文集 第 7 章 第 1/3 段

Prologue. To his beloved brother G. and the other servants of Christ dwelling at Hamersleben, H., a servant of whatever sort to your holiness, wishes that you may walk in one peace and attain to one rest. This Soliloquy of love, which is entitled On the Earnest-Money of the Soul, I have written for none other than your charity, that you may learn where you ought to seek the true love, and how you ought to rouse your hearts, by the pursuit of spiritual meditations, to the joys on high. This, then, dearest brother, I ask: that you receive it together with the others into remembrance of me; and that neither what is sent specially to you exclude the rest, nor what is given in common to all diminish the prerogative of the gift.

I do not wish here to court you with elegance of style, but only — because I could not conceal it — to show you the affection of my devotion toward you. Greet brother B. and brother A. and all the others, whose names, even though I am not able here and now to enumerate them one by one, I yet long to see all written in the book of life. Farewell. The Soliloquy on the Earnest-Money of the Soul. The speakers are the Man and the Soul. THE MAN. I will speak in secret with my soul, and in friendly converse I will require of her what I desire to know. No stranger shall be admitted, but with open conscience we two alone shall exchange words. For thus there will be no fear in me to ask hidden things, nor any shame in her to answer the truth. Tell me, I pray, my soul, what is it that you love above all things?

I know that your life is love, and I know that you cannot exist without love. But I would have you confess to me without shame, what among all things you have chosen to love. Let me put it still more plainly, that you may understand more clearly what I am asking you. Look upon the world, and all the things that are in it; there you will find many beautiful and alluring forms, which entice human affections, and which, according to the varied delights of those who enjoy them, kindle their desires to flow toward them. Gold has its gleam, precious stones have their luster, the beauty of flesh has its comeliness, painted tapestries and dyed garments have their color. Such things are infinite. But why should I enumerate them to you? Behold, you too know them all, you have seen well-nigh every one, you have experienced very many.

You recall that you have already seen many things, and you still see many, in which you can test and prove what I am saying. Tell me therefore, I beg you, which one thing out of all these you have made your own — the one you wish to embrace alone, and forever to enjoy? For I am certain that either you love something of these things that are seen, or, if you have already set all these aside, you have something else that you love above all of them. THE SOUL. Just as I cannot love what I have never seen, so of all these things that are seen, I have not yet been able not to love something; and yet, of all these, I have not yet found which one is to be loved above all.

For by many experiences I have already learned that the love of this world is deceitful and fleeting; a love which I am always compelled to exchange — either when that which I had chosen for myself perishes and I lose it, or when something else comes along that pleases me more. Thus I still float uncertain amid my desires, since I can neither be without love, nor find true love. THE MAN. I rejoice that at least you are not fixed in the love of temporal things; but I grieve that you do not yet rest in the love of eternal things. You would be more wretched if you made a homeland out of exile; but now, since you wander in exile, you must be called back to the way. You would be making a homeland out of exile, if you wished to have an eternal love in this transitory life.

But now you wander in exile, because, while you are dragged along by the desire of temporal things, you do not find the love of eternal things. Yet this can be for you a great beginning of salvation: that you have learned to change your love for the better; for thus you will be able to be torn away from all love of temporal things, if a greater beauty be shown you, which you may embrace more gladly. THE SOUL. How can that be shown which cannot be seen? And how can that be loved which cannot be seen? Surely, if in temporal things, which can be seen, there is no true and abiding love, and if what cannot be seen cannot be loved, then eternal misery follows the one who lives forever, if an ever-abiding love is never found.

For no one can be blessed without love, since it is plain that to be wretched consists in this alone: not to love that which is. Nay rather, who would call him — I do not say blessed, but even a man — who, forgetting his humanity and spurning the peace of fellowship, should love himself alone with a certain solitary and wretched love? It is necessary, therefore, either that you approve the love of the things that are seen, or, if you take this away, that you point out other things which may be loved more wholesomely and more pleasantly. THE MAN. If you think these temporal and visible things are to be loved because you observe that a certain comeliness of their own kind is in them, why do you not rather love yourself, who by your own form altogether surpass the comeliness and beauty of visible things? Oh, if only you could behold yourself!

Oh, if you could see your own face, you would surely recognize how worthy of reproach you had been, when you esteemed anything outside yourself worthy of your love! THE SOUL. The eye sees all things, but does not see itself; and by that very light by which we discern other things, we do not see our own face, in which the light is placed. By the testimony of others men learn their own faces, and they come to know the appearance of their own countenance more often by hearing than by seeing — unless perhaps you bring forth some mirror of another kind, in which I may come to know and love the face of my heart; just as anyone would rightly call him most foolish who, to feed his self-love, should perpetually gaze upon the likeness of his own face in a mirror.

Since therefore I cannot contemplate my own face and what the appearance of my countenance is like, I more easily extend the affection of my love toward those things which seem admirable on the outside. Especially since love never allows itself to be solitary, and in this very thing it is already in a manner love, if it does not diffuse the force of its affection upon another partner of equal worth. THE MAN. He is not solitary with whom God is; nor is the force of love thereby extinguished, if its appetite is restrained from abject and worthless things. Rather, he does himself an injury who admits into the fellowship of his love either dishonorable things, or at any rate things that are not worthy of his love.

First of all, then, it is necessary that each one consider himself, and when he has come to know his own dignity (lest he do injury to his love) not love things more abject than himself. For even those things which, considered in themselves, are beautiful, become cheap when compared with things more beautiful. And just as it is unfitting to join deformed things to beautiful ones, so it is altogether unbecoming to set on a level with beauty those things which have nothing but a certain lowest and imaginary beauty. You do not wish, O soul, to have a solitary love; yet do not have a prostituted one either. You seek the only one; seek then also the uniquely chosen one. You know that love is a fire, and fire indeed seeks fuel that it may burn. But beware lest you throw on it that which supplies smoke rather, or a stench.

Such is the power of love, that you must needs become such as that is which you love; and you who are joined to it by affection are in a manner transformed, by the very fellowship of love, into the likeness of it. Attend therefore, O soul, to your own beauty, and you will understand what kind of beauty you ought to love. Your own face is not invisible to you. Your eye sees nothing well, if it does not see itself. For when it is well-clear-sighted for contemplating itself, no foreign likeness from without, nor any shadowy imagining of the truth, can deceive it.

But if perhaps that inner vision of yours has been darkened through negligence, and you are not able to contemplate yourself as is fitting and expedient, why at least do you not weigh, from another's judgment, what you ought to think of yourself? You have a Bridegroom, but you do not know it. He is the fairest of all, but you have not seen His face. He has seen you, for unless He had seen you, He would not love you. He has not yet willed to present Himself to you, but He has sent gifts, He has given an earnest-money, a pledge of love, a token of affection. If you could know Him, if you could see His beauty, you would no longer be in doubt about your own beauty.

For you would know that one so fair, so comely, so graceful, so unique would not have been captivated at the sight of you, unless a singular comeliness, admirable beyond all others, drew Him. What then will you do? Now you cannot see Him, because He is absent. And therefore you do not fear, nor are you ashamed, to do Him injury — in that you despise His singular love, and shamefully and immodestly prostitute yourself to another's lust. Do not do so. If you cannot yet know what manner of one He is who loves you, consider at least the earnest-money which He has given;

perhaps in that very gift of His, which is in your keeping, you will be able to recognize with what affection you ought to love Him, with what zeal and diligence you ought to keep yourself for Him. His earnest-money lies in tokens; His gift is noble — for it neither befitted so great a One to give little things, nor would so wise a One have given great things for a trifle. Great, therefore, is what He has given you; but greater is what He loves in you. Great, then, is what He has given. What has your Bridegroom given you, O soul? You are waiting, perhaps, and do not know what I am about to say. You are pondering from whom you have received anything great, and you do not find that you have or have received anything of the sort whereof you might glory. I will tell you therefore, that you may know what your Bridegroom has given. Look upon this whole world, and consider whether there be anything in it that does not serve you.

Every nature directs its course to this end: that it may attend upon your service and minister to your benefit, and may meet your delights and your needs alike with an unfailing abundance. The heaven, the earth, the air, the seas, with all the things that are in them, do not cease to fulfill this; in this the circuits of the seasons, by their yearly renewals and revived births, renewing the old, restoring what has decayed, repairing what has been consumed, supply nourishment in perpetual feeding. Who, then, do you think established this? Who commanded this of nature, that it should serve you with one accord? You receive the benefit, and you do not recognize its Author. The gift is in plain sight; the Giver is hidden.

And yet reason itself does not allow you to doubt that this is not your due, but another's benefit. Whoever, then, He is, He has conferred much upon you, who gave you all this and so much; He is much to be loved, who could give so much; and He who willed to give so much, has loved much. So great a Lover, then, and so worthy to be loved, is shown forth by His gift; so that, just as it is foolish not freely to long for the love of one so powerful, so it is impious and perverse not to love in return one who loves so much. See then, O imprudent and rash soul, see what you are doing, when in this world you long to be loved and to love.

The whole world is made subject to you, and yet you do not disdain to admit into the fellowship of your love — I do not say the whole world, but I know not what tiny scrap of the world, scarcely some little portion of it, which surpasses nothing in beautiful form, nor in necessary usefulness, nor in great quantity, nor in best goodness. Surely, if you love these things, love them as subject things, love them as servants, love them as gifts, as the earnest-money of the Bridegroom, as the presents of a Friend, as the benefits of the Lord. Yet so that you always remember what you owe to Him: love these things not instead of Him, nor along with Him, but for His sake, and through these things love Him, and above these things love Him. Beware, O soul, lest (which God forbid!) you be called not a bride but a harlot, if you love the gifts of the Giver more than the affection of the Lover.

You do a greater injury to His charity if you both accept His gifts, and yet do not repay love in return. Either refuse His gifts (if you can), or, if you cannot refuse His gifts, repay love in return. Love Him; love yourself for His sake; love His gifts for His sake. Love Him that you may enjoy Him; love yourself in that you are loved by Him. Love in His gifts the fact that they are given by Him. Love Him for yourself, and yourself for Him; love His gifts as from Him to you, for your own sake. This is pure and chaste love, having nothing sordid, nothing bitter, nothing transitory — comely in its chastity, delightful in its sweetness, stable in its eternity. THE SOUL. Your words have inflamed me; I have conceived an ardor, and I burn within.

For although I have not yet seen this One whom you declare to be so lovable, yet by the very sweetness of your discourse and the pleasantness of your exhortation, I confess, you kindle me to the love of Him. Indeed, I am compelled by your arguments to love above all things Him from whom I see that I have received all things as a pledge of love. Nevertheless, one thing still remains which greatly diminishes for me the happiness of this love — unless the hand of your consolation wipe that away too (as it has the rest). THE MAN.

I confidently promise you that in this love there is nothing which ought rightly to displease you; and yet, lest I seem to be deceiving your credulity rather than bearing witness to the truth, I wish you to open to me what troubles you, so that, confirmed once more by my reasonings, you may grow stronger in the desire of Him. THE SOUL. I wish you to remember — though I do not think you have forgotten — that a little while ago (when you were commending a worthy and honorable love) you said that love ought to be not only single but uniquely chosen; that is, set upon one alone beloved and one alone to be loved — because love is not perfectly praiseworthy if either another is loved along with the one, or one who is not supremely to be loved is loved alone.

Behold, then, I love the uniquely chosen and uniquely beloved One. But I suffer this injury to my love: that, loving alone, I am not alone loved. For this earnest-money of His love, which you set before me — how many they are, or indeed of what sort, with whom this is shared in common with me, you yourself know. With what privilege of singular love, then, shall I be able to glory, since I have received this thing which you declare so great in common — I will not say with bestial folk, but even with the very beasts? What more does the light of the sun confer on me than on the reptiles and the worms of the earth? All alike live, all breathe; the same food, the same drink of all — what is this so great? what is this so singular? You surely see what sort of thing it is.

And so you do not prove sufficiently fittingly that He is to be loved in a singular way, unless you also show that He Himself has loved in a singular way, at least in some respect. These things, I confess, would indeed be great and worthy of a singular love, if they had been given in a singular way. THE MAN. This carefulness of yours cannot displease me, for in this it is plain that you desire to love perfectly, since you investigate so diligently the ground of perfect love. Gladly, therefore, do I undertake to discuss this with you, that I may both defend the love of so excellent a One from this injury for which you find fault, and at the same time restore you to wholeness, lest by any suspicion you waver from love of Him. There are three things in which you may find that which troubles you. Distinguish the gifts you have received from your Bridegroom;

for some were given in common, some specially, some singularly. Things given in common are those which serve all together with you, for your sake. Things given specially are those which are granted to many — yet not to all — together with you, for your sake. Things given singularly are those which are given to you alone. What then? Does He love you any the less because He has granted certain of His gifts to all together with you? Would He have made you happier if He had given the world to you alone? Behold, men have not been created upon the earth, the beasts are not, and you alone possess the riches of the world — where then is that pleasant and useful fellowship of human society? Where the solaces, where the delights, which you now enjoy?

See therefore that in this too He has conferred much upon you: that He created these things together with you for your comfort. If this world and all these things serve you, how are not all things also made for your service? Does the head of the household eat his bread alone? Does he drink his drink alone? Is he alone clothed with his garments? Is he alone warmed by his fire? Does he alone dwell in his house? Yet not without reason is the whole said to be his — whatever they have who serve him, whether by love or by subjection. Whether, then, those things which serve you, or those things which are necessary to those who serve you — all are given to you, all render service to you. THE SOUL. What troubled me, you have cut off rather than uprooted.

For I was complaining of this: that, loving uniquely, I am not uniquely beloved, because I see the pledge of my love granted equally to others. But your reasonings have persuaded me to believe that those things too were given singularly to me, which I saw given in common for the use of those who serve me. In which I confess that you have spoken to me fittingly enough, but not sufficiently, concerning that which troubled me; for from this I am taught that all the things by which the life of irrational creatures is sustained are rather to be assigned to my dominion, in that those very things by which they are nourished are also appointed for my use. Yet the privilege of singular love is not thereby established, because these things are known to be made subject not to me alone, but alike to all men — and indeed to many more amply.

In all these things, then, which have been granted in common for the use of men — and indeed, if some unjustly claim something more for themselves, they err who ascribe anything singularly to their own dominion. There is, therefore, a certain special love of the Creator toward men, in which men themselves may glory more than other creatures — yet not over one another. For as to what you say in support of singular love, namely that the fellowship of men has been given to me among other things, since both my things are granted to them and theirs to me, I can find nothing singular in this. In which fellowship not only the lost glory of singularity wounds me, but also the cheapness of participation.

For how many unbelievers, how many wicked, how many impure persons are there, who can glory alike in this fellowship? THE MAN. It ought not to disturb you that in the use of temporal things there is the same participation for the good and the bad; nor should you think that they are loved by God in like manner because you see them share all these things alike with you. For just as the beasts were created not for their own sake but for man's sake, so wicked men live not for their own sake but for the sake of the good. And just as their life serves the benefit of the good, so everything by which their life is nourished, there is no doubt but that it is to be referred to the increase of the good.

And for this reason the wicked are permitted to live among the good: that their fellowship may exercise the life of the good, whom they both admonish by their own felicity to seek better goods than these — goods which the wicked cannot share — and by their own iniquity compel to love virtue the more closely. Lastly, that while they see those, destitute of divine grace, rushing through every precipice of vices, the good may learn how great thanks they ought to render to the Creator for their own salvation. For the plan of the divine dispensation, for the increase of our salvation and as a lesson for our glorification, required this: that just as in the life of the beasts we say there is no supreme felicity in using these things, so likewise in the life of wicked men we may learn that there is no supreme felicity in lording it over them.

In like manner, therefore, these things had to be granted to the good and the bad alike, because otherwise the good would not believe that better things were reserved for them, unless they saw these things to be common to both good and bad. Complain no further, then, of the fellowship or felicity of the wicked, nor on that account suppose that they are to be reckoned with you in the privilege of singular love, because you have them as companions in the use and dominion of passing things; since even in this, as we have already said, they profit your salvation, in that they can not only use these things with you, but even lord it over them. But what shall I say of the fellowship of the good? For this alone now remains, that you consider whether on this account you cannot glory in the singular love of your Bridegroom — namely, that you are not loved by Him without the fellowship of the good.

Wherefore I wish you to recall that saying (which I brought forward earlier in support of my point), which you then judged to be somewhat less fitting for that which was being treated there and was thus to be proved. I therefore now repeat it, that I may discuss it more diligently in your presence: whether its truth lends any support to confirming that which we are striving to demonstrate. For I said that the fellowship of men too has been granted to you by the gift of the Creator, that thereby you might take comfort in living, lest, destitute and left to a certain solitary and inert life, you should waste away. As, therefore, the life of the wicked is an exercise for you, so the life of the good is a solace — those who are surely such that you ought not to disdain to have them as partakers of your felicity, nor as sharers of your love.

For if you truly love the good, then whatever benefit is bestowed upon them, the charity which is in you rejoices over it, not as over something belonging to another, but as over something of its own. Although, therefore, it would be blessed to enjoy this love even alone, yet it is far more blessed to delight in it together with the congratulation of many good ones; for when the affection of love is spread out even to those who share in it, the joy of charity and its sweetness are enlarged. For spiritual love then becomes the better a singular love for each, when it is common to all. Nor is it diminished by the participation of many, since its fruit, one and the same, is found whole in each single one.

The fellowship of the good, therefore, sets no limit to the privilege of your singular love, because your Bridegroom loves you in all those whom He loves for your sake; and by this very fact He also loves you singularly, because He loves nothing without you. But do not fear that His heart is in a manner distracted, through affection, into love of many, and that it is therefore less toward each, as though He seemed somehow partitioned and divided among all. He is present to each one as to all, because He would not bestow upon each a different or a greater affection of love, if He loved each one without the participation of all.

Therefore let all uniquely love the One, that all may be uniquely loved by the One; because no other but the One is uniquely to be loved by all, nor can any other but the One uniquely love all. And let all love themselves in the One as though one, that by the love of the One they may become one. This love is unique, yet not private; alone, yet not solitary; shared, yet not divided; common, yet singular; single to all and whole to each; neither decreasing through participation, nor failing through use, nor growing old through time; ancient and new, desirable in affection, sweet in experience, eternal in fruit, full of pleasantness, refreshing and satisfying, and never breeding loathing. THE SOUL.

Your declarations are quite delightful to me, and I confess that from this very thing I now begin to crave the love of Him more ardently, whereas before I had begun rather to loathe Him the more. Truly one thing still remains to my desire, which, if I shall be able to obtain it through you, I shall not doubt that I have been fully satisfied in every respect. And this is: whether it can somehow be shown how this Bridegroom of chastity is present, both in affection and in effect, to each of those whom He loves, as though to all. And of the affection indeed I shall not be able to doubt, if I come to know that this is true in effect. THE MAN.

O my soul, if you so greatly persist in your undertaking, and judge yourself not yet satisfied unless you recognize that an altogether singular benefit of your Bridegroom has been bestowed upon you, in this too I gladly grant your petition, since I know that this insistence of yours is born rather of devotion than of importunity. For in this also your most excellent Lover has provided for you, lest there should be nothing in which you might singularly glory concerning Him; but just as He gave things common and special, so also He granted things singular. Common indeed are those things which come into the use of all, such as the light of the sun, the breath of the air. But special are those things which have been granted not to all, but as it were to a certain society, such as faith, wisdom, discipline.

But singular are those things which are imparted to each one as his own, such as to Peter the primacy among the apostles, to Paul the apostolate among the Gentiles, to John the privilege of love. Consider therefore, O my soul, what things common with all, what special with some, what singular you alone have received. In all these He has loved you, which He has bestowed either in common upon all together with you, or specially upon certain ones, or singularly upon you alone. With all those, again, He has loved you, with whom He has joined you by the participation of His gift. Above all those He has loved you, above whom He has preferred you by the gift of singular grace. In every creature you are beloved; with all the good you are beloved; above all the wicked you are beloved.

And lest it seem too little to you that you have been loved above all evils, consider how many good things there are that received less than you did. But since I see that, out of a desire for a singular love, you strive rather toward those gifts which have been given to you singularly, although much could still be said about the things among which and with which you are loved, I am content to let what has already been said suffice. Yet I do not wish you to count it a small thing to be loved amid so great things, or with such companions, where you have all good beings as your fellows, and the evil ones, indeed, as subject to you, just as all created things are. You have seen, then, O my soul, how great are the things among which you are loved; you have seen what manner of beings they are with whom you are loved; now consider, as far as you can, before whom you are loved.

I speak to you, my soul: you know what you have received, and you must come to know it still better, lest you begin either to presume upon things you have not received, or to fail in giving thanks for the things you have received. Would that I could call them to mind in the way that profits you and that pleases Him who gave these things to you! For He gave them to you for this very purpose: that you might always hold them in memory, and never grow lukewarm and forgetful of His love. First, consider, my soul, that there was a time when you did not exist, and that your very beginning to be you received as His gift. His gift, therefore, it was that you came to be. But had you given Him anything before you came to be, so that this should be repaid to you by Him, namely that you should come to be?