Book Four

                                  Preface

1.  Whoever looks into this text without understanding the spirit
of sacred discourse will not so much instruct himself with
knowledge as confuse himself with ambiguity, because sometimes
the words of the literal text contradict each other.  But when
they disagree and oppose each other, they send the reader in
pursuit of true understanding.  

How is it, for example, that Solomon says, "Better to eat and
drink," and shortly after adds, "Better to go to the house of
grief than to the house of feasting"?  Why does he prefer grief
to feasting here when just before he had praised eating and
drinking?  For if by choice it is good to eat and drink, clearly
it would be better to hasten to a house full of rejoicing than to
a house full of lamentation.  This is why he says again,
"Rejoice, young man, in your adolescence," and a little later
adds, "Adolescence and pleasure are empty and vain."  Why does
he either first suggest reprehensible things or later reprehend
what he has suggested, if not because he uses the words of the
literal sense to suggest that whoever experiences difficulty with
the surface should look to the inner meaning of truth to follow? 


To seek this understanding of truth we need humility of heart: 
to find it, diligent reading.  We see the faces of strangers and
know nothing of their hearts, but if we converse with them, we
discover their minds in their ordinary conversation.  So when we
find only the surface story in scripture, we see nothing but the
face; but if we cling to this, we can reach its mind as if in
ordinary conversation.  We gather various impressions from
various directions, but we can readily recognize in scripture's
words that it says one thing, but suggests another meaning.  If
we are tied to the surface meaning, we will not be admitted to
true knowledge of scripture.  

Take the words of blessed Job cursing his day and saying, "Perish
the day on which I was born and the night in which it was said,
'A man is conceived.'"  If we heed that only superficially, what
could be found more disgusting than these words?  But who would
fail to notice that the day on which he was born could not then
still be standing when he spoke?  It is the nature of time that
it cannot stand and remain.  Time is always hurrying the future
into existence, and hastening the past into nothingness.  Why
should such a great man curse something which he had to know did
not exist at all?  But perhaps someone might say that the
magnitude of his virtue is to be observed here, for when he was
troubled by grief he called down a curse on something he knew
could not exist.  But this argument is readily demolished if we
consider it, for if the thing he was cursing did exist, he was
inflicting on it a vile curse, and if it did not exist, the curse
was an empty one.  But anyone who is filled with the spirit of
the one who says, "Every empty word which men have spoken, they
shall render an account for it on the day of judgment," fears to
yield to empty curses as much as to vile ones.

To this sentence it is added:  "Let that day be turned into
darkness.  May the Lord not ask after it from above and may he
not shine his light upon it.  May night shadows darken it, and
the shadow of death.  May fog cover it and may it be shrouded in
bitterness.  May a black whirlwind take possession of that night.


Let it watch for the light and not see it, nor the coming of the
rising dawn."  How is a day which is known to have slipped away
in the course of time said to be turned to darkness?  And when it
is clear that it does not exist, why does he pray that the shadow
of death may darken it?  or that fog cover it and the embrace of
bitterness enfold it?  Or that a black whirlwind possess the
night which no longer exists?  Or how does he hope that it be
solitary when it has already become, in passing away, nothing? 
Or how can it watch for the light, if it is without sense and
does not exist in its own form? 

But to these words, he adds:

3.  "Why did I not die in the birth canal?  Come forth from the
womb, why did I not perish straightaway?  Why was I taken to sit
in the lap? Why nursed at the breast?  For now would I be
sleeping silently and be at rest in my sleep." For if he had
perished immediately on coming from the womb, would he understand
some deserved punishment as the cause of this death?  Do the
stillborn enjoy eternal rest?  For whoever is not freed by the
water of regeneration is held bound by the chain of the first
sin.  But what baptism does for us was accomplished among the
ancients by faith alone for children, or by the power of
sacrifice for their elders, or by the mystery of circumcision for
those of the stock of Abraham.  The prophet witnesses that
everyone is conceived with the guilt of the first parent, saying,
"Behold, I was conceived in iniquity."  Only those who are
washed in the water of salvation lose the punishments due to
original sin, as the Truth clearly witnessed himself, saying,
"Unless a man be reborn of water and the holy spirit he shall not
have eternal life."  Why then does he wish he could have died
in the birth canal and hope to have enjoyed the peace of such a
death, if the sacraments that come from knowing God had in no way
freed him from his guilt for original sin?  

Then he says where he could have found rest, saying, "With the
kings and consuls of the earth, who build for themselves deserted
places."  But who does not know that the kings and consuls of
the earth are far from being in deserted places, for they are
hemmed in by countless squadrons of attendants?  or how difficult
it is for these to find rest when they are so tied up and tangled
in knots of endless business?  For scripture says, "The sternest
judgment will be against those who rule."  So Truth says in the
gospel, "To whom much has been given, much shall be sought from
him."  But Job goes on listing those who would have joined him
in that rest, saying, "or with princes who possess gold and fill
their houses with silver."  It is surely rare that those who
possess gold should be found on the road to true rest, when Truth
says himself, "With difficulty shall those who have money enter
into the kingdom of heaven."  For if they are panting after
more and more wealth here, what joys of another life can they be
looking for?  Our Redeemer showed that this is surely rare and
that it can happen only through divine miracle:  "With men," he
says, "this is impossible, but with God all things are
possible."  Because therefore these words are irrational in
their surface meaning, the literal sense is already showing that
the holy man is saying nothing literal in them.

4.  But if we discuss some other curses in scripture first, we
can then elucidate what comes from the mouth of blessed Job here
more precisely.  What do we make of the curse which David
directed against the mountains of Gelboe when Saul and Jonathan
fell in battle?  He was surely not one to give back evil for
evil.  "Mountains of Gelboe, let no dew nor rain come upon you,
and may there be no fields of first fruits for you, for there
Saul has thrown down his shield, as if he were not the one
anointed with oil."  What about the place where Jeremiah saw
his preaching hindered by the obtuseness of his hearers and
cursed saying, "Cursed the man who announced to my father and
said, 'A manchild is born to you.'"

How have the mountains sinned when Saul died, that neither rain
nor dew should fall upon them and that the word of David's curse
should blast them dry of every fruitful seed?  But because Gelboe
means "coming down," "declining," and because the anointment and
death of Saul points to the death of our Mediator, it is not
unlikely that the mountains of Gelboe stand for the proud hearts
of the Jews that fall away into the desires of this world and are
involved in the death of Christ, that is, of "the anointed one." 
Because an anointed king died a physical death in those
mountains, they lose the dew of grace and shrivel.  It is well
said of them, "may there be no fields of first fruits for you": 
the proud minds of the Hebrews do not bring forth first fruits,
because at the Redeemer's coming they stayed for the most part in
their faithlessness and refused to follow faith's first
footsteps.  Thus the holy church in its first days was fertilized
with a mass of outsiders and will barely find room for the Jews
it wins over at the end of the world, gathering them up last and
putting them away like the gleanings of the end of the harvest. 
Of these remnants Isaiah said:  "If the number of the sons of
Israel should be like the sands of the shore, a remnant will be
saved." Thus the mountains of Gelboe could be cursed in the
mouth of the prophet, since fruits do not come from arid land and
the landowners are stricken with loss from its barrenness.  So
they bear the sentence of that curse:  for their iniquity they
deserved to see the king die in their midst. 

But what about the curse of the prophet against the man who
reported the prophet's birth to his father?  There is greater
mystery within this saying, for it is devoid on the outside of
all human reason.  If indeed there were anything reasonable about
it on the surface, it would not drive us to seek its inner
meaning.  Something is generally therefore full of inner meaning
to the extent that it shows no rational meaning on the outside. 
For if the prophet came from his mother's womb into this world to
suffer much, how has the messenger of his birth sinned?  But the
fickle prophet here stands for the changeableness of human nature
that comes about as a punishment for sin.  His father stands for
the world which gives us birth.  The man who reports the birth to
the father is the ancient enemy, who sees us hesitating in our
thoughts and stirs the mind of the wicked (who have the upper
hand in this world) to try to lead us astray.  And when he sees
us weak, he calls us strong and showers us with gifts and tells
us we have male children born when he rejoices to see us
corrupting the truth with our lies.  So he tells the prophet's
father a male child is born then when he shows the world that the
one he has led astray has been turned into a corrupter of
innocence.  For when it is said to some proud sinner, "You have
acted like a man," what else is it than to say a male child is
born into the world?  The man who announces the birth of a male
child is rightly cursed, because the message reveals the foul joy
of our corrupter.  

We learn therefore from these scriptural curses what we should
look for in the curses of blessed Job, lest we might criticize
the words of the man that God, after all the wounds and words
were past, still saw fit to reward--lest the reader
presumptuously fail to understand.  

Now that we have clarified what was to be settled in this
preface, let us pursue the exposition of the historical
narrative. 

I.1.  After this, Job opened his mouth and cursed his day: 
'Perish the day on which I was born.' (3.1-3)

We should not be careless in interpreting what is said:  "he
opened his mouth."  For sacred scripture gives tenuous hints in
advance to foreshadow the things that follow:  we should watch
for them faithfully.  We may not know what some covered dishes
contain, but as soon as the lid is raised we know what is inside: 
so the hearts of the saints are hidden when their lips are
closed, but are revealed when they open their mouths.  When they
reveal their thoughts, they are said to open their mouth, so that
we might hurry to concentrate our attention and understand what
these dishes that were uncovered contain inside, and to refresh
ourselves with the aromas that come from within.  Just so, as the
Lord was about to speak his wonderful commands from the mountain,
"He opened his mouth and said."  (Though there it is to be
understood that he was opening his mouth to utter commandments
concerning which the prophets had opened their mouths long ago.)

We must observe carefully that it says, "After this," in order to
appreciate the significance of these things from their temporal
arrangement.  First there were described the devastation of his
possessions, the slaughter of his children, the suffering of his
flesh, the nagging of his wife, and the arrival of his friends,
who tore their garments, cried out and wept, scattering dust on
their heads and sitting long in silence on the ground:  then it
is added, "After this Job opened his mouth and cursed his day." 
This is done so we will not think that impatience drove him to
his curse since he broke out cursing while his friends were still
silent.  If he had cursed in anger when he heard of the loss of
his property, or learned of the death of his children, then
doubtless it would have been grief that made him curse.  But we
have heard what he said then, namely:  "The Lord gave, the Lord
has taken away."  Again, if he had cursed in anger, he could
have done so when he was stricken in the flesh or when he was
hounded by his wife.  But we know what he answered then, namely: 
"You have spoken like a foolish woman.  If we have taken good
things from the hand of the Lord, how shall we refuse the bad?" 
After this it is recounted how the friends come and weep and sit
and keep silent; it is soon after this that he is said to have
cursed his day.  

So it is absurd that we should suspect him of cursing out of
impatience with no encouragement, no pressure, when we know that
he sang great praises in humility of mind to his creator when he
lost his property and his children, when he was wounded, when he
was pursued by his wife.  It is clear in what spirit he said
this, then, at a calm moment, when he had poured out praise to
God in time of tribulation.  He could never have become proud
when left alone when the grief of suffering had proved him
humble.  But if we are sure that scripture prohibits cursing, why
do we think it permissible sometimes to do that which that same
scripture forbids?

2.  We must realize that scripture speaks of two kinds of
cursing:  one it approves, one it condemns.  One kind of curse is
brought forth by a just judge, another by vindictiveness and
envy.  The curse of a just judge was passed against the first man
in his sin, when he heard it said, "Cursed be the land when you
work it."  The curse of a just judge was revealed when it was
said to Abraham, "I shall curse the ones cursing you."  But on
the other hand a curse not of a just judge but of vindictive envy
is thought of when we are advised by the voice of Paul in his
preaching, "Bless, and do not curse."  And again:  "Nor shall
those who curse . . . possess the kingdom of God."  So God is
said to curse and man is prohibited from cursing, because what
man does out of vindictive malice, God does only with the caution
and power of justice.

But when holy men bring forth a curse, they do this not to pray
for revenge but to state what is just.  They see the subtle
judgments of God within and they understand the growing evil
without that they must strike with their cursing.  They do not
sin by that curse when they are not out of harmony with the judge
they know within.  Thus Peter inflicted a curse on Simon Magus
and his offer of money, saying, "Let your money perish along with
you."  For he said this in the optative, not the indicative
mood.  So Elias said to the two captains that came to him, "If I
am a man of God, let fire come down from heaven and swallow you
up."  In both cases the truth and power of the words became
clear by the result of the dispute.  For Simon Magus perished to
eternal death and the two captains were indeed swallowed up by a
flame coming from above.  The result testifies that the curse was
brought forth in the right way.  When the one who curses is
maintained in innocence and the curse pulls its target down to
ruin, from the outcome for each party we gather that the sentence
was one passed against a defendant by the one who judges within.  

3.  So if we consider the words of blessed Job carefully, his
curse comes not from sin and malice but from righteousness and
justice.  This is not the anger of a disturbed man but the sober
teaching of a man of peace.  His curse contained much truth,
which shows that he did not give way to sin in time of turmoil
but offered guidance and right instruction.  For he saw his
friends weep and cry out, he saw them tear their garments, he saw
them sprinkle their heads with dust, he saw them keep silent out
of consideration for what he had suffered:  the holy man realized
that those who look only to temporal prosperity thought that he
had been broken by temporal adversity, for they could only
compare him to themselves.  He saw that they would not be weeping
so desperately for someone suffering temporary affliction unless
they had already abandoned, in despair of mind, the hope of
safety and integrity within.  So he burst out with words of grief
to show his friends, suffering from inner wounds, what power of
relief was available, saying,

4.  Perish the day on which I was born. (3.3) 

What can we understand by his day of birth if not as the whole
time of our mortal life here?  As long as our life keeps us bound
up in this changeable, corruptible form, we cannot see the
perfection of eternity.  Anyone who can see the day of eternity
endures time and mortality only with difficulty.  Note that he
does not say, "Perish the day on which I was created," but
"Perish the day on which I was born."  For man is created in
justice, but born in sin.  Adam was the first to be created, but
Cain the first to be born.  What therefore is it to curse the day
of one's birth if not to say openly:  'Let the age of mutability
pass away and let the light of eternity flash forth'?

5.  But we are accustomed to say "may it perish" in two senses: 
of things that we hope will be ruined completely, and of things
that we hope will suffer ruinously.  What follows in his words
about this day ("May fog cover it and may it be shrouded in
bitterness") clearly shows that this day is to perish not to
the point of non-existence but is to suffer grievous treatment. 
Something cannot be shrouded in bitterness if it has perished to
ruin altogether:  but this time of our mutability is not to
perish in such a way that it still exists but suffers great
ruination, but it is to pass away altogether, as we learn from
the angel speaking in scripture, "by the one that lives for ever

"Their time shall last forever," time still passes away each
moment, so by saying "time" he described their passing away,
showing that those who are separated from the consolation of
inner vision perish without ever quite perishing.  So this time
of our mortality is to perish completely, not simply to endure
great ruin.  We must ask why it is that in this place Job wishes
it ill, but not that it perish utterly.

The human soul or angelic spirit is immortal in such a way that
it can nevertheless die, yet mortal in such a way that it can
also not die.  It loses the happy life through sin or punishment,
but it never loses the essence of life itself, neither by sin nor
by punishment for sin.  The soul's life may be impoverished and
diminished, but not even when death comes does the soul sense the
complete and final end of all existence.  To put it briefly, the
soul is immortally mortal and mortally immortal.  By saying first
he hoped that a day might perish and then later that it might be
shrouded in bitterness, we must realize that the holy man is
attempting to make that day he names stand for the apostate
spirit who goes on living even in death.  When he "perishes" he
does not disappear, because immortal death wipes him out but
keeps him trapped in eternal suffering.  He has already fallen
from the glory of blessedness and still Job hopes that he might
perish, that he might be confined to places of fitting punishment
and lose even the chance to tempt others. 

6.  The apostate is like the day in that he lures us on with
prosperity, but ends in the darkness of night because he leads us
finally into adversity.  He showed himself to be the day when he
said, "On whatever day you shall eat of it, your eyes shall be
opened and you will be like gods."  But he brought on the night
when he led us into the shadows of mortality.  His day is the
promise of better things, but the night he reveals is the
palpable experience of calamity.  The ancient enemy is day
because he is created good by nature, but he is night by his own
merit, having fallen into darkness.  He is day when he promises
good things, making himself like an angel of light to human eyes,
as Paul attests when he says, "For Satan himself has transformed
himself into an angel of light;" but he is night when he dims
the minds of those who yield to him with the darkness of error. 
The holy man therefore, weeping for the whole human condition in
the middle of his own suffering, taking no special thought for
his own wounds at all, calls back to mind the origins of sin and
softens the pain of the penalty by thinking of its justice.

So let Job look upon the human race, whence it fell and where it
fell, and let him say, "Perish the day on which I was born and
the night in which it was said, 'A man is conceived.'"  This is
as if to say openly, 'Perish the hope brought by the apostate
angel who masquerades as the day, shining with the promise of
divinity for us, but revealing himself to be night, blotting out
from us the light of our immortality.  Let the ancient enemy
perish, who offered the light of promise but brought the darkness
of sin, who made himself like the day with gentle words, but led
us to the blackest night by inflicting blindness on the heart.'

II.7.  Let that day be turned into darkness.  (3.4)

He shines like the day in the minds of men when his persuasive
wickedness succeeds in winning our belief and we fail to
understand what he is like within.  But when his iniquity is
realized for what it is, the day of false promise is covered with
darkness in the sight of our judgment and we see him as he really
is even in his soft words.  Day is turned into darkness, then,
when we understand that the things whose goodness he had promised
us and persuaded us to seek are in fact bad for us.  Day is
turned into darkness when the ancient enemy is seen by us just as
he is, savage with rage even when hiding under soft words.  Then
he will no longer deceive us with his false promises of success,
as if by the light of day, and lead us to true misery in the
darkness of sin.

III.8.  May the Lord not ask after it from above and may he not
shine his light upon it. (3.4)  

Just as almighty God could make good things out of nothing, so
when he wanted to, by the mystery of his incarnation, he could
restore good things that had already perished.  But he had made
two creatures capable of understanding him as he is, the angel
and the man.  Pride battered and broke both and deposed them from
their inborn righteousness, but only one of them had a covering
of flesh, while the other bore no flesh's weakness:  for the
angel is purely spirit, but man is spirit and flesh.  The creator
had pity and chose to redeem and restore the creature which had,
it was clear, fallen into the commission of sin at least in part
through weakness.  On the other hand, he rejected the apostate
angel forcefully, for he had fallen away from standing strong at
the Lord's side under no influence of any weakness of the flesh. 
So the psalmist, when he speaks of the Redeemer's mercy toward
men, rightly adds of the cause of his mercy, "And he recalled
that they are flesh."  This was as if to say, 'Because he saw
their weakness, he did not wish to punish their faults too
severely.'  

There was another reason why the man who had perished should be
restored and why the haughty spirit could not be restored; for
the angel had fallen because of his own malice, while another's
malice laid mankind low.  

Because, therefore, the human race was led back to the light of
penitence by the coming of the Redeemer, but the apostate angel
was not called back to the light of restoration at all, nor by
any hope of forgiveness, nor by any correction of his ways, it
can rightly be said, "May not the Lord ask after it from above
and may he not shine his light upon it."  This is as if to say
openly, 'Because he brought in the darkness, let him endure what
is his own doing without end, nor may he ever recover the light
of his earlier days, for he lost it at no one's urging.'

IV.9.  May night shadows darken it, and the shadow of death.
(3.5)

We understand the shadow of death as oblivion, because just as
death destroys life, so oblivion blots out memory.  Because the
apostate angel is handed over to everlasting oblivion, he is
darkened by the shadow of death.  It can be said, therefore, "May
night shadows darken it, and the shadow of death," that is, 'let
the blindness of his error so overcome him that he can never rise
again to the light of repentance through memory of the beatific
vision.'

V.10.  May fog cover it and may it be shrouded in bitterness.
(3.5)

The ancient enemy is bound by the chains of his own wickedness: 
some things he suffers now, others he will suffer in the last
days.  Because he has fallen away from interior light and order,
he now loses track of himself in the fog of error within; but
afterwards he is shrouded in bitterness because he is tormented
with eternal suffering in gehenna for having entered this fog
freely and willingly.  So it can be said:  He who has lost
serenity and light within, what does he suffer before the last
punishment?  "May fog cover it."  Let it be added then what
punishment follows to waste him endlessly:  "Let it be shrouded
in bitterness."  For something that is shrouded cannot reveal its
nature and purpose to anyone:  it cannot tell where it began, so
it cannot show where it ends.  Shrouded in bitterness, then, the
ancient enemy finds that the punishments ready for him are not
only of every kind, but are also everlasting.  That punishment
will take its beginning, of course, when the strict judge comes
to the last judgment.  So it is well added:

VI.11.  May a black whirlwind take possession of that night.
(3.6)

For it is written, "God shall be revealed and come, our God and
he will not be silent.  Fire will burn in his sight and in his
path a mighty storm."  A black whirlwind possesses this night,
therefore, because that storm in the psalm snatches the apostate
spirit from before the strict judge and drives him to suffer
those fearsome eternal punishments.  So that night is seized by a
whirlwind because his haughty blindness is struck with fitting
and severe punishment.

VII.12.  May it not be counted among the days of the year, nor
numbered in the months. (3.6)

We can appropriately take the year to be the preaching of
heavenly grace, for just as a year comes from heaping up the
days, so in heavenly grace perfection emerges from the
multifarious life of the virtues.  The year can also stand for

the multitude of those who have been redeemed, for just as the
year comprises a multitude of days, so the uncountable body of
the elect is built up by gathering all good people everywhere. 
Isaiah spoke of this "year" of the redeemed multitude, saying,
"The spirit of the Lord is upon me, for the Lord has anointed me. 
He sent me preaching to the meek:  to heal the broken-hearted, to
proclaim freedom to the captive and release to the prisoners, to
announce the year that is pleasing to the Lord."  The year that
is pleasing to the Lord is preached when we proclaim the coming
assembly of the faithful on which the light of truth will shine. 
The individual days therefore stand for the minds of each of the
elect and the months for the churches that embrace the masses of
the elect and that together make up a single catholic church. 
This day therefore is not to be counted in the days of the year
nor numbered in the months because the ancient enemy, hemmed in
by the darkness of his pride, sees the coming of the Redeemer, to
be sure, but never attains forgiveness along with the elect. 
Hence it is written, "Nowhere did he take up the angels, but he
took up the seed of Abraham."  Our Redeemer did not become an
angel but was made man in order to do what had to be done for our
redemption:  to abandon the angel, by not taking him up, and to
restore man, by taking him up for himself.  

The days can also stand for those angels who abide in the inner
light, while the months then would be their orders and ranks. 
The individual spirits are days insofar as they shine; but
because the angels are distinguished by rank in such a way that
some are Thrones and some are Dominations, some are
Principalities and some are Powers, as a group they are called
months to correspond to this distribution of positions.  But
because the ancient enemy never comes to the light, never returns
to the rank of the heavenly hosts, he is counted neither in the
days of the year nor in its months.  The blindness of the pride
to which he has committed himself weights him down and makes it
impossible for him to return to the ranks of those who are
illuminated by the inner light.  He is not in any way mixed in
with those who stand to their posts in that light, because he is
weighted down to the very bottom by the darkness he has chosen. 
Because he remains outside the crowds of the heavenly homeland
forever, it is fittingly added:

VIII.13.  Let that night be solitary and unworthy of praise.
(3.7)

That "night" is made solitary because it is separated from the
crowds of the heavenly homeland by eternal punishment.  This can
be taken in another way, too, namely that the enemy should lose
the company of the man he made his ally in perdition, and perish
alone with his body while the many he had destroyed should be
restored to life by the grace of the Redeemer.  That night
therefore is made solitary when the elect are taken away and the
ancient enemy is claimed by the eternal fires of gehenna, himself
alone.

But it is well put, "and unworthy of praise," for when the human
race, burdened with the darkness of error, thought stones were
gods and served them as idols, what else was it doing than
praising the works of its seducer?  So it is well said through
Paul, "we know that an idol is nothing; but what the pagans
sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons."  Those who have been
reduced to venerating idols are only praising the dark of the
night.  But now, when the veneration of idols is rebuked by the
redeemed human race, we see that this night is unworthy of
praise.  And that night is left solitary because the race does
not go to punishment in damnation with the apostate spirit.

IX.14.  Let them curse the night, who curse the day, who are
ready to wake Leviathan. (3.8)

In the old translation it reads differently:  "Let him curse the
night as he has cursed the day, he who is to capture the great
whale."  By these words it is clearly shown that the holy man
is foretelling the ruin of the Antichrist at the coming end of
the world.  For the evil spirit, who is rightly considered the
night, pretends at the end of the world to be the day when he
shows himself to men as if he were God, when he deceitfully
claims the brightness of divinity for himself and "lifts himself
up above all that is called God, that is adored as God."  He
curses the night as he curses the day, because the one who blots
out by the light of his coming the power and strength of the evil
spirit will destroy his malice as well.  So it is well added,
"Who is to capture the great whale," for this mighty whale is
captured in the waters when the cunning of the ancient enemy is
defeated by the sacrament of baptism.

15.  But where the old translation speaks of the source of all
things, in this translation which comes to us from the Hebrew and
Arabic languages we hear of the chosen angels of God.  For of
them it is said, "Let them curse the night, who curse the day." 
The prideful spirit wants to pass himself off as the true day
before the angelic powers when he lifts himself above them as if
with the power of divinity and draws so many legions of them
after himself to ruin.  But those who stand by their creator with
humble heart see the dark night that lurks in his error and
trample on the brightness of the enemy's day by keeping humble
thoughts of themselves in their hearts.  They reveal to us the
snares of his darkness and show us how to spurn his false
brightness.  Let it be said therefore of the dark night that
darkens eyes dimmed by human weakness:  "Let them curse the
night, who curse the day," that is:  'Let the elect spirits, who
have already from the beginning of time seen the falseness of his
great brightness, denounce and condemn the darkness of his error.

But it is well added, "Who are ready to wake Leviathan."  For
Leviathan is translated, "their addition."  Who are "they" but
mankind?  He is rightly called "their addition," for after the
enemy introduced the first sin by his wicked arguments, he has
not ceased to add daily arguments that grow ever worse.  But
surely he is called Leviathan by way of rebuke, that is, he is
called "mankind's addition."  He found them immortal in paradise
but promised these immortals divinity as well, as if he was
promising to give them something in addition to what they were. 
But while he was softly promising to give them what they did not
have, he cleverly took away what they did have.  So the prophet
describes the same Leviathan in this way:  "Upon Leviathan the
serpent that bars the way, upon Leviathan the coiled serpent." 
This Leviathan creeps up to men with his twisted coils, promising
to give something to man, falsely promising what is impossible
while really taking away what was possible.  We must ask why it
says he is a serpent and then adds that he is coiled, while first
saying that he bars the way:  perhaps it is because in a serpent
there is the loose softness of his coils, but in, literally, a
"bar" there is stiffness and rigidity.  To show that he is both
hard and soft, he is called both a bar and a serpent:  hard
through his malice, soft through his soft words.  He is a bar
because he strikes and deals death, but a serpent because he
slithers in softly to lay ambush.

16.  But now the chosen spirits of the angels keep Leviathan shut
up in the pit at the bottom of the abyss.  For it is written:  "I
have seen an angel descending from heaven, having the key of the
abyss and a great chain in his hand; and he laid hold of the old
twisting snake, who is the devil and Satan, and bound him for a
thousand years, and cast him in the abyss."  At the end of the
world they bring him back to join in open combat and let him
loose against us with all his strength:  so it is written then,
"When the thousand years are completed, Satan will be let
loose."  For that apostate angel who had been created to stand
at the head of the legions of angels, fell so far in his pride
that now he is beneath the feet of the angels that still stand. 
So now let him lie bound while they serve our needs, now again
let him exercise all his power over us, let loose by them to test
our strength.  Because these chosen spirits keep the proud
apostate in check (in their humility they did not choose to
follow him) and because it will be their task to draw him back
one day to face combat in which he will be destroyed utterly, it
can rightly be said, "who are ready to wake Leviathan."  Because
the cunning enemy has not yet been waked for open battle, we come
to recognize the night that now secretly darkens the minds of
some.  

X.17.  Let the stars be darkened by its mist. (3.9)  

In holy scripture, the stars sometimes stand for the justice of
the saints shining in the darkness of this world, but sometimes
they represent pretentious hypocrites who vaunt their good deeds
to win praise from men.  For if they lived rightly, they would
not be stars and Paul would never have said to his disciples, "In
the middle of a perverse and wicked nation, among whom you shine
like the lights in the heavens."  Again, if some of those who
seem to do what is right did not seek a reward for their good
works in the form of approval from their fellows, John would
never have seen the stars falling from the heavens, saying, "The
dragon sent forth his tail and drew with him the third part of
the stars." Part of the stars are dragged along by the tail of
the dragon, because in the last days when the Antichrist is
preaching, some who were seen to shine before will be carried
along by his words.  To draw the stars down to earth is to take
those who seemed steadfast in their zeal for the heavenly life
and plunge them in wickedness and outright wrongdoing through
their love of what is earthly.  

There are indeed those who shine before the eyes of men with what
seem to be great deeds, but because their deeds do not proceed
from a pure heart, they are entangled in their secret thoughts
and darkened by night shadows.  Often indeed they cease to be
able to perform at all the good deeds they did without purity of
heart.  So because the night is allowed to prevail when the
intentions of the heart are impure even when our deeds are good,
it can rightly be said, "Let the stars be darkened by its mist." 
In other words:  'Let the dark malice of the ancient enemy
prevail against those who shine before the eyes of men with deeds
that seem good, and let them lose the light of praise they have
enjoyed in the judgment of men hitherto.'  They are darkened by
the mist of night when their lives are thrown into confusion by
their outright wrongdoing, and then they appear outwardly to the
world to be just the sort of people they have brazenly chosen to
be within, where they fear no divine judgment.

XI.18. Let it watch for the light and not see it, nor the coming
of the rising dawn. (3.9)

In the gospel, Truth says, "I am the light of the world."  Just
as our Redeemer together with all the good of the world
constitute a single person, for he is the head to us as the body
and we are the body to him as the head, so also the ancient enemy
constitutes a single person together with all the reprobate of
the world, because he stands over them in wickedness like a head,
and they, by complying slavishly with his suggestions, cling to
him like a body to its head.  So what is said of this night
(i.e., of the ancient enemy) can be applied appropriately to his
body (i.e., to all the wicked).  

Because therefore the Redeemer of the human race is the light,
what does it mean to say, "Let it watch for the light and not see
it," but that there are those who pretend in their words to hold
fast to the faith that they undermine by their deeds?  Of them it
is said through Paul that "they confess that they know God, but
with their works they deny it."  For them, either their deeds
are wicked or they pursue good deeds with a heart that is not
good.  They do not seek perpetual reward for their works, but
transient applause, and because they hear themselves extolled as
saints, they think they really are saints.  The more they think
themselves irreproachable in the judgment of many, the more they
confidently look forward to the day of severe judgment.  Of them
it is well said through the prophet, "Woe to those yearning for
the day of the Lord."  Blessed Job passes appropriate sentence
on them, saying with the zeal of the preacher (not the wish of a
one who genuinely wants to see it), "Let it watch for the light
and not see it."  For that night, namely the shadowy foe, watches
(in the person of his followers) for the light and does not see
it, because those who have faith without works and think they can
be saved by that faith at the last judgment will be frustrated in
their hope, because in their life here they have destroyed the
very faith that they confessed and held.  And those who performed
good works in hope of winning praise from their fellows will hope
in vain for the reward for good works from the judge to come,
because while they were doing these things to posture for praise,
they received already their rewards from the mouths of men, as
Truth attests when it says, "Amen I say to you, they have
received their reward."  So it is well added, "nor the coming
of the rising dawn."

19.  For the church is called the dawn, that turns from the
darkness of its sins into the light of righteousness.  So the
bridegroom marvels in the Song of Songs, saying, "Who is she who
comes forth like the rising dawn?"  The church of the elect
rises like the dawn, abandoning the darkness of its sins and
turning to face the glow of the new light.  So in the light that
is revealed at the coming of the strict judge, the body of the
condemned adversary does not see the coming of the rising dawn,
for when the strict judge comes to exact retribution, every
wicked person, swamped in the murk of his merits, fails to see
the brightness that surrounds the holy church rising to the light
that shines on the heart within.  For them the mind of the elect
is snatched up on high to be suffused with the rays of divine
light.  As it is bathed in that light, it is lifted beyond
itself, suffused by the radiance of grace.  The holy church
becomes dawn in its fulness when it loses its dark mortality and
ignorance completely.  At the last judgment, it is still dawn,
but in the kingdom of heaven it becomes full day, for even if it
begins to see the light in the restoration of the body at the
last judgment, it consummates that vision more fully in the
kingdom.  The coming of the dawn is the rise of the church in
brightness, a rise the wicked cannot see because they are being
dragged from the sight of the strict judge, weighed down by their
sins to darkness.  So it is rightly said through the prophet,
"Let the impious one be taken away, lest he should see the glory
of God."  So it is said through the psalmist of this dawn, "You
shall hide them in the hidden place of your presence, away from
the confused mass of men."  For every one of the elect is
hidden away at the last judgment in the presence of divinity to
be seen by inner vision, while the blindness of the reprobate is
confused and repelled by the severe and just punishment.  

20.  We can take this in a useful present sense as well, if we
look closely at the hearts of the hypocrites.  For arrogant and
hypocritical people see the deeds of the just from outside and
see that they are praised for their deeds by men.  They marvel at
the reputation they win, seeing how they win praise for deeds
well done:  but they do not see how eagerly those same people
flee that praise.  They consider their works from outside and do
not see that these works are performed with a single secret inner
hope.  People who are lit by the true light of justice have first
been transformed internally from the their old dark ways within
and have completely abandoned the old inner darkness of earthly
ambition.  They have turned their hearts entirely to desire the
light from above, lest they become dark again to themselves just
when they become bright to the eyes of others.  So because the
arrogant see the deeds of the just but cannot read their hearts,
they imitate them well enough to be praised outwardly, but not
well enough to rise to the light of justice within.  They do not
know how to see the coming of the rising dawn, for they refuse to
think about the inner disposition of the religious mind.

21.  The holy man, filled by grace with a prophetic spirit, can
even foresee the perfidy of Judea in the time of the Redeemer's
coming and can prophesy the penalties that blindness will suffer
when he says, as if wishing such an outcome, "Let it watch for
the light and not see it, nor the coming of the rising dawn." 
Judea watched for the light and did not see it, for it had long
awaited the coming of the Redeemer of the human race, sustained
by prophecy, but when he came it did not recognize him.  The eyes
of the mind that had opened in hope were closed to the presence
of the light.  Judea did not see the coming of the rising dawn
because it refused to respect the holy church in its first days;
it thought the church weakened by the deaths of its own people
and could not see the strength it was gaining.  But because,
speaking of the infidels, Job had indicated the members of the
body whose head was the wicked one, he now turns his words back
to the head, saying, 

XII.22.  Because it did not close the portals of the belly that
bore me, nor did it take away evil from before my eyes. (3.10)

What the mother's belly is to the individual, the original
dwelling in paradise is to the human race as a whole.  From
paradise the human race came forth as if from the belly and
spread its progeny abroad (as if its body were growing and
maturing).  Our conception has its roots where the first man,
source of all the people to come, dwelled.  But the serpent
opened the portals of this belly, because by his cunning
arguments he dissolved the hold of the heavenly command over the
human heart.  The serpent opened the portals of this belly

because he broke down the resistance of a mind fortified by
heavenly guidance.  

So let the holy man now bring his guilt before the mind's eye
while he endures punishment.  Let him grieve for what the dark
night, the dark insinuation of the ancient enemy, has brought to
the human mind.  Let him grieve for the human mind's consent to
its own deception and let him say, "Because it did not close the
portals of the belly that bore me, nor did it take away evil from
before my eyes."  It should not bother you that he complains that
the portals were not closed, when what he abhors is that the
gates of paradise were opened.  For when he says, "did not
close," he means "opened."  And "did not take away evil" means
"brought it about."  For Satan would have taken evil away if he
had kept quiet, and he would have closed the portals if he had
stopped breaking them down.  Job knows of whom he speaks and
considers that the evil spirit would have given us a gift if he
had merely not inflicted losses.  We speak this way of
terrorists, because they "give life" to their victims if only
they do not take it away.

23.  Now let us go back to the beginning and consider all this
again from the point of view of its moral usefulness for our
present life.  Blessed Job is considering how the human race fell
from its original state of mind and how confident it is in
prosperity and how disturbed in adversity.  He goes back in his
mind to the original changeless tranquility that we could have
had in paradise.  And so he curses the fall into mortality,
showing how it is to be despised for its constant alternation
between prosperity and adversity.

XIII.24  Perish the day on which I was born and the night in
which it was said, 'A man is conceived.' (3.3)

It is this kind of day when the prosperity of this world smiles
upon us.  But this day passes into night, for temporal prosperity
often leads to the darkness of suffering.  The prophet disdained
this prosperous day when he said, "I have not desired the day of
men, you know this."  The Lord announced that he would undergo
this night of suffering at the end of the time of his incarnation
when he said through the psalmist, as if speaking of the past,
"My kidneys have reproached me on into the night."  Day can be
taken as our delight in sin and night as the blindness of the
mind by which man lets himself stoop to commit sin.  So he hopes
the day will perish so that all the blandishments of sin might be
destroyed by the intervention the power of justice.  He hopes the
night will perish, so that what the blinded mind consents to
perpetrate will be blotted out by punishment and repentance.  

25.  But we must ask why it is said that man is born by day and
conceived by night.  Sacred scripture speaks of "man" in three
ways:  sometimes of his nature, sometimes of his sin, sometimes
of his weakness.  Man's nature is meant when it is written, "Let
us make man according to our image and likeness."  Man's sin is
meant when it is written, "I have said, 'You are all gods and
sons of the most high, but you shall die like men.'"  (This is
as if it said openly, 'You shall die like sinners.')  So Paul
also says, "Since there is envy and strife among you, are you not
creatures of the flesh and do you not go about like men?" (This
is as if to say, 'By having minds at variance with each other,
are you not sinners, reprehensibly human?')  Man is spoken of in
scripture on account of his weakness when it is written, "Cursed
the one who puts his hope in man." (This is as if to say
openly, 'puts his hope in weakness.')  

So man is born by day but conceived by night, because he would
never have been carried away by the pleasure of sin unless he had
first been weakened by a darkness of the mind that he freely
accepted.  First blinded in mind, then he subjects himself to the
unlawful pleasures of sin.  So let it be said, "Perish the day on
which I was born and the night in which it was said, 'A man is
conceived.'"  That is, let the pleasure that leads man to sin now
perish, and let the heedless weakness of mind which blinds him
and leads him into darkness (as he consents to wickedness)
perish.  For when man does not carefully watch out for the
blandishments of earthly delight, he falls headlong into the
night of the most wicked crimes.  We must watch carefully, so
that when sin begins to lure us, we know how terrible is the ruin
that threatens our mind.  So it is fittingly added here, 

XIV.26.  Let that day be turned into darkness. (3.4)  

Day turns to darkness when we see at the first hint of pleasure,
the ruinous result threatened by sin.  We turn day to darkness
when we chasten ourselves severely, purge away the blandishments
of wrongful pleasure with the stern trials of penance, and when
we hunt down every secret sinful delight of the heart, weeping as
we go.  Every faithful man knows that our thoughts will be
interrogated in detail at the last judgment, as Paul attests when
he says, "their thoughts in opposition, now attacking, now
defending."  Whoever examines himself privately scours his
conscience before he comes to judgment, so the strict judge may
come the more calmly for seeing that the defendant he comes to
examine has already been punished for his guilt.  So then it is
rightly added:

XV.27.  May the Lord not ask after it from above. (3.4)

The Lord will ask after the things he examines in judgment; he
does not ask after the things he has already forgiven and decided
to leave unpunished at the time of judgment.  So this day, that
is, this pleasure of sin, is not looked out for by the Lord, if
it is punished by voluntary self-discipline, as Paul indicates,
saying, "If we would judge ourselves, we would not be judged by
the Lord at all."  God asks after our day therefore when he
examines carefully in judgment to find all the faults for  which
our mind prides itself, and when he asks after it, he is  more
strictly punitive, the more he finds we have been soft and 
sparing of ourselves here and now.  So it then is well said:

And may he not shine his light upon it. (3.4)  

When the Lord appears in judgment he shines his light upon all
that he then rejects.  Whatever the judge does not then call to
mind is covered in a kind of twilight, for it is written, "But
all things that are reproached are made known by the light."  A
darkness covers the sins of the penitent, of which it is said
through the prophet, "Blessed are those whose crimes are forgiven
and whose sins are covered over."  Because everything that is
covered over is hidden in a darkness, whatever is not examined
and punished on the day of the last judgment is not lit up by the
light.  For those acts of ours that he then chooses not to punish
out of justice, he is surely covering them over knowingly in some
way with divine mercy.  Whatever he shines his light upon then is
revealed in the sight of all.  So this day is turned into
darkness so we might punish all our sins ourselves, in penance. 
The Lord may not ask after this day and not shine his light upon
it:  in other words, as long as we chasten ourselves for our
sins, he will not have to act against them directly at the last
judgment.  

28.  But that judge who sees all, who punishes all:  he is
coming.  Because he is everywhere, there is no place to flee;
because God is placated by the tears of our repentance, we only
find a place of refuge from him if we hide ourselves in penance
now, as soon as we have sinned.  So it is appropriate that it is
then added about the "day" of this sinful pleasure:  

XVI.29.  May night shadows darken it, and the shadow of death.
(3.5)  

Night shadows darken the day when the groans of repentance
penetrate and permeate the mind's wrongful pleasure.  But the
shadows can also be taken as hidden judgments:  for we know the
things that we see in the light, but in the shadows we see
nothing at all, or only with unsure and misty vision.  Hidden

judgments are a kind of darkness before our eyes, because they
cannot be penetrated.  So it is written of God, "He has made
darkness his hiding place."  We know that we do not deserve to
be found innocent; but through God's hidden judgment his grace
runs ahead of us and frees us.  Shadows hide the day therefore
when we weep for the joys of wrongful pleasure and his
unsearchable judgments mercifully hide us from the light of his
just punishment.  So it aptly follows, "and the shadow of death." 


30.  For in scripture, the shadow of death sometimes stands for
the mind's loss of memory, sometimes for imitating the devil,
sometimes for the death of the flesh. 

The shadow of death is taken as the mind's loss of memory
because, as we said before, just as death removes the one it
kills from life, so loss of memory removes from the mind whatever
it snares.  So because John the Baptist came to preach to the
Jews the God they had forgotten, it was rightly said through
Zachariah, "To lighten those who sit in darkness and the shadow
of death."  For to sit in the shadow of death is to drift
feebly away from the love of God through loss of memory.  

The shadow of death can also be imitation of the ancient enemy: 
for he is called death because he brings death, as John attests
and says, "And his name is death."  The shadow of death stands
for the imitation of the devil because just as a shadow takes
form according to the shape of the body, so the actions of the
wicked are take their pattern from imitating Satan.  So when
Isaiah saw the pagan people fall into wickedness by imitating the
ancient enemy, and saw them rise again at the coming of the true
sun, he recounted his clear vision of the future as if he were
speaking of the past, saying, "To the ones sitting in darkness
and the shadow of death, a light has risen for them."

The shadow of death can also be taken as the death of the flesh
because just as true death is that which separates the soul from
God, so it is the shadow of that death which separates the flesh
from the soul.  So it is rightly said through the prophet in the
voice of the martyrs, "You have humbled us in a place of
affliction and covered us with the shadow of death."  It is
clear that they died not in the spirit but only in the flesh, so
they obviously claim to be covered not by true death but by the
shadow of death.  

31.  Why therefore does blessed Job insist that the shadow of
death come down to darken the day of wicked delight?  It must be
because, to destroy the sins of men in the eyes of God, he seeks
the mediator of God and men, the one who would undergo death for
us, but death only of the flesh, and so wipe out the true death
of sinners with the shadow of his own death.  For he came to us
when we were held prisoner by the death that afflicts both spirit

and flesh.  He brought to us his one death and freed us from the
two deaths in which he found us held.  (For if he had undergone
both deaths, he would have freed us from neither.)  But he
accepted the one mercifully and justly condemned both.  He
compared his one to our two and by his dying, vanquished our two. 
So it is apt that he lay in the tomb for one day and two nights,
so as to set the light of his one death side by side with the
darkness of our double death.  

The one who underwent only the death of the flesh for us has
taken on the shadow of death and hidden from the eyes of God the
guilt for which we are liable:  so let it rightly be said, "May
night shadows darken it, and the shadow of death," as if to say
openly, 'Let the one come who would pay the debt of death in the
flesh, though he owes no debt himself, in order to snatch us
debtors to freedom from death of the flesh and death of the
spirit.'  But because the Lord leaves no sin unpunished (either
we prosecute our own sins with tears, or he does with judgment)
it remains that the mind must be constantly vigilant in
correcting its own ways.  Whenever we see ourselves the
beneficiaries of mercy's aid, just then we must wipe away the
guilt through confession.  So it goes on to say, 

XVII.32.  May fog cover it. (3.5)

Because the eye in fog is helpless, the confusion of our mind
that comes of repentance is called fog.  For just as a fog
darkens the day with a mass of cloud, so confusion darkens the
mind with muddled thoughts.  Thus it was said through one man,
"There is a confusion that brings glory."  For when we bring
our sins back to mind in repentance, soon we are disturbed by
great sorrow.  A crowd of thoughts clamor in the mind, sorrow
grinds us down, anxiety lays waste to our strength, the mind is
full of trouble and covered by cloud and mist.  This same mist of
confusion had healthfully covered the mind of those to whom Paul
said, "What profit did you have in those things for which you are
now blushing?"  Let fog cover this day of sin, therefore, that
is, let the pain of repentance displace the allure of wickedness
with fitting sorrow.  

XVIII.33.  May it be shrouded in bitterness. (3.5)  

Day is shrouded in bitterness when the mind recovers its senses
and the pains of penance follow the pleasures of sin.  We shroud
the day in bitterness when we see the punishments that follow
upon the joy of wicked delight and surround that joy with bitter
tears.  Because that which is "shrouded" is covered on all sides,
he asks that the day be shrouded in bitterness, so that all will
see what evil things threaten on all sides for those who do not
change their ways and so that all will clean away pleasure's
impurity with sadness and lamentation.  

34.  But if we hear this day (which we have called the "delight
of sin") attacked by so many prayers (so that tears on all sides

should atone for whatever delight the soul has fallen into
through negligence), with how much sterner penitential discipline
is the night of this day to be assailed, the night which stands
for our consent to sin?  For just as it is a lesser fault when
the mind is led astray by delights of the flesh, but still
resists those delights in the spirit, so it is full and grave
wickedness not only to be lured to sin by thoughts of pleasure
but even to enter the service of sin by consenting to it.  The
mind requires a harsher hand in repentance if it is to be
cleansed from pollution, when it sees that it has been defiled by
consenting to sin.  So it is added, 

XIX.35.  May a black whirlwind take possession of that night.
(3.6)  

The spirit stirred up by sorrow is a kind of stormy whirlwind, 
for when a man realizes the sin he has committed and when he
weighs carefully the wickedness of his deed, he clouds over his
mind with sorrow and blasts away all the tranquility of heart
that he finds in himself with a storm of penance, as if he had to
roil the skies of serenity and happiness with clouds and wind. 
For unless this whirlwind had struck the mind brought face to
face with itself, the prophet would not have said, "With a
violent wind you shall batter the ships of Tharsis."  For
Tharsis means "to explore one's joys."  But when the violent wind
of penance seizes the mind, it thwarts all the mind's exploration
of reprehensible joys, so that nothing will please it but
weeping, nothing will hold its gaze but that which terrifies it. 
It puts before the eyes on one side the severity of justice, on
the other side sin and its guilt; it sees the punishment it would
deserve if pity should be absent, the pity that rescues us from
eternal punishment when we weep for our sins here and now.  So a
violent wind batters the ships of Tharsis if the power of
compunction assails our minds at a time when they are given over
to the power of this world, as ships are given over to the sea,
and we are confounded by a healthful terror.  So let it be said,
"May a black whirlwind take possession of that night," that is,
'Let the sins we commit not be encouraged by the delights of
quiet and security, but let the rampaging bitterness of penance
fall upon them--compassionately.'

36.  We must recognize that when we leave our sins unatoned, we
are possessed by the night.  But when we punish them ourselves
with the discipline of penance, we take possession of the night
we have made.  So it is said in the divine voice to Cain when he
contemplates evil, "Your sin will be at the door, but the desire
for it will be beneath you and you will be lords over it."  Sin
is at the door when it comes knocking in our thoughts; but its
desire is beneath us and we are lords over it if the wickedness
of the heart's imagination is rejected quickly and subjected to
the mind's discipline before it can grow and harden.  For the
mind might to sense its fault quickly and control the tyranny of
sin by its own power through penance, it can rightly be said,
"May a black whirlwind take possession of that night," as if to
say openly, 'Lest the mind be captured and

enslaved to sin, may it not leave its sins free of repentance.' 
And because we confidently hope that whatever we attack in
ourselves with tears will not be thrown up against us by the
judge to come, it is well added:  

XX.37.  May it not be counted among the days of the year, nor
numbered among the months. (3.6)  

The year of our enlightenment is brought to an end when the
eternal judge appears to the church and the pilgrimage of its
life is completed.  Then it receives the reward for its labors
when it has served out this time of war and returned to the
homeland.  So it is well said through the prophet, "You shall
bless the crown of the year with your goodness." For it is as
if the "crown of the year" is blessed when the time of labor is
ended and virtue receives its reward.  The days of this year are
the individual virtues, and its months are the many deeds of
these virtues.  

But see how, when the mind is filled with confidence at the hope
that its virtues will be rewarded by the judge to come, there
return to the memory as well the evil things we have done.  We
greatly fear that the strict judge who comes to reward virtues
might also examine and weigh carefully things that have been done
against his will.  We fear that when he brings the year to
completion, he may also count in this "night."  So let it be said
of this night, "May it not be counted among the days of the year,
nor numbered in the months."  This is as if Job were to beseech
the strict judge and say, 'When the time of the holy church is at
an end and you reveal yourself at the last judgment, may you
reward the gifts you have given in such a way that you do not ask
after the evil things we have done.'  For if that night is
counted in the days of the year, everything we have done is put
in doubt by awareness of the wicked deeds we have done.  And the
days of the virtues already fail to shine if the dark confusion
of our night, should be counted in the sight of God and
overshadow the days.  

38.  But if we do not want questions asked about our night, we
must now be ever vigilant and watch with great care, that no
fault should remain unpunished in us, that the mind should not
dare to defend the wickedness we enact and so, by defending it,
add wickedness to wickedness.  

 XXI.39.  Let that night be solitary, and unworthy of praise.
(3.7) 

 There are those who not only fail to weep for what they have
done but who even go on praising and defending it.  And surely
when sin is defended, it is doubled.  Against this it was rightly
said through a certain man, "Have you sinned?  Do not add to it
again."  We add sin to sin when we defend the things we have
done wrong, and we do not leave a night solitary by itself when
we add the crime of defending our iniquity to the darkness of the
original guilt.  

 Thus the first man, when he was asked about the night of his
error, did not let that night be solitary, but added to it by
making excuse when he was really being called to repent by God's
question:  "The woman whom you gave me as a helper gave me to eat
of the tree, and I ate."  He is surreptitiously twisting the
guilt for his sin back on his creator, as if to say, 'You gave me
the occasion of sin when you gave me the woman.'  The branches of
this sin grow from this root to the present day, so that when we
do wrong, we defend what we have done.  So let Job say, "Let that
night be solitary, and unworthy of praise."  This is as if he
prayed openly, saying, 'Let the sin we have committed remain
alone, lest we ensnare ourselves all the more in the sight of our
judge by praising and defending what we have done.'  We should
not have sinned, but would that we could leave our sin alone, and
not add others to it!

40.  In this regard we should realize that we are really
punishing our own fault when we are no longer stirred to the love
of this world by any desire for prosperity, when we see how
fraudulent are the enticements of this world and learn to treat
its blessings as if they were persecutors.  

 XXII.41.  Let them curse the night, who curse that day. (3.8)  

 This is as if to say, 'The people who truly attack the darkness
of this night with their repentance are the ones who already
despise and trample upon the light of this world's prosperity.' 
For if we take the day to be the pleasure of delight, then
rightly is it said of this night, 'Let them curse the night, who
curse that day.'  For those people are truly correcting their
past sins through the discipline of penance if they are led
astray by no delightful and deceptive ideas of goodness.  If
there are some faults that still delight, it is false to think
that the others are being sincerely deplored.  But if, as we
said, we take the ancient enemy's suggestion to be the "day"
here, then we must assume that those who curse the day curse the
night; for we truly punish our past sins when we uncover the
traps of the wicked seducer at the first sign of his gentle
encouragement.

 XXIII.42.  They who are ready to wake Leviathan.  (3.8)  

 All those who trample on the things of the world in their minds
and long for the things of God with all their hearts are waking
Leviathan to rise against themselves, because they enflame his
malice by the example of their way of life.  Those who are
subjected to his will are justly and quietly possessed by him,
and their proud king enjoys a kind of security when he rules over
their hearts with unquestioned power.  But when some spirit grows
warm with desire for its creator, when it casts off the idleness
of neglect and the chill of numbness and torpor, then it can
truly catch fire with holy love.  It remembers its inborn liberty

and is ashamed to be held as a slave by the enemy.  Then the
enemy thinks that it is being despised, seeing the soul take up
the ways of God, and he grieves that his captive struggles
against him.  And soon is he stirred to envy, soon is he moved to
resist, soon he stirs himself up to send countless temptations
against the rebellious spirit, and bestirs himself to every kind
of wounding attack, to let fly the darts of temptation and pierce
the heart he had long held quietly under his thumb.  It is as if
Leviathan were sleeping quietly before, when he lay at peace in
the wicked heart, but was roused to provoke battle when he lost
the authority of his perverse lordship.

So the people who curse this night are the ones who are ready to
wake Leviathan.  They judge themselves severely and rise to fight
against sin, and they are not afraid to waken the ancient
adversary and face his temptations.  It is written, "My son,
entering the Lord's service, stand fast in justice and in awe and
prepare your soul to face temptation." Whoever leaps to gird
himself to serve the Lord is preparing to do battle against the
ancient adversary, to bear the blows of battle as a free man
against the tyrant he had once served quietly in captivity.  But
because the mind girds itself against the enemy, subduing some
vices and struggling with others, sometimes some less harmful
fault is allowed to remain.  

43.  And often the mind which overcomes many grave crises, though
it be ever so watchful, will not eradicate one single vice, some
little thing.  This is in accord with divine providence, lest the
soul, shining with virtue on all sides, should be carried away by
pride.  When we see something reprehensible left in ourselves
that we cannot control, we know to attribute the victories we can
win not to ourselves, but to our creator.  

 XXIV.44.  Let the stars be darkened by its mist. (3.9)

 The stars of this night are darkened by mist when people who
shine with virtue reluctantly continue to bear with some dark
little fault within.  Though they shine with the brightness of
life, they still unwillingly carry with them a little remnant of
the night.  This happens, as I have said, so the mind in its
advance to strength and justice might be strengthened by its own
weakness.  The mind will shine all the more truly for the
contrast of having small faults darken and humble it against its
will.  

So when the Israelites had come to the promised land and were
portioning it out, the Canaanites were not slaughtered but made
to pay tribute to the tribe of Ephraim, as it is written, "The
Canaanite lived in the midst of Ephraim as a tributary."  What
do the Canaanites, a pagan nation, stand for if not vice?  And
often by our great virtues we enter the promised land because we
are strengthened within by hope in eternity.  But among our high
and fine deeds we still cling to some little vices, as though
allowing the Canaanite to live in our land.  He is made a
tributary when we turn the vices we cannot subdue humbly to our
own use, so that even on the heights of virtue the mind will
continue to set a low value on itself by realizing that it is
unable to wipe out even its least desires by its own forces.  So
it is well written:  "These are the nations which the Lord has
abandoned, to use them for the education of Israel." Some of
our lesser vices hang on for this purpose, to keep our attention
focused cautiously on the contest and keep us from taking pride
in a victory, where we see the enemy still living in our midst
and fear we may yet be conquered by him.  Israel is educated by
the nations that are saved when the pride we take in our virtue
is checked by our lesser vices and we learn from the little
things that hold out against us that our great victories were not
won by our own strength.

45.  But what is said here ("Let the stars be darkened by its
mist") can be taken another way.  That night (namely, our consent
to the sin which has been transmitted to us from the fall of our
first parent) strikes the eye of the mind with such darkness that
in the exile of this life we are hemmed in by dark blindness, so
no matter how hard we struggle to perceive the light of eternity,
we are unable to penetrate the darkness.  After the fall, we are
born as condemned sinners and we come to this life already
deserving to die.  When we lift the eye of the mind to see the
ray of heavenly light, we are clouded over with the darkness of
our own weakness.  There are many people so fortified with virtue
for all the weakness of the flesh that they can shine before the
world like stars.  There are many in the darkness of this life
who present themselves as good examples to us and shine on us
like the stars above.  But however their good works may shine,
however they inflame themselves with the fire of compunction, it
is clear that as long as they are burdened by corruptible flesh,
they cannot see the light of eternity just as it really is.  

So let it be said, "Let the stars be darkened by its mist."  That
is, let good people feel the darkness of the ancient night in
their contemplation, though it is clear that their virtues are
pouring rays of light down on the rest of the human race in this
misty life.  Even if they have reached the heights of the mind,
they are still weighed down to the depths by the burden of the
first sin.  Outwardly they offer their good example like the
shining light of the stars, but inwardly they are burdened by the
mist of this night and cannot rise to the certitude that comes
with unwavering vision.  

But often the mind is so inflamed that, though it is still in the
flesh, it is snatched up to God with all of the flesh's burden of
thought left behind.  Yet it still does not see God as he is
because the weight of the first damning sin still weighs the mind
down with the corruptible flesh.  The mind often desires to be
swallowed up just as it is, to reach the eternal life, if this
were possible, without the experience of bodily death.  So Paul
could yearn ardently for the interior light, but still fear the
pains of the body's outward death, saying, "We who are in this
dwelling, we groan with our burdens, because we do not want to be

robbed of what we have, but to be clothed again from without so
that what is mortal in us might be swallowed up by life." Holy
people therefore long to see the true dawn and if this is granted
hope to reach the sanctuary of the interior light while still in
the body.  But however ardent is the ambition that propels them,
the ancient night still weighs them down and the just judge keeps
the eyes of the flesh, which the clever enemy had opened to the
service of concupiscence, from seeing the inner glory of his
light.

 XXV.46.  Let it watch for the light and not see it, nor the
coming of the rising dawn. (3.9)

 However searchingly the mind on its pilgrimage struggles to see
the light just as it is, it cannot succeed because the blindness
that comes as punishment for sin hides that light from the mind. 
The coming of the dawn is that new birth of resurrection by which
the holy church, roused even in the flesh, rises to contemplate
the light of eternity.  If the resurrection of our flesh were not
a kind of birth, Truth would not have said of it, "In rebirth,
when the Son of Man shall sit in the seat of his majesty."  He
saw this rising and he called it rebirth.  But however powerfully
the elect shine forth here and now, they cannot yet reach the
glory of that new birth by which they will rise to contemplate
the light of eternity in the resurrected flesh.  So also Paul
says that, "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, and the heart of man
has not risen to see the things God has prepared for those who
love him." So let it be said, "Let it watch for the light and
not see it, nor the coming of the rising dawn," for our weakness
is darkened by the sin of our own making, and unless we first pay
the price of sin with our death, we cannot reach the brightness
of the interior light.  

 XXVI.47.  Because it did not close the portals of the belly that
bore me, nor did it take away evil from before my eyes. (3.10)  

 As was said above, "did not close" means "opened" and "did not
take away" means "gave."  For this night (namely, sin) opened the
portals of the belly because it unlocked the desires of
concupiscence for man, who was conceived for sin.  For the
portals of the belly are the desires of fleshly concupiscence, of
which it is said through the prophet, "Enter into your chambers,
close your portals."  We enter our chambers when we enter the
secret places of our mind; but we close the portals when we
restrain our illicit desires.  When our mind gives in and opens
these portals of fleshly concupiscence, they lead the way to
countless evils and corruptions.  So now we groan under the
weight of mortality, even though we have come to this place of
our own choice, because the justice of judgment demands that what
we have chosen voluntarily we should go on bearing involuntarily.

XXVII.48.  Why did I not die in the birth canal?  Come forth from
the womb, why did I not perish straightaway?  Why was I taken to
sit in the lap?  Why nursed at the breast?  (3.11-12)  

Far be it from us to believe that blessed Job, endowed with such
spiritual knowledge, rewarded with such praise by the judge
within, really wished he had died at birth.  But just as his
rewards prove that he has an inner witness to his true strength,
so we must consider the inner weight of his words.  

49.  We sin in our hearts in four different ways; we sin in our
deeds likewise in four different ways.  In the heart we sin at
the stages of suggestion, delight, consent, and bold
self-defense.  The suggestion comes from the adversary, the
delight comes from the flesh, consent comes from the spirit, and
the bold self-defense springs from our pride.  The sin which
ought to terrify the mind actually raises it up and fills it with
pride, even as it is really casting it down; lifting it higher,
it really trips it up.  

So the ancient enemy broke down the rectitude of the first man by
these four blows.  The serpent persuaded, Eve delighted, Adam
consented, and when he was questioned he refused to confess his
guilt, boldly defending himself.  This goes on happening daily in
the human race, as we know it happened already in the first
parent of our race.  The serpent persuaded:  for the hidden enemy
secretly suggests wickedness to the hearts of men.  Eve
delighted:  for the senses of the flesh at the serpent's bidding
soon enslave themselves to delight.  Adam, who had been set over
the woman, consented:  for when the flesh is captured by delight,
even the spirit is weakened and turns away from its rectitude. 
When he was questioned Adam declined to confess his fault:  for
the spirit is hardened more wickedly to cling to the audacity of
its own ruination just because by sin it is separated from the
truth.

In the same four ways, sin is accomplished in our deeds.  First
sin is secret, then overt (before the eyes of men without
ambiguity), then habitual, and finally alive and nourished either
by the lure of false hope or by the stubbornness of wretched
despair.

50.  Blessed Job considers these four stages of sin, whether they
occur hiddenly in the heart or openly in our deeds, and he
laments the fall of the human race through these four stages of
sin when he says, "Why did I not die in the birth canal?  Come
forth from the womb, why did I not perish straightaway?  Why was
I taken to sit in the lap?  Why nursed at the breast?"  The birth
canal of our conception was the tongue that suggested wickedness;
the sinner dies at birth when he envisions his coming death at
the moment the suggestion is heard.  But he comes forth from the
womb because after the tongue's suggestion has conceived him in
sin, soon delight snatches him out and sends him abroad.  After
he emerges he is taken up on the lap because when he goes out to
experience the delights of the flesh, he brings his sin to
fulfillment through the consent of the spirit, supported by the
senses as if sitting on a lap.  But once taken up on the lap, the
sinner is even nursed at the breast:  for once the spirit has
been bound to its consent to sin, empty confidence gives birth to
many rationalizations, which nourish the soul now born to sin
with a poisonous milk and coddle it with pleasant excuses lest it
fear the harsh punishment of death. 

So the first man was all the bolder after his sin, saying, "The
woman, whom you gave to me as a comrade, gave me to eat of the
tree and I ate."  For in his fear he had fled as if to hide
himself, but once questioned he made it clear how much he was
swollen with pride in spite of his fear.  When we fear some
present punishment for our sin and cease to love the face of God
we have lost, our fear comes from pride, not humility.  It is
pride that makes us cling to our sin as long as we go unpunished. 


51.  But just as the four stages apply to the sin of the heart,
so too they describe the sins of our deeds.  It says, "Why did I
not die in the birth canal?"  The birth canal of sin is the
hidden fault of a man that secretly conceives him for a life of
sin and keeps him, already guilty, hidden in shadows.

"Come forth from the womb, why did I not perish straightaway?" 
The sinner comes through the birth canal from the womb when he
does not blush to commit openly the sins which he has hitherto
committed in hiding.  They had come through the birth canal from
out of hiding when the prophet said of them, "And they have
proclaimed their sin like Sodom, and they have not hidden it."

"Why was I taken to sit in the lap?"  While the sinner is not yet
disturbed and routed from his iniquity, his iniquity is fortified
by the routines of a bad habit.  The sinner is coddled in the lap
so that he might grow in sin, while his guilt is strengthened to
flourish through habit.

"Why nursed at the breast?"  When guilt begins to turn into
habit, then it feeds itself on a false hope of divine mercy or on
the plain misery of despair.  It will not try to correct itself,
either because it pretends to itself that it can expect
extraordinary compassion from the creator, or because it already
fears extraordinarily what it has done.

Blessed Job therefore sees the sins of the human race, how it is
plunged headlong into the snare of iniquity, and so he says, "Why
did I not die in the birth canal?"  That is, 'At the moment I
began in secret to sin, why did I refuse to mortify the life of
the flesh?'  "Come forth from the womb, why did I not perish
straightaway?"  That is, 'After I began to sin openly, why did I
not then at least recognize my ruin?'  "Why was I taken to sit in
the lap?"  That is, 'Even after I had sinned openly, why did that
habit take hold of me to make me stronger at sinning, and why did
it encourage me in my wicked habits?'  "Why nursed at the
breast?"  That is, 'After I had fallen into the habit of sin, why
did I fortify myself for even worse wickedness with the
confidence of false hope or the milk of wretched despair?  

For when sin becomes habit, the spirit resists but feebly, if it
tries at all, because the more habitual sin becomes, the more
chains ensnare the mind.  So the mind becomes listless when it
cannot be freed, and turns to the solace of false consolation. 
It promises itself that the judge to come will be so great in
mercy that he will not utterly destroy even those whom he finds
liable to his judgments.  In addition to this, worse, many others
like him speak up to voice agreement, making his sins worse with
their praise.  So it happens that his guilt grows constantly,
nourished by their applause.  The wound fails to be cured because
it seems to have earned the reward of praise.  So it is well said
through Solomon, "My son, if sinners have nursed you, do not give
in to them."  Sinners nurse us when they suggest with honeyed
words sins we might commit or when they praise our misdeeds with
their applause.  Or was not the one of whom the psalmist spoke
being nursed?  "For the sinner is praised for the desires of his
soul and the one who has done wrong is blessed."

52.  We must also realize that the first three stages of sins are
more or less easily corrected according to their place in the
order of descent, but the fourth is more difficult to amend.  So
our Redeemer could raise from the dead the girl at home, the
young man outside the gate, and Lazarus in the tomb. The one
who was lying dead at home was the one who had sinned secretly. 
The one who was already outside the gate is the one whose
iniquity had been laid bare through shameless public wrongdoing. 
The one held down by the weight of the tomb is the one burdened
by the power of habit in the commission of sin.  But our Redeemer
had pity on these and called them back to life, for often divine
grace shines with the light of its regard not only on those who
have sinned secretly, but even on those who have sinned openly,
and sometimes even on those weighed down by wicked habit.  

But a fourth dead man our Redeemer heard of from a disciple but
he did not raise him, because it is very difficult for one who
has added the praise of his adulators to the habit of sin to be
called back from the death of the mind.  So it was well said to
him, "Let the dead bury their dead."  The dead bury the dead
when sinners swamp other sinners with their applause.  To sin is
nothing else than to die.  But to honor the sinner with our
praise is to hide a dead man under a heap of our words.  Lazarus
was buried, but not by other dead. Faithful women had covered
him, and told of his death to the one who gave life, so he came
straightaway to the light:  for when the soul dies in sin it is
more quickly returned to life if the thought of others goes on
living over it.  But sometimes as we said above, no false hope
seizes the mind, but a worse despair transfixes it, and when it
loses all hope of grace it feeds its soul the more abundantly on
the milk of error.

53.  So let the holy man consider what worse things mankind has
done since the first sin.  Paradise once lost, see in what rough
lands of exile he settles.  Job says, "Why did I not die in the
birth canal?"  That is, when the suggestion of the serpent
conceived me for a life of sin, I wish then that I had known the
death that would pursue me, so I would not have let suggestion
lead me to delight and bind me to death more tightly.  

"Come forth from the womb, why did I not perish straightaway?" 
It is as if he should say, 'Would that when I came out to delight
in things of the world, I had realized I was depriving myself of
the light that shines within.  And at least I would have died in
the hour I first knew that delight and so escaped the more bitter
death that comes to those who consent to sin.'

"Why was I taken to sit in the lap?"  In other words:  'Would
that I had not consented to sin, had not made my senses slaves to
wickedness, to keep my consent from leading me on to bold
self-defense.'  

"Why nursed at the breast?"  As if he said, 'Would that at least
I had not deceived myself after my sins were committed, not bound
myself more wickedly to sin by coddling myself in it.'  By these
words of reproach, he accuses himself of having sinned in the sin
of the first parent.  

But suppose man had never descended to this trouble and exile: 
let him speak instead of the peace he could have enjoyed then:

XXVIII.54.  For now would I be sleeping silently and be at rest
in my sleep. (3.13)  

Man was placed in paradise to this end, that if he bound himself
in chains of love to obey his creator, he would at length cross
over to the heavenly home of the angels without undergoing the
death of the flesh.   He was created immortal in this way, that
if he sinned he could still die; he was created mortal in this
way, that if he did not sin, he would not die.  By the merits of
his free will he could reach that happy region in which he could
neither sin nor die.  So now after the time of redemption, when
the elect pass over after the death of the flesh, there they will
be where our first parents, if they had stood fast in the state
in which they were created, could already have gone free of
bodily death.  So man would sleep silently and rest in this
sleep, having been led to the rest of the eternal homeland, as if
finding a quiet place away from the noise of human frailty.

For after his sin, man kept watch and cried out, enduring
reluctantly the contentiousness of the flesh.  Man was created to
have silence and repose, when he was given free choice of the
will against his enemy, but because he gave in to the enemy
freely, soon he found what would surround him with noise, soon he
found tumult in a struggle with weakness.  Although in silence
and peace he had been created by his maker, in free subjection to
his enemy he endured the roar of battle.  The suggestion of the
flesh is a kind of noise unsettling the quiet of the mind--a
noise man had not heard before his transgression, for then he had
no infirmity to bear.  After he gave in freely to the enemy, he
was bound by chains of guilt in unwilling service to the enemy
and suffered the uproar of the mind as flesh struggled with
spirit.  Was it not an inner uproar that spoke words of a wicked
law to the man who said, "I see another law in my members
struggling against the law of my mind and taking me captive
according to the law of sin, which is in my members." Let then
the holy man contemplate the peace of heart he could have known
if man had not listened to the words of the serpent and so let
him say, "For now would I be sleeping silently and be at rest in
my sleep."  That is, 'In the quiet places of the mind I would
withdraw to contemplate my creator, if the sin of the first
consent had not dragged me out into the tumult of the
temptations.  

He then mentions the comrades with whom he would have enjoyed the
pleasures of this peace, saying:

XXIX.55.  With the kings and consuls of the earth.  (3.14)  

From things deprived of sense we learn what to think about things
possessed of sense and intelligence.   The earth is fertilized by
the air, but the air is governed by the quality of heaven. 
Just so men rule over beasts, angels over men, and archangels
over angels.  For we learn from experience that men rule over
beasts, and we are taught as well by the words of the psalmist,
who says, "You have subdued all things beneath his feet, all the
sheep and cattle, and the beasts of the field besides."  But an
angel testifies through the prophet that angels preside over men,
saying, "The prince of the kingdom of the Persians has resisted
me."  But Zachariah the prophet attests that angels are subject
to the power of the higher angels:  "Behold, the angel who was
speaking in me went out, and another angel went out to meet him
and said to him, 'Run, speak to that boy, saying, "Jerusalem
shall live without walls."'"  If the highest powers did not
govern the lowest ones in the duties of the holy spirits, the
angel would not have learned from another angel what to say to
the man.  

Because therefore the creator of all things holds all things to
himself but at the same time uses intermediaries to govern other
creatures, and so arranges the order of the whole fair world, we
understand "kings" here as the spirits of the angels who serve
the creator of all things in his presence, and thus have
authority to rule over us.  Job would sleep with kings because
man would already be at rest with the angels if he had not heeded
the tongue of the tempter.  The angels are well described as
consuls as well, because they take counsel for the republic of
the spirit when they join us to themselves, comrades in that
kingdom.  They are well called consuls because when we recognize
the will of the creator in their messages, we are taking counsel
from them in our difficulties and troubles.  

56.  But because blessed Job is filled with the holy spirit of
eternity, and because eternity has no past nor future, and so
knows nothing of the past fading away or the future coming to be
because it sees all things as if present, Job can contemplate the
preachers yet to come of the church in the present tense of the
spirit.  Those preachers, unlike the ancient fathers, will pass
from the body and suffer no delay in reaching the celestial
homeland.  As soon as they leave the bondage of the flesh, they
repose in the heavenly home, as Paul attests, saying, "We know
that if our earthly home and dwelling is dissolved, that we have
a house built of God, not made by hands, everlasting in the
heavens."

But before our Redeemer paid the penalty of death to free the
human race, even those who had followed the ways of the heavenly
homeland were held in the prisons of the nether world after
passing from the flesh.  This was not so that punishment should
strike them like sinners, but because the guilt of the first sin
kept them from entering the kingdom, kept them resting in distant
places, for the intercession of the Mediator had not yet come to
pass.  So according to the testimony of our  Redeemer, the rich
man who was tormented in the nether world could see Lazarus
reposing in the bosom of Abraham:  but if Lazarus were not in the
lower world himself, the rich man could never have seen him from
where he was being tormented.  So when our Redeemer perished to
pay for our sins, he went down to the lower world to lead those
who had clung to him back to the heavens.

But where man now ascends after his redemption, there he could
already have been without need of redemption if he had not
sinned.  So here the holy man thinks that if he had not sinned he
would ascend even unredeemed to the place the preachers who would
come after the redemption would attain only with great
difficulty.  And he indicates the companions with whom he would
choose to be at rest when he says, "with the kings and consuls of
the earth."  For the kings are the holy preachers of the church
who know how to govern those who have been entrusted to them and
to discipline their own flesh well.  The ones who restrain the
movements of desire within themselves and rule by the law of
virtue over their own thoughts are well called the consuls of the
earth.  They are kings because they rule over themselves; but
they are consuls of the earth because they offer the counsel of
life to those who have perished through sin.  They are kings
because they know how to govern themselves; they are consuls of
the earth because they lead earthly minds to heavenly things by
counsel and exhortation.  Or was it not a consul of the earth who
said, "Concerning virgins I have no commandment of the Lord, but
I give my counsel"?  And again:  "It would be better if she
remained so, according to my counsel."

XXX.57.  Who build for themselves desert places. (3.14)

Whoever desires what is illicit or wishes to seem to be something
great in this world is hemmed in by the swarming thoughts of the
heart, and while he stirs up a throng of desires within he
overwhelms his own beleaguered mind by incessant recurrence to
such thoughts.  One man, for example, surrenders to
lasciviousness and creates before the eyes of the mind images of
the foul things he would like to do, and when his plans do not
bear fruit, he is all the more intent on his fantasies.  Perfect
pleasure is sought and the mind is thus battered and weakened,
cautious and blinded, looking for a chance to fulfill its wicked
desire.  The mind suffers these thoughts as if they were a crowd
of people:  when the mind is trampled by a needless mob of
thoughts and images.

Another man surrenders to the mastery of his rage, and with what
does he fill his heart but all manner of quarrel, even imaginary
ones?  He is often oblivious of the people who are with him while
he argues with people who are elsewhere; he gives and takes
insult in his heart, and gives back nastier than he gets.  And
when there is no one at hand to confront, he creates noisy riots
in the heart.  He suffers from the crowd within when this
terrible burden of inflamed thoughts is pursuing him.

Another gives himself up to avarice and spurns what he has to
desire what belongs to others.  Often he does not succeed in
getting what he wants, and passes his day in idleness and his
night in thought.  He is too lazy to do useful work because he is
worn out by thinking of what is denied him.  He multiplies his
plans and constantly fills the spaces of his mind with new ideas. 
He struggles to get what he desires and to obtain it he takes the
most secret paths to his goal.  As soon as he devises a clever
ploy, he acts as if he already had what he sought and rejoices;
he begins to plan what he will add to his prize and acts as if he
expected to be treated as one who has come up in the world. 
Because he takes his fancies seriously, he soon begins to look
out for the traps of those who envy him and worries about the
opposition they will raise against him.  He thinks about his
response and though he has gotten nothing yet, he is already
worried about defending himself in court against those who will
try to take it from him.  Though he has not yet gotten what he
coveted, he already has the fruit of his coveting, strife and
trouble.  So he too is surrounded by a troublesome people, for he
is trampled under the pressure of his own insistent avarice.

Another man chooses pride as the tyrant he will accept and lifts
his wretched heart up against other men while making it a slave
to his vice.  He seeks the insignia of high office, he demands to
be exalted by his own achievements, and he already depicts
himself to himself in his thoughts as everything that he wants to
be.  He already presides at the bench, he already sees the
obeisances of his loyal subjects, he already struts before the
crowd, he already imposes penalties on some and makes amends to
others.  He sees himself already, in his heart, surrounded by
lackeys, going forth before the people, he sees already the
ceremonies of which he is the object, though he creeps along
thinking of this, alone and unnoticed.  He is trampling on some
already and ennobling others, satisfying his hatred against the
ones and winning applause from the rest.  The man who imprints
such fantasies on his heart is really living in a waking dream. 
He puts up with as much as he can imagine, truly bearing with him
the crowds within that arise from his thoughts.  

Another man flees all ill-doing but still fears to be without the
good things of the world.  He seeks to keep what he has, is
ashamed to seem to take a lower station among men, and takes the
greatest care that he not be found impoverished at home or lose
the respect of others in public.  He wants enough for himself,
enough for his subjects' needs.  In order to play the part of
patron before his subjects, he needs patrons to serve himself. 
But when he is joined to their service, he is involved in their
affairs and often must consent to their illicit actions and
commit crimes, not for himself, but to keep the things he cannot
let go of.  Often he fears that he will be honored less in the
world and gives his approval in the presence of great personages
to things which he condemns if left to his own judgment.  While
he worries earnestly about what he owes to his patrons, what he
owes to his subordinates, how to profit for himself, and how to
gratify his inclinations, he is surrounded by a crowd of
ceaseless cares that tear at him.

58.  But on the other hand there are holy men who seek none of
the things of this world and are troubled by none of this crowd
of thoughts in the heart.  They remove all the unchecked impulses
of desire from the chamber of the heart with the hand of holy
thought and because they despise all the things that pass away
they suffer none of the contumacious thoughts those things give
birth to.  They seek only the eternal homeland.  Because they
love none of the things of this world, they enjoy great
tranquility of mind.  So it is rightly said, "they build for
themselves desert places," for to build desert places is to
banish the tumult of earthly desires from the hidden places of
the heart and to sigh with one thought for the eternal homeland,
out of love for the peace that lies within.  The man who said,
"This one thing I have sought from the Lord, this one thing shall
I seek, that I should dwell in the house of the Lord" had
surely banished the tumult of such thoughts from himself.  He had
fled from the crowd of earthly desires, to the great desert that
is himself, where it is safe to see nothing outside himself
because he loves nothing except as he should.  He had found a
great place of refuge from the hubbub of temporal affairs, the
quiet of the mind in which he could see God the more clearly, by
finding himself the more alone with God alone.

59.  It is well that those who build desert places for themselves
are called consuls because they build the desert of the mind in
themselves so that (insofar as they are successful) they can
continue to counsel others out of charity.  So let us consider
this man we put forth as a consul [i.e., the psalmist] a little
more carefully, so that he can scatter the coins of his virtues
to the crowds of people subject to him, examples of the higher
life.

See for example how he offers himself as an example for giving
back good for evil, saying, "If I have given back evil to the
ones avenging themselves on me, I would perish deservedly at the
hands of my enemy, vain and empty."  He gives a sign of how to
stir up love for the creator, saying, "But for me to cling to God
is a good thing."  To give an example of holy humility he
reveals the secrets of his heart, saying, "Lord, my heart is not
exalted nor are my eyes lifted up."  He excites us by his
example to imitate his righteousness and zeal, saying, "Have I
not hated those who hate you, God, and been wearied by your
enemies?  I hated them with perfect hatred, they are made enemies
to me." To fire us with desire for our eternal home, he laments
the length of our life here, saying, "Alas, alas, that my
dwelling thus drags on and on."  Truly this consulship is
distinguished for generosity, when he has scattered the coins of
so many virtues for us by the example of his own life.  

60.  But this consul tells us whether he has built his desert for
himself, for he says, "I withdrew, taking flight, and I have
stayed in the desert."  He took flight and withdrew because he
lifted himself above the crowd of worldly desires in deep
contemplation of God.  But he remains in the desert because he
perseveres in keeping his mind aloof.  Jeremiah spoke aptly of
this desert to the Lord, saying, "I sat alone apart from the face
of your hand, because you have filled me with threats."  For
the face of the hand of God is that just stroke of judgment by
which he drove the proud first man from paradise and shut him out
in blindness and exile here.  But the threats are the fear of the
punishment still to follow.  After the face of his hand, threats
still terrify us because we have experienced his judgment in the
punishment of exile here with which we are afflicted, and if we
will not cease to sin, he threatens still more, eternal,
punishment for us.  

So let the holy man think of the place whence man has fallen,
cast out here, and let him think whither the judge's justice
hastens the person who goes on sinning here.  And let him banish
all the crowd of earthly desires from himself and hide himself in
the great desert of the mind, saying, "From the face of your hand
I sat alone, because you have filled me with your threat."  This
is as if he said openly, 'While I consider what I suffer already,
having felt your judgment, I nervously seek refuge in the mind
from the tumult of earthly desires because I fear the fiercer
eternal punishments you yet threaten.  So it is well said of
kings and consuls, "who build for themselves desert places,"
because those who well know how to rule themselves and take
counsel for others, since they cannot now be in the presence of
that inmost peace, take care to imitate it here in their hearts
with diligence and peace of mind.

XXXI.61.  With the princes who possess gold and fill their houses
with silver. (3.15)

Who is he calling princes if not the leaders of the holy church,
whom divine providence supplies without interruption to take the
place of preachers gone before?  The psalmist speaks of them to
the church:  "In place of your fathers there are born to you
sons:  you shall establish them as princes over all the earth."

But what does he mean by gold, if not wisdom?  Of this it is said
through Solomon, "A desirable treasure lies in the mouth of the
wise man."  (For he sees wisdom as gold when he calls it a
treasure.)  Wisdom is rightly called gold because just as
temporal goods are purchased with gold, so eternal goods are
purchased with wisdom.  If gold were not wisdom, it would not
have been said to the church of Laodicea by the angel, "I exhort
you to buy from me fired gold."  We buy gold when we offer our
obedience in order to receive wisdom.  A wise man shrewdly urges
us to make this contract when he says, "You have desired wisdom. 
Keep his commandments and the Lord offers it to you."

What do the houses stand for if not our consciences?  So it is
said to a man who was healed, "Go to your house."  This is as
if to say, 'After this outward miracle, withdraw to your
conscience and consider how you should display yourself to God
inwardly.'  

What then is indicated by the silver but divine eloquence?  Thus
it is said through the psalmist, "Eloquence of the Lord, chaste
eloquence, silver tested by fire.'  The Lord's eloquence is
called silver tested by fire because if God's word is fixed in
our heart, it is then tested by tribulation.  

62.  So the holy man, filled with the spirit of eternity,
summarizes things that are to come, and embraces in the open
expanse of his mind the generations that will be born in ages far
in the future.  With awe and wonder he thinks about the chosen
ones with whom he would have found rest without toil in eternity,
if no one had ever sinned through the greed of pride.  And so let
him say, "For now would I be sleeping silently and be at rest in
my sleep with the kings and consuls of the earth who build for
themselves desert places, or with the princes who possess gold
and fill their houses with silver."  If the rot of sin had not
corrupted our first parent, he would never have begotten sons of
himself for gehenna, but only the chosen ones (who had now to be
saved through the redemption) would have been born.  So let him
see those chosen ones and think how he could have shared their
rest.  Let him see the holy apostles govern the church entrusted
to them, how the word of their preaching is a constant source of
counsel, and let him call them kings and consuls.  Let him see
the leaders of the church rise to take their places, possessing
the gold of wise living and shining with the silver of sacred
speech by preaching what is right to others, and let him speak of
them as wealthy princes whose consciences, whose homes, are
filled with gold and silver.  

But because sometimes the prophetic spirit is unable to foresee
what will come unless it represents to the heart of the prophet
olden times as well, the holy man now raises and lowers his eyes
and sees not only what is to come, but what has already passed
into memory, and so he adds:

XXXII.63.  Or like a still-born child hidden away, I would not
survive, or like the ones who were conceived but did not see the
light. (3.16)

Because a still-born child has come before its time and perished,
it is hidden straightaway.  The still-born whom the holy man
thinks of as companions for the rest he could have had must be
the elect who came into being from the first times of the world
before our redemption and still sought to render themselves dead
to this world.  The ones who did not have the tablets of the
written law are like the ones who came forth dead from the womb,
because they feared their creator out of obedience to the natural
law; and since they believed in the Mediator to come they put
their pleasures to death and so sought energetically to obey even
the commands they had not received in writing.  So the time that
brought forth our ancient fathers, dead to this world already at
the beginning of time, is the womb of the still-born.

For example, there was Abel who is reported not to have resisted
the brother who killed him.  There was Enoch who proved himself
to be such a man that he was carried off to walk with the Lord. 
There was Noe who outlived the world in the world because he had
been found pleasing to the Lord's scrutiny.  There was Abraham
who was a pilgrim in this world, but a friend to God. There was
Isaac, whose eyes were misted over with age and who could not see
the present, but who saw as if by a great light things of future
ages through the prophetic power of the spirit.  There was
Jacob, who fled the wrath of his brother in all humility, and
gently mastered it.  He was blessed with great progeny, but he
was still more fertile in the abundance of the spirit, and bound
his offspring with chains of his prophecy.  So this still-born
child is well spoken of as hidden away, because the great part of
the human race from the beginning of the world is hidden away
from us, while Moses wrote of a few we know about.  Neither
should we believe that there were only so many just men down to
the time of the acceptance of the law as Moses wrote about so
briefly.  Because therefore from the foundation of the world a
multitude of good men had come forth but are for the most part
hidden from our knowledge, this still-born child is called
hidden.  It is said not to have survived, because the lives of a
few only are narrated in scripture and the greater part of them
survive for our memory in no record whatever.  

64.  But it is rightly added, "Or like the ones who were
conceived but did not see the light."

For those who were born into the world after the acceptance of
the law were conceived for their creator under the admonishment
of that same law.  But the ones who were conceived did not see
the light because they could not survive to see the coming of the
Lord's incarnation, though they believed in it faithfully.  For
the incarnate Lord says, "I am the light of the world," and
that light says, "Many prophets and just men longed to see what
you see and they did not see it." "The ones who were
conceived," therefore, "did not see the light," because they were
stirred to the hope in the coming Mediator by the plain words of
the prophets, but they could not actually see his incarnation. 
The man conceived in their midst possessed the pattern of faith
within, but did not bring it forth to behold openly the divine
presence, for death intervened and took them from the world
before the Truth made manifest could enlighten the world. 

65.  So the holy man, filled with the spirit of eternity, bound
all these things to his memory as they slipped away, controlling
them with the hand of the heart.  And because every creature is a
tiny thing next to its creator, Job sees past and future through
the same spirit that sees nothing except what always exists.  He
lifts and lowers the eyes of the mind, looking to the past and
future, burning for eternity with all his heart, saying, "For now
would I be sleeping silently."  ("Now" is of the present time.) 
To seek the repose that stays constantly present is only to sigh
for the joy of eternity, to which there is no past or present. 
Truth hints to us that this eternity is always his to pour out to
us, as Moses records, where it says, "I Am Who Am.  And you will
say to the sons of Israel, The One Who Is sent me to you."

But because Job here sees the things that pass away, because he
seeks the ever-present joy, because he thinks of the coming
light, because he counts over the ranks of the elect--in this way
he is shows to us clearly the calm at the center of this light
and then using even clearer words shows what happens in that calm
to the ways of the wicked.  

XXXIII.66.  There the pitiless have left off from their uproar
and there is rest for all those wearied of their strength."
(3.17)  

A little earlier we said that the hearts of sinners are hemmed in
by a crowd of nagging ideas pressing in on them, for they are
held in the grip of clamorous desire.  But the pitiless are said
to leave off from their rage in the light they could not see when
they were conceived, for the pagan peoples have found the coming
of that Mediator for whom the fathers who lived under the law had
long been waiting, who would bring tranquility to their lives, as
Paul attests:  "What Israel has sought, this it has not achieved,
but the elect have achieved it."  In this light the pitiless
leave off from their rage when the minds of the perverse learn
the truth and abandon the wearying desires of the world to find
rest in the tranquility of the love that lies within.  Is not
that light summoning them to let go when it says, "Come to me all
you who labor and are burdened and I will refresh you.  Take my
yoke upon you and learn from me that I am gentle and humble at
heart, and you will find repose for your souls.  For my yoke is
sweet and my burden is light"?  What burden is placed on the
mind by one who teaches that every troubling desire be shunned? 
What burden does he command for his subjects when he urges us to
turn aside from the wearying ways of this world?  But as Paul
says, "Christ died for the pitiless."

But it was for this that the Light deigned to die for the
pitiless, that the pitiless might not have to remain in the
uproar of their darkness.  So let the holy man think about the
way the Light snatched the pitiless from their terrible labors by
the mystery of his incarnation, cleansing the desires of
wickedness from their hearts.  Let him see how all those who have
turned from the world can taste here and now in peace of mind a
little of the repose which they long to have for eternity, and
let him thus say, "There the pitiless have left off from their
uproar and there is rest for those wearied of their strength."

67.  For all the and mighty of this world are like the strong,
not worn out from strength.  But whoever is strengthened by love
of his creator grows stronger in the longed-for strength of God
and grows proportionately weaker in his own strength.  He desires
eternal things more vigorously and so grows weary and
lackadaisacal in the presence of temporal things--and rightly so. 
Thus the psalmist was wearied of the strength of self-love when
he said, "My soul has grown weak in your salvation." By
advancing in the salvation that is of God he had grown weak
because in his yearning for the light of eternity he was
breathless and broken as far as trusting in his body was
concerned.  So again he says, "My soul has desired and grown weak
for the courts of the Lord."  No wonder that when he says, "has
desired," he adds rightly, "and grown weak," because a desire for
divinity must be small indeed if it is not soon followed by a
weakening of the self.  Whoever is fired with desire for the
courts of eternity deserves to grow weak in love of temporal
things, becoming colder in his enthusiasms for the world, the
more warmly he rises in the love of God.  If he should seize hold
of this love in fulness, he has left the world behind altogether.

And he dies entirely to earthly things by stirring with the
spirit of eternity in the heavenly life on high.  Was not the man
who said, "My soul has turned to water when he spoke," telling
us that he had found himself wearied of his own strength?  When
the mind is touched by the breath of hidden speech it grows weak
in the strength that comes from itself, and turns to water at the
touch of the desire that absorbs it.  And so it finds itself
wearied when it sees a strength beyond itself to which it
aspires.  So the prophet said he saw a vision of God and then
added, "I grew weak and sickened for many days."  When the mind
is bound to the power of God, the flesh is weakened of its own
strength.  So Jacob, when he had held the angel, soon began to
limp with one foot, because the man who sees lofty things with
true love has already forgotten how to walk the ways of this
world with its double desires.  The man who is strengthened by
the love of God alone is relying on one foot alone; the other
foot must wither away because as the mind's power grows surely
the power of the flesh must wane.  

So blessed Job can look deep into the hearts of the faithful and
judge the depth of the repose they have found as they make their
way toward the Lord while growing weak in themselves, and he can
say, "There is rest for those wearied of their strength."  This
is as if he said openly, 'There light and peace reward those whom
inner growth had left wearied here.'  It should not bother you
that he describes the light as being not "here" but "there," for
he judges that the light which embraces the elect is indeed the
place for us.  So the psalmist saw the unchangeableness of
eternity and said, "You are the same and your years do not pass
away."  Then he adds, indicating that this is the place of the
elect, "The sons of your servants shall dwell there."  For God
who embraces all things but has no place of his own is a kind of
abiding placeless place for us as we come to him.  When we reach
that place we see how troubled was even our peace of mind in this
life; for if the just are already at peace by comparison with the
wicked, by comparison with the true peace within, they are far
from being at peace in truth.

XXIV.68.  And the ones who had been bound all the same without
annoyance. (3.18)

Although no tumult of fleshly desires possesses the just, the
annoyances that come of the flesh's corruption still bind them
with harsh chains while they are in this life:  for it is
written, "The body which is corrupted grieves the spirit and the
earthly dwelling place depresses the senses that think on many
things."  To the extent that they are yet mortal, they are
weighed down with the weight of corruption and are bound and tied
to its annoyances, because they have not yet risen with the
freedom of uncorruptible life.  Some trouble they feel in the
mind, some in the body, and daily they sweat out an inner combat
against themselves.

Is it not a harsh chain of trouble that binds the mind which
takes naturally and lazily to ignorance and is only educated with
trouble and toil?  It is forced to raise itself, would rather lie
prostrate, can scarcely be lifted from the lowest level, and when
it has been lifted it slips back directly.  Triumphing over
itself with difficulty, it catches sight of what is above; but
stunned by the light which shines on it there, it flees from it. 


Is it not a harsh chain of trouble that binds those whom the
flesh plagues with heated struggles when the spirit is on fire
with all its zeal to seek the haven of peace that lies within? 
For even if the flesh does not oppose the mind openly, as though
on a battlefield, still it goes grumbling somewhere behind like a
prisoner.  It defiles the purity of beautiful repose in the heart
with its timorous but foul clamor.  Even if the elect vanquish
all things heroically, when they look for the security of inner
peace, they still have the annoyance of living with the flesh
they have already defeated.

Even if we except these cases, the elect still have to put up
with the demands of external necessity.  Hunger and thirst and
fatigue are chains of corruption that cannot be loosed except in
that glory of immortality by which our mortality is transformed. 
We fill the body with food lest it grow weak and emaciated; then
we weaken it with fasting lest it should be a trouble to us when
filled.  We exercise it moving about lest it perish for want of
exercise; but then we must keep still lest we give way to the
body's activities entirely.  We protect it with a covering of
clothes lest the cold kill it, then throw off the clothes we had
sought lest the heat burn us up.  Taking care of all these
contingencies is a kind of servitude to our own corruptibility,
if only in the way that a variety of faithful services are needed
to sustain the body, because concern for our weakness and
changeableness drags us down.  

So it is well said through Paul, "The creature is subject to
vanity, unwillingly but hopefully, for the sake of the one who
subjected it, because even that creature will be freed from the
servitude of corruption by the liberty of the glory of sons of
God."  The creature is subjected to vanity against its will
because mankind willingly abandoned his original state of
constancy and is now weighed down by the burden of just
mortality, yet is unwillingly enslaved to the corruption of
mutability.  But this creature is then snatched from the
servitude of corruption when he rises again incorruptible and is
joined to the glory of the sons of God.  So the elect are here
bound in annoying ways, because they are still burdened by the
penalty of corruption; but when we put off the corruptible flesh,
we are freed from the chains of annoyance that now enmesh us.  We
long to be in the presence of God already but we are still
hindered by our ties to this mortal body.  Rightly therefore we
are said to be bound because we still do not have the free access
to God that we desire.  Paul put it well, exclaiming that he
longed for eternity but that he was still carrying around the
burden of his corruption in bondage, saying, "I long to be
unbound and to be with Christ."  He would not seek to be
unbound unless he saw that he was already bound.  Because he saw
clearly that these chains would be broken at the time of the
resurrection, the prophet rejoiced as if they were already
broken, saying, "You have broken my chains, to you shall I
sacrifice an offering of praise."

So let the holy man consider the way converted sinners are
received by the light within, and let him say, "There the
pitiless have left off from their uproar."  Let him think that
those who are worn out by the demands of holy desire find deeper
repose within and let him say, "And there is rest for those
wearied of their strength."  Let him think that those who have
been freed at once of all the chains of their corruption shall
achieve the incorruptible joys of liberty and let him say, "And
the ones who have been bound all the same without annoyance."  It
is well put, "the ones who have been bound," because when the
ever-present joy is felt, everything that will come to pass and
all that passes away will seem to be in the past.  When the end
of things is expected, all that passes is taken as already past. 
But he is telling us of the experiences here in the meantime of
those whom inner peace will receive.  

XXXV.69.  They have not listened to the voice of the collector.
(3.18)  

Who else is this collector if not the unabashed pitchman who once
gave the human race the coin of deception and now daily demands
from us the repayment of death?  He loaned the money of sin to
man in paradise; but as wickedness increases he demands it back
daily with interest.  Of this collector Truth says in the gospel,
"And the judge will hand you over to the collector." The voice
of this collector is the temptation that offers us wretched
advice.  We hear the voice of the collector when we are battered
by his temptation, but we do not listen to it if we resist his
blows.  Whoever feels temptation hears the voice, but only the
one who gives in listens to it.  So let it be said of the just,
"They have not listened to the voice of the collector," since
even if they hear his advice, in that they are tempted, they
refuse to give in to it, and do not listen to it.  But because
the mind often repeats in its words the things it loves greatly,
blessed Job, fascinated by his vision of inner peace, describes
it again, saying:

XXXVI.70.  Great and small are there, and the slave free of his
master. (3.19)

Because there are different duties for us in this life, there
will doubtlessly be different ranks for us in that life, so that
the one who is more deserving here will be more greatly rewarded
there.  So Truth says in the gospel, "In the house of my father
there are many mansions."  But there will be in those many
mansions some diverse harmony of rewards, because we will be
bound together with such a bond of peace that what we see another
to have received will cause us joy though we have not received it
ourselves.  So those who did not do equal work in the vineyard
received the denarius together at the end; indeed with the father
there are many mansions and still the men who had worked
unequally all receive the same denarius. For there will be one
blessed joy for all, though not the same exaltation of life to
each.  The one who said with the voice of our Head, "Your eyes
have seen my imperfection and all will be written in your
book," had seen great and small in this light, just like the
one who said, "The Lord blessed all those that feared him, the
little with the greater." 

71.  So it is fittingly added:  "And the slave free of its
master."  

For it is written, "Everyone who sins is a slave of sin." 
Whoever subjects himself to wicked desire is bowing his neck--his
mind's freedom--to the dominion of iniquity.  But we speak
against this master when we struggle with the iniquity which has
seized us, when we resist the habit of violence and trample on
our perverse desires, when we are claiming the rights of inborn
liberty against this master, and when we flay our sins with
penance and wash away the stains of sins with tears.  Often the
mind weeps for the things it remembers having done in wickedness: 
it has not only already abandoned those evil deeds but even
punished them with bitter tears, but still it dreads the judgment
with great terror while it remembers what it has done.  It has
already turned fully to God, but has still not fully achieved the
security to come because it trembles between hope and fear at the
thought of the severity of the last judgment, and because it
cannot tell what the just judge to come will count against us,
what he will forgive.   The mind remembers its sins, but does not
know whether it has adequately wept for those crimes, and fears
lest the immensity of the guilt will outstrip the limits of our
penance.  Frequently truth has forgiven the sin but the mind is
troubled and still worries about forgiveness, much concerned for
itself.  

This slave therefore already flees his master, but is not free,
because man abandons his sin with repentance and amendment, but
still fears the punishment of the strict judge in retribution. 
The slave will be free from his master there, where there will be
no doubt of the forgiveness for sin, where the memory of guilt
does not bind the tranquil mind, where the spirit fears not for
its offenses but rejoices freely in the judge's mercy.  

72.  But if man is touched by no memory of sin there, how will he
rejoice at having been freed?  Or how does he give thanks to his
benefactor for the forgiveness he has received if oblivion wipes
away all thought of the past sin and he no longer knows himself
to be a debtor for sin?  We should not pass casually over what
the psalmist says, "I will sing of your mercy, Lord, forever." 
How does he sing of the mercy of God forever if he does not
remember that he was wretched?  And if he does not remember past
wretchedness, how will he give praise to generosity and mercy?  

But we must ask again how the mind of the chosen can be perfect
in happiness if in them midst of joy it is touched by some memory
of its crimes? Or how does the glory of the perfect light shine
if a hint of remembered guilt darkens the soul?  But we must
recognize that just as now we can happily recall sadness, so then
we remember our past sinfulness without harm to our happiness. 
Very often in time of safety we can bring to mind our past
sufferings without suffering; and by remembering ourselves when
we were ill, we love our present health the more.  There will be
therefore, in that eternal happiness, recollection of sin, not
tainting the mind but tying us to our rejoicing the more tightly. 


Thus while the mind remembers its sorrows without sorrow, it will
realize that it is truly indebted to its healer, and will love
the salvation it has received the more for remembering the
troubles it has escaped.  In that rejoicing then we will regard
our sins without weariness the way we now in the midst of light
look upon darkness without any darkness touching our heart.  For
even if what we see in the mind is obscure, this has to do with
the absence of light, not any blindness on our part.  And we can
give back praise to our benefactor for his mercy forever and
never be troubled by consciousness of misery.  While we look back
on our sins without any of it touching the mind there will never
be anything of those past sins which can taint the hearts of
those who praise God and there will always be something to stir
these hearts to the praise of their liberator.  Because therefore
the peace of that light lifts up the great, but does not neglect
the small, it can rightly be said, "Great and small are there." 
But because the mind of the transformed sinner is touched by
memory of his sin in such a way that he is troubled by no failing
of memory, it is fittingly added, "And the slave free of his
master." 


Three footnotes left over:
     A.  Psalm 113.21(13). 1 
 
     B.  John 8.34. 1 
 
     C.  Psalm 88.2.