論天意(十講) 第 1 章 第 2/11 段

for in it the sun, running through the more southerly parts of the pole and leaving the more northerly and middle parts, gives the air license to exercise its own nature;

wherefore, no longer being consumed in like manner by the heat of the sun, but growing dense and thick, it both sends down a violent rain, and, by the more vehement onset of the winds whipping this into foam, congeals it into snowstorm and hail, and, by the breeze freezing the dew that drips in clear, cloudless skies, produces hoarfrost by its coldness;

and these things, though from afar, it nevertheless casts off, being warmed by the sun.

And from this too one may accurately learn the forethought of God.

For since the usefulness of the elements is great and manifold, and, besides their usefulness, their beauty is abundant, and their loveliness ineffable, the all-wise one has, through these things, arranged that what seems distressing should occur, so that we might believe these to be not gods, but the works of God, guided and steered wherever he guides them.

It vexes us with the frost, teaching us that it alone is not sufficient for the generation of life and the care of living things.

Thus the sun not only gladdens us by the striking of its rays, and teaches us the difference among visible bodies, both of bulk and of colours, but also vexes us by the hotter striking of its rays;

and if the Charioteer of the universe should not, by moving the air, bring us cool breezes, this sun which is worshiped by the foolish would utterly set everything ablaze, and would take away life from those who worship it.

None, therefore, of the elements is by itself, alone, productive of life, nor even all of them mingled together in common, apart from the power that steers all things, become the cause of any good.

For it is possible again to see the air become temperate, the rain given to the earth at the right season, the sun using its rays without causing harm, the breezes of the winds stirred in due order, the farmers diligently tilling the earth and sowing the seeds as usual — and yet the earth not gratefully bringing forth its fruits, nor the nature of men remaining free from disease.

Since, then, you have seen the air too enjoying the forethought of God, and, on account of that, sufficing for so many thousands of years, neither being consumed by the animals that breathe it, nor flowing out beyond the bodies that contain it, come, let us bring you to the earth, the common nurse, and mother, and tomb;

Consider, then, before all else, its position, and the variety of its configurations.

For it is neither all level, nor all steep, but is divided into mountains, and glens, and plains.

One might see, in the midst of great plains, hills raised up to a height, and, between the mountains, certain sloping and smooth places, in the shape of sea-bays.

And the mountains themselves the Maker divided for the use of men, and, separating them into deep ravines, devised passages for the wintry waters, and constructed for men easy roads through difficult terrain.

And the mountains supply materials for the builders' art, while the plains give back in return to those who dwell in the mountains an abundance of wheat.

And the variety of the terrain not only nourishes, but also delights the eyes of men;

for things of a single kind tend to bring on satiety quickly.

Tell me, who is it that has thus ordered these things? Who is it that has stored up in them so great a power, that so many cycles of years have not exhausted the treasure? Who is it that keeps existing things unmoved? Who urges on the streams of the rivers? Who impels the birth-pangs of the springs? See these here, gushing up on the summits of the mountains, and pouring their streams from above downward;

and there, not even appearing at the foot of the hills, but supplying men with waters from the deepest wells.

For lest you should suppose that it is by spontaneous impulse that the nature of the waters darts upward, the Maker teaches you through the facts themselves that the water, obedient to the divine word, reaches the mountain-peaks without labour — yet, without being forced by your art, it does not rise up to the surface of the plains;

but you dig and deepen wells, and enjoy the waters, drawing them up from below;

for you are a fellow-slave, not the maker, of the elements.

But for the Maker it is easy, not only to draw up the nature of waters to the mountain-tops, but even into the middle of the air, and to sweeten what is bitter, and to congeal what is dissolved, and to dissolve what is congealed, and to separate what is continuous, and to still what is flowing, and to make what is naturally borne downward run upward instead, and to warm what is cold without fire —

[...of the body's] afflictions you might heal.

And these things again he has set before you in variety, and fitted them to opposite uses.

For some relax the tensed sinews;

and others tighten and give tone to those that are slack;

and some make war on phlegm, others on black bile;

So great a benefit has your Guardian set before you even in hot springs;

but nothing persuades you not to blaspheme; rather you remain ungrateful and abusive, sick with the malady of Manichaeus, who, while enjoying food and drink, reviles those who supply them, and curses reapers and bakers alike, and those who cut the loaf in two — he himself refusing to do the cutting, yet eating what is cut.

See, then, how great an injustice you charge against him, slandering him with such accusations.

Why, then, did he even make these things, if he did not wish to care for them? For what reason does he not care — as being able but unwilling, or as willing but unable? But that he is able, the things that have come to be bear witness.

For how could he have made the magnitudes of visible things, their beauties, their harmony, if he did not have power sufficient for his purpose? And how could he who is unable to exercise providence have brought into communion and relation things set apart — water and fire, day and night — and wrought out of them all a single harmony and concord? For it is a far greater measure to bring things from non-being into being than to exercise providence over things that already are.

But that he is able, creation is witness;

and that he also wills it, she again bears witness.

For it was not because some other compelled him that he came to creation, nor indeed did he bring forth creation as one in need;

but being good, and possessing a goodness greater than every measure, he willed to grant being even to things that were not.

But he who exercised such goodness toward things not yet existing — how would he neglect the things that have come to be? For it is not possible to say that he grudged good to the things that have come to be;

for his nature is free from envy, and free from every passion.

But in order that from great abundance we may lay bare the weakness of their impiety, let us ask them one small question.

For in his hand are the ends of the earth, and he himself measured the water with his hand, and the heaven with a span, and the whole earth with a handful.

But is it perhaps on account of its beauty? Yet it came to be by him.

But no one — not even among men who are extremely envious — having built a fair and splendid house, has ever envied it; rather he delights in it, and takes pride in it, and himself rejoices, and shows it to those who do not know it.

But how far the beauty of creation stands apart from the intellectual light of him who made it — what reasoning could measure this? See, then, to what extremity the claims of impiety have proceeded.

For if the most wicked of men not only do not envy the houses built by them, but even take great pride in them, then to say that the fount of goodness — whose nature cannot be troubled by any passion — is assailed by envy, what excess of impiety does this leave unattained? If, then, he is both able to hold the helm of creation, and wills that it enjoy all good things, it is clear that he cares for it, and stands over it, and, having taken hold of the reins, guides the whole created nature, and leaves nothing uncared-for.

a bridle, by which it cannot flood the mainland, but, rushing against the sand, it fears the boundaries, and seeing there the divine law inscribed, like some spirited horse checked by its trainer, it arches back its neck and draws back, as though repenting that it even touched the sand.

For the Maker, wishing to implant concord in the nature of men, bound them to one another by their needs.

For the Guardian did not allow each portion of the earth to supply men with every necessity, lest self-sufficiency should injure friendship.

For satiety is insolent, and the father of disorder.

The sea, then, lies in the midst of the inhabited world, divided into countless gulfs, like the marketplace of some very great city, providing an abundance of all necessary things, receiving many sellers and buyers, sending some from here to there, and bringing others from there to here.

For since travel by land is laborious — and it was not only laborious but even impossible to supply every need through it — the back of the sea lies open, receiving vessels both small and great, and carrying much necessary cargo to those in need.

For one can see the cargo of a single merchant-ship equal to the load that many thousands of pack-animals would carry.

But so that its travelers might not be distressed, the Maker fixed the islands like resting-stations, at which, putting in, and resting, and purchasing their necessities, they set out again wherever their course may take them.

“Be ashamed, then, at the multitude of my benefactions,” says the sea.

For the words of the prophet fit you even better than they fit Sidon.

For she, not knowing the Maker, divided the Divine into many gods, and, cutting up the one worship due to him, offered it to things that do not exist — not denying providence, but attaching it to these.

For she would not have sacrificed to those she considered gods, had she not thoroughly persuaded herself that they both provide benefit and avert harm.

But you, freed from the error of polytheism, confessing that all visible things are his works, and worshiping their Maker, nevertheless cast him out of what he has made, and seat him far away from creation, and say that so great a cosmos is unpiloted, and, like some unballasted vessel, is borne along at random.

Be ashamed, then, of the benefactions that come through the sea, those from the earth, those from the air, those from the sun, and the heaven set above as a roof.

Be ashamed of the tribute you receive from creation;

for each of the things mentioned pays you tribute, and offers its usefulness to you as a kind of tax;

the sun illumines, warms, and ripens the fruits of the earth;

the moon holds the torch for you by night;

the stars, for you remaining on land, mark the hours of the night, and signify beforehand the changes of the seasons; but when you take to the sea, they become guides toward the mainland;

the air, when breathed, cools your inborn heat;

and when it rains, it nourishes the fruits of agriculture;

and producing frost, it stops the upward growth of both plants and seeds, but sends the power of growth down into the roots, and, as though with a whip — the frost — it drives downward what was tending upward.

It supplies you with the kinds of edible birds.

But having another discourse to assist me, I have resolved through these things to weave a defense of the providence that is warred against by you.

Leaving you, then, at this point, and having exhorted you to delight in the contemplation of what has been said, and to draw benefit from every side, I shall hymn the Pilot of the universe;

to whom glory is fitting unto the ages of ages.

A Demonstration from the Constitution of the Human Body

Those who are in a very good bodily condition have no need of therapy from physicians;

for unblemished health is not in want of the aid of medicines;

but those warred upon by disease are accustomed to call physicians to their aid, and, using the weapons of the art as allies against their afflictions, attempt to drive these out of their bodies as though they were enemies.

For the medical art is a helper of bodies, and a plotter against afflictions.

So too, as regards souls: those who have them robust, and shining with the health of piety, have no need of instructive remedies;

but those held fast by a wicked preconception, who have received the disease of abominable doctrines, and who through time have made this disposition into a fixed habit, need many purgatives — remedies able to dislodge that noxious matter, and to render their souls pure;

and they need many medicines, which by their active power both break and block the very channels through which that disease is generated, and put an end to its wicked birth-pangs.

Since, then, the disease of those who attempt to deprive creation of providence is exceedingly grievous and hard to turn, we have already offered them two medicines, having compounded these out of the parts of creation;

but in order that we may pull up the disease by the root, and free them completely from their grievous infirmity, we shall also attempt to prepare and offer them a third.

But the materials for this preparation we shall take not from heaven, and earth, and sea, nor from the sun, and moon, and the other luminaries, nor from air, and clouds, and winds, nor from rivers, and springs, and wells, but from the very ones who attempt to blaspheme.

For having received a mouth from the Creator, so that for the good things they enjoy they might offer a hymn to the Giver, they not only are unwilling to sing his praise, but even defile their tongue with blasphemies, and dishonor that rational organ.

But this single organ alone suffices to display, of him who made it, not only his wisdom, but also his boundless love for mankind.

For it resembles an instrument composed of bronze pipes, blown by bellows, moved by the fingers of the craftsman, and producing that harmonious sound.

But it was not nature that learned from art; rather, art was taught by nature the device of that delightful sound;

for nature is the archetype of art, and art is but an image of nature.

Consider, then — you who have obtained reason, yet with that very honor dishonor him who honored you — how the lung lies beneath like a bellows, and is pressed not by human feet, but by the muscles surrounding the chest, which contract it and expand it.

This sends the breath up through the windpipe, and the breath, being forced together, opens the epiglottis, and is carried through the pharynx to the mouth.

And reason, having taken hold of the tongue as of a right hand, brings it against the teeth as against those bronze pipes, and makes it run and glide up and down with ease and great readiness;

and cooperating with it toward the ease of its motion is the gland lying beneath, welling up moisture like some spring,

making the movement most effortless.

Thus, then, as speech converses with the teeth through the tongue, and the breath, as I said, is carried along, and the lips fold together, and the air is struck harmoniously by the current of the breath, articulate voice is produced; and the breath carried forth from within becomes the vehicle of speech, while nature expels as superfluous the sooty residue.

For since the Fashioner made the heart the source of innate heat, and from this part the whole body partakes of the quality of heat, and since the heart, being held fast by so much heat, also needed some small refreshment, the Maker of nature caused it to be cooled by the breath of the lung.

For this lung, through the rough artery, receives pure breath from outside, and through the smooth vessel sends this on to the left ventricle of the heart;

for from there, as those who have accurately investigated such matters say, this vessel has its origin.

And this lung, in sending on the pure breath, receives back the sooty residue, and pushes this again to the outside through the windpipe, as being superfluous; and thus that which is wholly superfluous and useless becomes — when the mind wills it, and moves the tongue in rhythm and harmony — the vehicle of speech;

and that which is carried out of the heart as harmful, and pushed out by the lung, becomes a collaborator in articulate voice.

O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! Truly:

Who shall tell the mighty acts of the Lord? Who shall make all his praises heard? Truly:

How your works are magnified, O Lord!

You have made all things in wisdom. What word suffices for a hymn to the Creator? What word is adequate to narrate one's own formation? What word is capable of expounding the organs of speech? Who has attained to such a height of wisdom as to contemplate precisely the wisdom of the Fashioner? But you, though you see these things and enjoy them, are not even willing to hymn the one who has become their cause for you, but instead accuse of negligence him who exercises every care for what he has made.

And indeed this part alone would suffice to show the Maker's solicitude for the living creature.

For having made him rational, he made organs suited to speech.

From this, art, having derived its imitation, both fashioned pipes, and put together lyres and citharas;

and instead of the teeth, it stretched strings, and instead of the lips, it inserted bronze;

and the tongue becomes, as it were, the plectrum for the strings;

and the passage of the hand to the high and low notes imitates speech, which makes the tongue run up and down.

But nevertheless, though such precision appears in the art, those who listen marvel at the rhythm and the harmony of the melody, but do not hear articulate words;

for art is an imitation of nature, but nature produces articulate voice.

And just as art imitates the living creature, and molds bronze or stone into human form, furnishing eyes, and nose, and mouth, and ears, neck and hands, chest and belly, thighs and legs and feet, yet it is no longer able to bestow sensation and reasoning and voluntary motion;

so too the lyre and the cithara, and the instrument made of bronze pipes, produce a harmonious sound and rhythm through blowing or striking, but only the archetypal instrument produces articulate voice.

For as being the Maker's image, man strives to imitate the Maker.

And the things thus made resemble shadows contending with truth, which possess the form, but are deprived of the actuality.

...the care of him who made us concerning us — come, let us lead you back again to the heart itself.

This, then, being the most sovereign part, and entrusted with the governance of the body, he fences round on every side as one would a king, and sets around it, as a strong bulwark, the chest, so that nothing that befalls it from without might easily harm it.

But since it is continuously in motion (for it is the source of the arteries), beneath it he spread, as it were, a soft bedding — the loose, spongy, porous, artery-laced substance of the lung;

and above, he made its cone-shaped part strong, and put around it a tunic that is membranous, yet watertight and strong.

And he supplies it with matter for nourishment — not breath alone, but blood also;

and it draws this, as it were through a kind of conduit, the hollow vein, from the parts of the liver.

And the liver draws up this matter from the stomach.

And the stomach draws, through the gullet, the food that has been cut by the teeth, and ground fine and smoothed by the molars;

and in drawing it, it first holds it and turns it to chyle, and alters it, and transforms it, and assimilates it to itself;

then, once it has been well digested and altered, it separates it justly, and yields to the liver the task of filtering and drawing off the pure part of it, while it thrusts away the surplus and sends it on to the intestines, employing the propulsive faculty as its helper.

Thus the liver, having received the pure part of the food, is not content with the purification and separation already accomplished, but, as if through further strainers, divides and purifies it yet again; and the sediment, as it were, the thickest dregs, the spleen draws off for certain purposes and makes into its own nourishment;

and that part which has been concocted beyond measure, and has taken on the bilious quality, and has changed into the pale substance, the gall-bladder receives;

and the watery part, very thin, and having no share in nourishment, passes into the receptacle of the liquid excretions.

Thus that food, having become purely clean, and having been assimilated to the liver, and having passed over into the nature of blood, the hollow vein takes up, and supplies the heart with what it needs, and rises upward, and, splitting into many veins, nourishes the chest, nourishes the shoulders and hands, reaches even to the fingernails, winds about the neck, takes hold of the head, descends to the buttocks, and the thighs, and the knees, and the legs, and the feet, and, in a word, traverses every part of the body, and deprives no living member of this irrigation.

For the veins are like certain conduits and channels, entrusted with irrigating the body;

and therefore they have a thin and porous tunic, so that the neighboring parts might easily draw their nourishment from there;

but the arteries have tunics that are not only watertight, but also double;

for they are receptacles of breath, not of blood;

and breath, being fine in its particles, flows out readily and easily.

Behold, then, here too the Maker's forethought.

For the veins, since they carry blood to the parts of the body, he made of thin membranes, and put around them coverings that are, as it were, loosely woven, porous in their very texture.

For blood is coarse in its particles, and needs large passages for its seepage.

So then, in order that it might not all flow out, and yet might supply a kind of moisture to the neighboring parts, he made such a nature for the vessels.

But the arteries, which carry breath everywhere (and this is fine in its particles, and readily lost, and easily discharged even through the very smallest openings) —

these the Fashioner did not weave in the same manner, nor did he make them of a single tunic only, but of two, dense and very close-woven.

And he set the arteries alongside the veins, so that the blood, being stirred by the motion of the warm breath, might run everywhere;

for stagnation is known to produce coagulation —

as it pushes it and forces it to move; and so that the breath, too, might enjoy moisture, since the blood wets and moistens it, and does not allow it to become completely dried out.

for we stand in need of this just as of those things.

For the tree, when not nourished, becomes withered and dry, and man, when pressed by hunger, likewise sheds all his moisture, and is delivered over to death.

Just as, then, trees — whether receiving the rain from the clouds, or the streams from rivers and springs — draw the moisture through their roots, and nourish the branches, and the bark, and the pith, and bring forth leaves, and put forth blossom, and ripen fruit;

so this living creature receives food in the mouth, and this becomes a spring, while the esophagus imitates a conduit — the part we are accustomed to call the gullet;

and the stomach, like a kind of root, receiving it, sends it on to the liver, as to a kind of support for the branches.

And it does not consent to enjoy the benefit alone, but offers this irrigation, through the veins, to all the parts of the body.

Thus the body, being nourished, in infants grows, and lengthens, and widens, and gradually takes on its due bulk;

but when it arrives at the appointed measure, then it ceases from growth, and is nourished only.

thus the Maker of all things exercises forethought for our nature, and does not only form it, but continues also to nourish it, and does not only nourish it, but also exercises every other care for us.

But indeed I am at a loss how I shall hymn the Maker;

for the manifold variety of his providence for us overcomes the understanding, every account yields to the wisdom of the creation, no one is able to fully discern the construction of bodies.

Let even this alone suffice you for a hymn to the Creator.

You do not stoop toward the earth like the irrational animals, nor bend down toward your belly like the swine;

only look up, and behold providence.

He alone created you upright among the animals, borne upon two feet; and each of these he made not of a single limb, but composed of three, and bound into three joints;

and the one he fitted to the hip, the other he joined to the knee, and yet another he entrusted to the ankle.

And with strong sinews he bound the joints tightly together, and with muscles he implanted the voluntary movements;

and he made the bonds neither too slack, nor again utterly taut;

for the one would altogether remove motion, while the other would make the joints slip and dislocate from one another.

Behold also another kind of care.

For in order that you might not be distressed sitting upon your bare joints, but might remain free from pain even when you make your seat upon the ground or a stone, he has provided you with the flesh of the buttocks as a kind of natural cushion of your own;

for you do perceive these gifts, yet you rage and rave madly against the wisdom that thus cares for you.

And the dog recognizes the one who feeds it, and attends upon him when present, and longs for him when absent, and shows its delight when he returns, dropping its ears, and wagging its tail, and signifying its subjection, and confessing its servitude, and indicating clearly the benefaction it has received — and this while enslaved to irrationality, and deprived of all reason, yet learning, by time and habit and frequent benefactions, the difference between the unknown and the familiar, and between friend and schemer.

But you, who partake of reason, and have received as your guide the mind — winged, and keener than all things that are seen —

For the sun runs the double-course of the inhabited world in a single day, but the mind, in the same moment, both turns its gaze and travels round the inhabited world, and reaches the heavens in its imagination, and passes beyond them, and, as far as it is able, beholds God as in a mirror, and contemplates the infinite myriads of angels, and the thousands of archangels; it busies itself with the things beneath the earth, and strives to pass beyond even these, yet it is not able;

for it has as the limit of its imagination whatever it has learned to exist.

Though you have this one as your leader, and pilot, and charioteer, you do not perceive the divine gifts;

you do not reckon the multitude of benefactions, but persist in being ungrateful;

and though so many teachers are set before you, you are unwilling to learn the elements of Providence.

Take heed lest it abandon you utterly uncared-for, and you learn by experience the difference between providence, and guardianship, and desolation.

Look now, I bid you, at the spine: it has its beginning from the broad bone lying upon the buttocks, and extends as far as the neck, like a solid column composed of many vertebrae, bearing the belly, and the shoulders, and the arms, and the neck, and the head.

For since the Maker set no bone around the belly on the outside, so that in receiving food it might easily expand and produce a bulk sufficient for the food, the spine supports it from behind.