I of the wisdom shown in creation? He everywhere displays His providence, and how He establishes matters which reasoning is unable to discover.

'Have you understood,' He says, 'the band of the Pleiades? Have you known...' That is to say:

What necessity, what bond makes those stars continually gather together in a flock? 'And have you opened the fence of Orion?'—so that it goes about its course.

'Will you send forth thunderbolts, and they will go, and will they say to you...'

What is this? For the present, He speaks from the things in heaven—both the punishing and the beneficial.

See too the thunderbolts answering.

Not that the thunderbolts will really say:

What is this? But that all things, as though they were living beings, thus obey God.

And when He wishes to present the variety of their fashioning, He speaks of birth and of the womb; but when He wishes to present their readiness and full completion, He brings them in as obeying and being summoned.

For what reason, then, did He introduce Himself not as a craftsman, but as a father? Because the art of nature is far greater than this manual, contriving art, being as it were something divine.

'Who has given,' He says, 'to woman the wisdom of weaving, and the knowledge of embroidery's skill?' See too the usefulness:

With the great things He mingles the small.

For it is no ordinary wisdom, being something intricate; for the use of it is not small.

For indeed the works of art would be superfluous had the skill not been given.

And see what kind of race He assigned it to.

'And who is it,' He says, 'that numbers the clouds in wisdom, and has bowed the heaven down to the earth?' You see that He touches the very earth? For this is what 'has bowed down' means.

'And it is poured out like the dust of the earth.'

He hints at its fineness—the very thing which Isaiah says, that it is like smoke.

'And have you cemented it together like a cube with stones?' He set forth its solidity and firmness, and also its shape, by saying 'like a cube'—namely that the hemisphere, that is, the part above, is not so shaped, but foursquare.

'And will you hunt prey for the lions, and satisfy the appetites of the serpents?' For what reason does He say these things? Because if I exercise such great providence over the superfluous creatures—those not even useful to you for servitude—do I not much more over you? For what such great profit is a lion to a man? The things He implanted in the nature of the irrational creatures, these He sets forth:

'And though,' He says, 'they do not gather in herds nor graze, but continually pursue lairs and hiding-places, they are not destroyed by famine. And they sit,' He says, 'in the woods lying in wait.'

'And who has prepared food for the raven? For its young cry to the Lord as they wander about seeking their food.'

For it is said that they do not nourish their offspring; but they themselves, being large, reasonably provide their own food, while their young—who nourishes them? Is it not the Word of God? Just as the Gospel also says:

'The birds of heaven do not sow nor reap, and your heavenly Father feeds them.'

See how the Word takes up the most useless and most unclean of the irrational creatures, wishing out of abundance to show His providence; since in the Gospels too this is a word spoken from abundance:

'Behold the birds of heaven,' He says.

'And if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is today and tomorrow is cast into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?' It seems to me that Job had reasoned that things are borne along at random and as chance has it, and that God takes no great thought for them.

It was against this, therefore, that He made His discourse—that He greatly cares for the world and exercises providence over it.

For this reason He speaks both concerning the works of creation and concerning their clothing.

'And have you watched the birth-pangs of the deer?' He said it well:

'Have you watched?' For since the animal is always in flight and fear and anguish, always leaping and springing about, how, He says, does it not miscarry, but the offspring comes forth complete? 'And have you numbered their months, when they are full of bringing forth, and have you loosed their birth-pangs? And have you reared their young without fear?' For the animal is timid.

How then are the young, even though they lack the safety that comes from their legs, without fear? Who preserves them? You see that they are not betrayed by their nature? Neither does the lion prevail by its own strength, nor is the deer betrayed, and yet it is a timid animal.

'And who is it that has let the wild ass go free?' Who fashioned this? He says. Who established the laws of nature? For because, He says, the laws are perpetual and are not corrupted, the animal is strong and untamable.

Even if you contend ten thousand times, you will not bring it under your hand.

The things which God has purposed, who will scatter them? You see that all things yield and obey by His providence and by His will? But if He is unwilling to obey us, though we contrive ten thousand devices, there is no profit, there will be nothing gained.

What then? † Therefore neither do we will nor undertake † so that, when you see the tamer animal, you may marvel at Him who made it obedient to the hand.

He has left many things outside our power, so that from those things not subjected to you, you may not marvel at your own wisdom, nor reckon that creature's obedience to be the result of your skill.

Then He shifts the discourse to the most useful things, making mention of the horse that is tamed to the hand, and He discourses much concerning this animal—how proud, how erect, how fit for war, how able to save a man.

You see each one is proud—both the ass and this one—but the one is subject, the other not? Then also its good order:

It hears the sound of trumpets and knows the signal for war.

'And when the trumpet gives its signal,' He says, 'it will say:'

'From afar it scents the battle.'

Then concerning the hawk and the vulture and the eagle:

'And is it by your knowledge,' He says, 'that the hawk stands with wings outspread, motionless, gazing toward the south? And is it at your command that the eagle is lifted high, and the vulture, seated upon its nest, lodges upon a jutting rock and in a hidden place? Being there, it seeks its food, and its eyes watch from afar; and its young are steeped in blood, and wherever the slain may be, at once they are found.'

'How has He set it,' He says, 'aloft upon the air? How has He given it its food?' You see, from few examples, how many things He speaks? For what reason did He make no mention of the ox, nor of sheep, nor of any other of such creatures, but of the useless ones and those that seem to be to no purpose? Showing that, if in those there is such great wisdom and providence—in creatures that seem to contribute nothing—

—much more is there in these.

If in the flesh-eating creatures there is a certain rational wisdom, present in each from its natural knowledge, and a foreknowledge—in the one of war, in the others of the dead—you see too the vulture borne along in the air.

'Why do I still contend, being admonished and reproved by God, hearing such things when I am nothing? And what answer shall I give to these things? I will lay my hand upon my mouth.'

'Once I have spoken, but a second time I will not add to it.'

'Why do I still contend?' He says. From the very outset and from the beginning he yielded the first place.

'I am defeated,' he says, 'in my plea of right before You.'

'Why do You press the case further? For what is it possible to answer?' AND THE LORD, ANSWERING AGAIN, SPOKE TO JOB OUT OF THE CLOUD:

'No, but gird up your loins like a man.'

'And I will question you, and you shall answer Me.'

You see how those who are confident in the abundance of their just claims do not even let their adversaries flee, so that the victory may come from abundance? Then He makes His defense to him:

That I do care for men is evident from this, that I brought this trial upon you. Do not reject My judgment, nor suppose that I have dealt with you otherwise, but rather that you might be shown to be righteous.

Or he is speaking of the present oracle.

'I say these things not that I may condemn you,' He says, 'but that I may show you to be righteous.' Or He speaks concerning the trial, calling the permission an oracle, that is:

that I ordained this to come about for some other purpose.

He did not say 'that you might become,' but 'that you might be shown to be' what you already were, so that you might instruct others.

Or he is speaking of the present oracle.

For this reason I said these things, that by uttering these words you might be shown to be righteous, not that I might condemn you. Then again He sets over against him His own might and His hatred of evil, saying that 'I both can, and do act, and have used My power against the wicked': 'Or is your arm like the Lord's? Or do you thunder with a voice like His?' 'Do you thunder,' He says, 'as I do? Bring low every insolent one, and quench the proud.'

Therefore the thunder and the rest are not for display, but for the knowledge of God.

See through how many things He reproves him for the lowliness of his nature; and He does not say, 'You are lowly,' but 'I am great, and you cannot do the things that I can.'

Or do beasts beside you eat grass like oxen? For the marvel is this, that a beast is not bloodthirsty.

Then He speaks concerning two creatures, the one of the dry land, the other of the water and the sea.

And we are not unaware that many suppose these things to have been spoken concerning the devil, taking them in an anagogical sense.

But it is necessary first to attend to the literal narrative, and then, if anything from the anagogical sense also profits the hearer, not to overlook it.

For 'let all things be done,' he says, 'unto edification.'

And having come upon a sheer mountain, it caused rejoicing to the four-footed beasts in Tartarus.

The beasts started back toward the heights when that creature had withdrawn.

For this reason He made these two great, that you might learn that He is able to make all such things, but does not make them.

For He has made them for what is useful to you.

See how He keeps His own laws.

That part of the sea which is unnavigable—these creatures range over it.

'What is the use?' perhaps someone might say.

For the most part indeed we are ignorant of their hidden use.

But if one must say something, it is that He leads us toward the knowledge of God.

Just as among the stars some are more numerous, others fewer, and some greater, others small, so also among the beasts.

If He had made only great ones, you would have said that He could not make small ones.

If small ones, then again the opposite; if tame ones, you would have said that He could not make wild ones.

There is great variety among the things that exist—among the inanimate, among the things perceived by sense, among the rational, among the irrational.

'And what,' you say, 'is the benefit of the creation, when the works are unknown to us?' For instance, these beasts most of us are ignorant of; but those who sail the sea know them, and report them to those who are ignorant.

And those who have come to the deserts are not ignorant of them.

And do nations feed upon it, and do the tribes of the Phoenicians divide it among themselves? That is to say:

so vast is the bulk of its body, that it is able to suffice for a whole nation.

For He does not say these things as though this were actually going to happen.

And He mentioned the Phoenicians on account of their commerce.

'But lay your hand upon it, remembering the war that took place upon its body, and let it happen no more.'

By 'war' here He means the tumult, the ferocity.

'After it has snorted, light comes forth,' He says.

Such is the beast—wild and powerful and undismayed.

'I know that You can do all things, and that nothing is impossible for You.'

'For who is it that hides counsel from You, and, sparing of words, thinks also to hide himself from You?' Then he says:

'Formerly I heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now I have seen You with my eyes.'

Not because he saw with his eyes, but because he heard more clearly.

'Wherefore I abhorred myself and melted away, and I have counted myself dust and ashes.'

Such is what He said to him:

'Do you think that I gave you an oracle for any other reason than that you might be shown to be righteous? It was that you might speak these words,' He says, 'not that I might condemn you.' This is a defense on behalf of all his former utterances.

For he does not say these things after being delivered from the trial, but while still in the midst of the terrors he sang his recantation.

'I count myself as nothing,' he says.

'I will make a defense on behalf of my former words, and even of these I was unworthy.' What then does God do? Since he condemned himself, then He justified him.

And what does He say? He told his friends that they must have their sin loosed, and He continually calls Job His servant.

'You have sinned, you and your two friends.'

'For you have not spoken before Me anything true, as My servant Job has.'

He continually calls him His servant, showing that all his former offenses have been done away.

So that Job spoke the truth in declaring his own good deeds:

'But you, in condemning him, have not spoken what is true. And now,' He says, 'take seven bullocks and seven rams, and go to My servant Job, and he shall offer burnt offerings for you.'

He would not have commanded this if there had been a law, but Job himself becomes their priest, they bringing the sacrifices.

He had offered on behalf of his children; now he offers on behalf of his friends.

See how He shows his freedom from bearing malice.

He makes them become witnesses of the man's virtue, and shows the greatness of the sin, even through the excess required in the offering.

For there would not have been need of so many victims, unless the sins that had to be loosed were great.

And He shows that not even the sacrifice was sufficient:

'For unless it were for his sake,' He says, 'I would not have remitted the sin to you.' Through this He shows that He loosed them also.

'I would have destroyed you,' He says, 'had it not been for his sake.'

'For you have not spoken anything true against My servant Job.'

See that, although they spoke out of zeal, they were convicted of having said nothing true—or rather, they did not speak out of a zeal that was according to God.

So that Job justly brings a charge against them.

From this we learn that he who accuses the righteous pays no small penalty for his sin.