Book Five 

I.1.  Though the judgments of God are hidden from us when things
go badly for good people in this life and when they go well for
bad people, they are even more darkly hidden when things go well
for the good and badly for the bad.  For when it is well with the
bad and ill with the good, perhaps we may see it as a way of
punishing the good here for their sins (if any) so they will be
completely freed from eternal damnation, and of letting bad
people have the good things they want in this life, to leave only
torment and suffering for them in eternity.  So it was said to
the rich man burning in hell, "Remember, my son, that you have
received good things in your life, and Lazarus at the same time
received bad things."  But when it goes well with the good and
ill with the bad, it becomes altogether uncertain whether the
good receive good things to inspire them to rise to better things
still; or whether they receive from the just but invisible judge
a reward for their good works here to leave them without rewards
in the life to come; or whether the wicked are stricken with
adversity in order to mend their ways and to protect them from
eternal punishment; or whether their punishment begins here,
leading them on eventually to the ultimate tortures of hell.

Because the human mind is bothered by this thick cloud of
uncertainty upon the face of God's judgments, holy men are
troubled with a fearful suspicion when they see the prosperity of
this world coming their way.  They fear they are perhaps
receiving the fruits of their labors here and now; they fear
divine justice may be seeing some hidden wound in them and be
piling them up with outward rewards while pushing them away from
the inner ones.  But when they think to themselves that they do
their good deeds only to please the Lord alone and that they do
not rejoice in the abundance of their prosperity, they are less
inclined to fear secret judgments directed against them just
because they are prosperous, but still they find it difficult to
bear success, because it keeps them from concentrating fully on
what lies within.  They can barely tolerate the enticements of
this life because they know that through these things they can be
impeded in achieving what they desire within.  The world's
applause is more troubling than its contempt and the height of
prosperity poses a greater challenge than the depths of need. 
Often when the outer man is deprived in this way, the inner man
is set free to seek what is within; but prosperity can keep the
soul from achieving its desires by forcing it to attend to many
things and people.

So it happens that holy men are more afraid of the world's
prosperity than its adversity.  They know that while the mind is
taken up with pleasant business, it is gladly diverted sometimes
by attention to externals.  They know that our secret thoughts
often deceive us when this happens so that we do not realize how
we have changed.  They consider the eternal goods that they long
for and they know that all the world's passing gifts are as
nothing, however pleasing.  Their mind endures all the prosperity
of this world grudgingly because it is wounded by the love of
heavenly happiness.  The more they see how the sweetness of the
present life treacherously entices them to turn away from eternal
glory, the more they choose to spurn the present instead.  So
when blessed Job had given thought to heavenly peace, he said,
"Great and small are there, and the slave free of the master."
Then he adds,

II.2.  Why is light given to a wretch? (3.20)

Sometimes in scripture prosperity is spoken of as light, and
worldly misfortune as night.  So it is said through the psalmist,
"Like its darkness, so also its light." holy men despise and
trample on the prosperity of this world, so also they trample
down and endure its misfortune with a great loftiness of mind. 
They compel both the prosperity and the misfortune of the world
to serve them, saying, "Like its darkness, so also its light," as
if to say clearly, 'Just as the sadness of the world does not
disturb the strength of our purpose, so also its pleasantness
does not corrupt our strength.'  But because this prosperity, as
we said before, troubles the mind of the holy man even when it
does not corrupt it, for he sees himself as a wretch suffering in
exile, so he refuses to be distinguished by its prosperity.  So
now it is fittingly said, "Why is light given to a wretch?"  
Light is given to wretches when those who look upon lofty things
see that they are wretched as long as they are here on pilgrimage
and begin to accept the light of the good fortune that passes
away.  And though they weep bitterly for having to stay so long
away from home, still they are compelled to bear the burdens of
honor here.  Love of eternal things wears them down and worldly
glory smiles upon them.  When they see what they are surrounded
with here below and what sort of things on high they cannot see;
and when they consider the strength that is offered them here and
what they have lost of their heavenly gifts, they are bitterly
grieved at their prosperity here.  For even if they see that this
prosperity cannot overcome them entirely, they must still think
carefully how to apportion their thoughts between their love of
the Lord and their responsibilities here.  So when he says, "Why
is light given to a wretch," he then wisely adds, 

III.3.  And life to those filled with bitterness of soul? (3.20)

All the elect are filled with bitterness of soul, because they
either continually punish themselves with weeping for their sons
or they torment themselves with grief at the thought that they
are cast down here far from the presence of their creator and
still do not have the joys of the eternal home.  Of their hearts
it is well said through Solomon, "The heart that knows bitterness
of soul:  no stranger shall share in its joy." The hearts of the
wicked are filled with bitterness as well because they are
afflicted by their own evil desires, but they do not share the
same bitterness because they have been blinded by their own free
choice and cannot accurately judge their own endurance.  On the
other hand the heart of the just man knows its own bitterness
because it understands how troublesome is its exile here, where
it lies wounded and cast out.  It knows the tranquility it has
lost and the confusion into which it has fallen.  But sometimes
this embittered heart is restored to its proper joy and then the
stranger cannot share in that joy, for the one who is always
trying to lead the heart away from its suffering into the
pleasures of the world's desires is shut out then from the inner
festival of the heart.  

4.  Those who are filled with bitterness of soul desire to die to
the world completely.  Just as they seek nothing in this world,
so they want to be held to this world by no obligation.  It often
happens that a man in his heart no longer clings to the world,
but still he is himself tied to the world's business.  Now he
then has died to the world but the world is not yet dead to him. 
The world, still very much alive, looks upon him and tries to
snatch him up in its own affairs while he is intent elsewhere. 

So Paul, when he had learned to despise this world completely and
saw that he had become the kind of man whom this world can no
longer covet for its own, breaking free of the chains that had
bound him to this life, says,"The world is crucified to me and I
to the world."   The world had been crucified to him because it
was dead for him and he loved it no longer in his heart.  He had
crucified himself to the world because he took care to show
himself to the world as one already dead to it and thus incapable
of being coveted by it.  For if a living man and a dead one are
in the same place, even if the dead man does not see the living
one, the living one sees the dead one; but if both are dead,
neither sees the other.  So if a man does not love the world, but
is still, even unwillingly, loved by the world, even if he is
like a dead man who does not see the world, he can nevertheless
be seen himself by a world not yet dead.  But if he does not
cleave to the world with love, and he is not held by the world's
own love, then both are dead to each other.  When neither desires
the other, they are unaware of each other like two dead men. 
Because Paul was sought not the glory of the world, nor was he
sought by the world with its glory, he could rejoice that he was
crucified to the world, and the world to him.

Because many seek this exalted form of extinction but do not yet
rise to it, rightly do they groan and say, "Why is light given to
a wretch and life to those filled with bitterness of soul?"  Life
is given to the embittered when the glory of this world is handed
on to those who are sad and groaning over it.  In this life they
torment themselves with powerful fear, because even if they no
longer hold to the world, they still fear that they may be the
sort to whom the world itself clings.  If they did not live for
the world at least in some small way, the world would undoubtedly
have no use or love for them.  The sea keeps living bodies for
itself; when they are dead, it casts them out immediately.  

IV.5.  Who look for death (and it does not come). (3.21)

They desire to mortify themselves and cut themselves off from the
whole life of temporal glory; but by the hidden judgments of God
they are often compelled to take the lead in governance or be
covered with honors imposed on them from without.  In the midst
of this they hope unceasingly for the fulness of mortification. 
But the death they look for does not come because their
usefulness to the world of temporal glory continues, though they
do not will it, and they bear with it out of fear of the Lord. 
Inside they keep alive the longings of piety, but outwardly they
perform the duties of their station, so they may not be found
wanting in interior perfection nor proudly resist the governance
of the creator.  For it is brought about by a wondrous divine
pity that he who longs with perfect heart for contemplation can
be kept busied in service of his fellow man.  In this way his
mind in its perfection can be of use to many weaker brethren; and
at the same time as he sees his own imperfection revealed in this
way he may strive for perfect humility all the more.  

Sometimes, however, holy men bring back greater rewards than
before when they endure the thwarting of their desires and thus
succeed in converting others.  For when they are not allowed to
attend exclusively to their desires, they may still be able to
bring with them others with whom they have mingled.  So it
happens by a wondrous arrangement of divine pity that just when
they think themselves ruined, they are all the more abundantly
successful in building the heavenly home.

6.  But sometimes they do not succeed in attaining their desires
just so that after a delay they are left to open their minds to
those desires all the more, and the desire that might have been
narrowed if it had been satisfied too soon is put off
providentially to grow the more.  They seek mortification to see
more perfectly, if they can, the face of their creator, but their
desire is put off to their advantage, and in that delay the
desire is nurtured and fostered to grow.  So the bride cries out,
sighing with desire for the bridegroom, "On my bed by night I
have longed for the one my soul loves; I have looked for him and
not found him."  The bridegroom hides himself when he is sought
and, not found, he is sought the more ardently; and the bride is
put off in her search so she may be rendered more receptive by
the delay and may in the end find more abundantly what she was
looking for.  So blessed Job says, "Who look for death (and it
does not come)," and then, to describe this desire of those who
have this longing more carefully, he says,

V.7.  As if digging for treasure. (3.21)

All those who go digging for treasure grow more enthusiastic for
their work  when they have to dig more deeply. The closer they
think they come to the hidden treasure, the more they exert
themselves in the digging.  Those who seek their own complete
mortification are like those who go digging for treasure:  the
closer they come to their goal, the more eager they become for
the work.  They do not grow weary in the work, but get more into
the habit of it.  The closer they think they get to the reward,
the more they enjoy the exertion.  So Paul said to some who
sought the hidden treasure of the eternal home, "Not abandoning
our gathering, as is the custom with some, but consoling each
other the more, insofar as you see the coming day." To console
the laborer is to go on working, because to see someone else
working is a consolation for the one already working.  So also
when a companion is given on a journey, the road is not taken
away, but still the burden of the journey is eased by the
companionship.  So when Paul wanted them to console one another
in their labors, he added, "The more, insofar as you see the
coming day"--as if to say, 'The task increases as we draw near to
the rewards of the task,' or as if to say, 'Do you look for a
treasure?  You should dig more enthusiastically, the closer you
come to the gold you seek.'

8.  But this passage, "They look for death (and it does not
come), as if digging for treasure," can be taken another way. 
Because we can die to the world perfectly only if we hide from
the visible world among the invisible things of the mind, those
who seek out mortification are rightly compared to those who dig
for treasure.  For we die to the world through invisible wisdom,
of which it is said through Solomon, "If you should seek it like
money and unearth it like a treasure.  Wisdom does not lie on
the surface of things but hides in invisible things.  We achieve
wisdom in our mortification if we abandon the visible and hide
among the invisible.  If we go digging for unseen things in the
heart, we eject every earthly thought that comes upon the mind,
casting it aside with the hand of a holy discernment, recognizing
the treasure of virtue that hides within.  For it is easy to find
a treasure in ourselves if we banish the mountain of earthly
thoughts that press down upon us to no good end.  But because he
speaks of longed-for death like a treasure, he rightly adds:

VI.9.  And rejoicing much when they find the grave. (3.22)  

Just as the grave is the place where a corpse is hidden away, so
divine contemplation is a kind of grave for the mind, where the
soul is hidden.  We are still alive to this world when we go
abroad in it in our thoughts, but we die and hide ourselves in
the grave when we mortify ourselves outwardly and take refuge in
the hiding place of interior contemplation.  Holy men constantly
mortify themselves with the sword of the sacred word, cutting
themselves off from insistent worldly desires, from clamorous
useless cares, from noisy roaring confusions.  They thus conceal
themselves inwardly, in the recesses of the mind, before the face
of God.  So it is rightly said through the psalmist, "You shall
conceal them in the hidden place of your countenance, away from
the harassments of men."  Though this achieves fulness only
later on, even now it is accomplished for the most part, when
delight carries them away from the confusion of earthly desires
to inner ones.  Then when their mind is totally intent on the
love of God they will be wounded by no pointless interruption. 
This is why Paul saw his disciples as dead through contemplation
and virtually hidden in the grave, when he said to them, "For you
are dead and your life is hidden away with Christ in God."  And
so the man who longs to die rejoices when he finds the grave,
because if he seeks to mortify himself, he rejoices at finding
the peace of contemplation.  Now dead to the world he can lie
hidden and conceal himself in the folds of love within from all
the disturbances of things outside.

10.  But if we connect finding the grave to what has just been
said about digging for treasure, we must realize that the
ancients covered their dead with riches in burial.  Whoever
sought a treasure then was glad to find a grave, because as we
seek wisdom when we turn over the pages of sacred scripture, when
we study the examples of those who have gone before, we rejoice
as if in finding a grave, because the riches of the mind are
found among the dead.  Because they were perfectly dead to this
world, they found rest in hiding with their riches.  Whoever is
lifted up by the power of contemplation to see the example of
just men is made a rich man in the grave.  Now he shows why he
had the presumption to ask, "Why is light given to a wretch?" as
he says:  

VII.11.  To a man whose path is hidden from him, and God has
surrounded him with darkness. (3.23)

A man's path is hidden from him because even if he looks now to
see how well life is going, he still does not know the goal that
he will reach.  Even if he longs for heaven, even if he seeks it
with all his desires, he still does not know whether he will
persevere in those desires.  Abandoning sin, we reach for
justice; we know whence we have come; but we do not where we are
going.  We know what we were yesterday, but what will befall us
tomorrow, we know not.  A man's path is hidden from him,
therefore, because as he sets foot on his path he still cannot
foresee where he will wind up.

12.  There is another way in which our path is hidden.  Sometimes
we do not know whether the things we believe we are doing well
will find favor in the judgment of the strict judge.  For often,
as we said some time ago, our works are a cause of damnation even
as we think them advances on the path of virtue.  Often what we
believe will placate the judge only stirs him from peace to rage,
as Solomon attests:  "There is a path that seems right to men;
but the end of that path leads to death.  So holy men, when
they vanquish evil, are fearful even for their own good deeds,
lest while they seek to do good they might be led astray by their
own image of what they have done, lest some foul plague of decay
might lurk beneath the appearance of a fair color.  For they know
that they are weighed down yet with corruption and cannot make
fine distinctions of goodness.  When they bring to mind the
standards of the last judgment, they fear sometimes for those
things in themselves which they had thought well of.  They long
for inner things with the whole mind, but still fear for the
uncertain value of their deeds and do not know where they are
heading.  So it is well said first, "Why is light given to a
wretch?" and added "To a man whose path is hidden from him." 
This is as if to say, 'Why does the man who does not know how the
judge will evaluate the path of his life receive the successes of
this life?"  And it then adds fittingly, "And God has surrounded
him with darkness."  For man is surrounded by darkness because,
though he burn with desire for heaven, he is ignorant of his own
inner disposition.  He fears greatly that something may count
against him at the judgment, something that now lies hidden in
the fervor of his desire for the good.  Man is surrounded with
darkness because he is pressed down by the fog of his own
ignorance.  Or is he not surrounded by darkness if he often
forgets the past, barely knows the present, and has not yet found
the future?  A wise man saw himself surrounded by darkness when
he said, "What we can see, we discover with difficulty; and who
shall find out what is in heaven?"  The prophet also saw
himself surrounded by darkness when he was unable to penetrate
the inmost reaches of inward governance, saying, "He has made
darkness his hiding place." For our creator, because he has
taken the light of seeing him away from us, cast down in this
exile, has hidden himself from our eyes as if in a hiding place
of darkness.

13.  When we examine the darkness of our blindness carefully, we
inspire our mind to lament.  It weeps for the blindness it
endures outwardly if it remembers that it is deprived of light
within. When it sees the darkness with which it is surrounded, it
pains itself with an ardent desire for the splendor within and
flails itself with all its strength and concentration.  Though
cast down, it seeks the heavenly light it had deserted at the
time of its creation.  So it often happens that in pious weeping
the clarity of inner joy bursts upon us.  The mind that had long
lain in blind listlessness draws strength from its sighs and
rises to see the brilliant light within.

VIII.14.  Before I eat, I sigh. (3.24)

When the soul eats, it feeds on its contemplation of the heavenly
light.  It sighs before it eats because it is first affected by
the groans of tribulation, and then is filled with the
nourishment of contemplation after.  Unless it sighs, it does not
eat.  Whoever in this exile does not humble himself with his
laments for celestial desire does not taste the joys of the home
within.  Those who rejoice in the poverty of this place of
pilgrimage are fasting from the food of truth.  But the one who
eats is sighing, because whoever is touched by the love of truth
is nourished by the food of contemplation.  The prophet sighed
and ate when he said, "My tears were bread to me." The soul
feeds on its own sorrow, when it is lifted up weeping to heavenly
joys, and bears with the groans of sorrow within.  But it
receives a nourishing food as the power of love sheds its tears. 
So blessed Job attends to the power of these tears, adding,

IX.15.  And like rushing waters, so are my cries. (3.24)  

When water rushes in, it comes with a burst and swells with
volume on all sides.  But when the elect summon divine judgment
in their imagination, when they fear the hidden sentence that can
be passed on them, when they are sure they can go to God but
still fear they may not reach him, when they remember past deeds
for which they weep, when they fear for things that may yet come
which they know not--in all these things they gather streams of
water to themselves, streams that go pouring out in groans of
sorrow as on the shore of the sea.  So the holy man sees the vast
heap of thoughts piled up in the tears of repentance, and he
calls those waves of sorrow rushing waters, saying, "And like
rushing waters, so are my cries."  

But sometimes the just, as we said a little earlier, are fearful
even in the midst of their good works, spending time at constant
weeping at the thought that they might yet be displeasing in some
hidden way.  When the whips of divine correction strike them
suddenly, they fear they have offended their creator's kindness,
they fear they have failed to perform the works of compassion for
their neighbor out of weakness and impediment or out of
bitterness and distraction.  The heart turns to lamentation
because the body is slow in offering its devoted service.  When
they see their reward does not grow, they fear their past deeds
have been displeasing.  So blessed Job, when he compares his
tears to rushing waters, then adds,

X.16.  Because the fear that I feared has come to pass for me,
and what I dreaded has occurred. (3.25)

Just men weep and fear and torment themselves with great laments,
because they fear abandonment.  Though they rejoice at the
punitive correction they receive, that correction still disturbs
their worried mind, lest the evil they suffer turn out to be, not
the compassionate blow of discipline, but the just punishment of
revenge.  Thinking of this, the psalmist says, "Who knows the
power of your wrath?"  The power of divine wrath cannot be
grasped by our mind, for the obscure workings of its providence
often enfold us just when we think we have been left behind.  And
just when we think we are receiving its goodness, then it
abandons us.  Thus very often what is thought to be wrath turns
out to be grace, and what is thought to be grace turns out to be
wrath.  Some are corrected by God's punishment, but some are led
to the madness of resistance.  Some people are soothed and
rescued from madness by having things go well, while others are
so elated by prosperity that they are torn loose from all hope of
conversion.  Vice drags all men down to the bottom, but some are
restored more readily for shame at having fallen so far.  Virtue
always lifts us to the heavens, but sometimes men find virtue a
source of pride, and the ladder of ascent becomes the cause of
their fall.  Because the power of divine wrath is altogether
mysterious, it is necessary in all things that we be fearful
without ceasing.

 XI.17.  Have I not dissembled?  Have I not been silent?  Have I
not kept still?  And displeasure has overcome me. (3.26) 

Though we sin in thought, word and deed wherever we are placed,
the mind is carried along even more heedlessly when it is buoyed
up by the prosperity of this world.  When it sees it has outrun
the rest of the world by its power, in pride it begins to think
highly of itself.   When no man resists the authority of its
voice, the tongue is set free without restraint on dangerous
ground; and when it can do whatever it pleases, it reasonably
begins to think that whatever it pleases is right.  But when holy
men are supported by this world's power, they subject the mind to
still greater discipline, because they know they can be persuaded
more easily to do what is illicit through the impatience that
comes with power.  They keep the heart from thoughts of its own
glory, the tongue from immoderate speech, and their deeds from
restless errancy.

Often, thus, those who hold power lose the credit for their good
deeds by thinking of them proudly.  When they think they are of
use and benefit to all, they condemn all the merit they have
earned by their usefulness.  As each man's deeds grow more
worthy, his deeds still seem unworthy in his own eyes, lest good
deeds should so raise up the heart of the doer that then they
cast him down the further in pride and do more damage than he has
done good for those whom he aided.  This is why the king of
Babylon was turned into an irrational animal when he turned
things over in the pride of his mind, saying, "Is this not
Babylon, which I have built?"  He lost what he had accomplished
because he refused to dissemble what he had done with all
humility.  Because he lifted himself above other men in the pride
of his thought, he lost even the human senses that he had had in
common with other men.

And often those who are in power burst out with insults for their
subjects on all sides, and lose through the insolence of the
tongue the fruits of their regime's vigilant service; they weigh
their words with less fear for the judge, because whoever says to
his brother without cause, "fool," is assigning himself to the
fires of gehenna.

Often again, those who are in power do not know how to restrain
themselves in what is right and so slip soon into wrongful
restless deeds.  For the only one who does not fall into the
wrong kinds of deeds is the one who has been able sometimes to
restrain himself carefully even from things that are permissible. 
Paul showed that he had restrained himself in this way, saying,
"All things are permitted to me, but not all things are
useful."  And to show what freedom he won by this restraint, he
added, "All things are permitted to me, but I am put under no
man's power."  For when the mind pursues the desires it has
conceived, it is compelled to be a slave to the things whose love
has conquered it.  But Paul, to whom all was permitted, put
himself under no

man's power because he restrained himself sometimes even from
what was right, rising above the things that would have dragged
him down if he had taken pleasure in them and not despised them.

18.  So blessed Job lets us know what he was like when he had
power, in order to instruct us, when he says, "Have I not
dissembled?"  For when we have power, we must think of its
usefulness and deprecate it nevertheless on account of the pride
that can result.  The one who uses power will know that he can do
what will be of profit, but at the same time will not know that
he can do those things so as to avoid excessive praise.   Job
indicates what he was like in his speech when he says, "Have I
not been silent?"  As for what he was like when faced with
illicit works, he adds:  "Have I not kept still?"  Keeping silent
and keeping still can be examined a little further.  Silence
keeps the mind from giving voice to earthly desires, for the
heart's tumult has the power of a great noise.

19.  And those who do good with their power keep still when they
put aside the demands of earthly deeds now and again to find time
for the love of God, lest they should be busy with lower things
constantly and let the heart fall away from the highest things
altogether.  They know the mind will never rise to heavenly
things if it is kept busy constantly in the press of cares here
below.  For what will a busy mind win of God when even one free
of cares must struggle to grasp anything?  But it is well said,
through the psalmist, "Wait quietly, and see that I am God." 
For whoever fails to wait for God, by his own choice hides the
light of vision from himself.  So it is said through Moses that
fish which have no fins should not be eaten; for fish which
have fins are in the habit of leaping above water.  Only those
fish, then, pass into the bodies of the elect as food which,
though they serve what is below, still know how to climb toward
heaven with leaps of the mind sometimes, so as not to remain
hidden in the depths of care always where no breath of the
highest love, like a breath of fresh air, can touch them. 
Whoever is busy with temporal affairs arranges external things
well when he takes time to flee to the things within, having no
love for the noise of disturbances without but only finding peace
in the embrace of tranquility within himself.

20.  For wicked minds are constantly mulling over the confusion
of worldly things within themselves, even when they are at
leisure.  In their thoughts they keep alive images of the things
they love and though they are outwardly inactive, within
themselves they still labor under the burden of a repose without
rest.  If the governance of worldly affairs is given to them,
they abandon themselves entirely and pursue these fugitive
worldly goods with all their thoughts, with every step they take. 
But pious minds do not long for these things when they are
absent, and endure them reluctantly when they are present, for
they fear that in caring for what is outside them they will
indeed go out from themselves.  

This is well indicated by the life of the two brothers of whom it
is written, "Esau was made a man skillful in hunting, and a
farmer; but Jacob was a simple man, living in tents."  Or as it
says in another translation, "living at home."  What is meant
by Esau's hunting but the life of those who are given over to
outward pleasure and the pursuits of the flesh?  He is called a
farmer because the lovers of this world cultivate externals the
more they leave the things within uncultivated.  But Jacob is
said to be a simple man living in tents, or at home, because all
those who refuse to be distracted by external cares remain simple
in their thoughts and go on dwelling in their conscience.   To
live at home or in tents is to keep yourself shut up in the
secret places of the mind and not allow yourself to be diminished
by desires for things outside yourself, so that you will not grow
alien from your own thoughts within by panting after many things
beyond yourself.  

So let the man tested and disciplined by prosperity say, "Have I
not dissembled?  Have I not been silent?  Have I not kept still?" 
As we said above, holy men, when passing prosperity smiles upon
them, make light of the world's applause as if they know nothing
of it and with bold step trample in their hearts on the things
that might lift them too high in the world outside.  They keep
still because they give voice to none of the noises of wicked
action.  (For all iniquity has its voice in the secret judgments
of God.  So it is written, "The clamor of the Sodomites and
Gomorrhans is multiplied.")  They are at rest not only because
they are undisturbed by any troubling desire and earthly lust,
but because they even refuse to be troubled immoderately by the
necessary cares of this life.

21.  But when they do this, they still feel the father's whips,
meant to make them all the more perfect and worthy of their
inheritance, insofar as his daily discipline purges them
compassionately of even the least faults.  They do what is just
unceasingly but still suffer harsh things constantly, because
often when our justice is led before the bench of divine justice
it is in the eyes of the judge found to be unjust and stained,
though the one who had accomplished it thought it bright and
shining.  So Paul, when he said, "I am conscious of no guilt,"
immediately added, "But not by this am I justified." )  They
are at rest not only because they are undisturbed by any
troubling desire and earthly lust, but because they even refuse
to be troubled immoderately by the necessary cares of this life.

21.  But when they do this, they still feel the father's whips,
meant to make them all the more perfect and worthy of their
inheritance, insofar as his daily discipline purges them
compassionately of even the least faults.  They do what is just
unceasingly but still suffer harsh things constantly, because
often when our justice is led before the bench of divine justice
it is in the eyes of the judge found to be unjust and stained,
though the one who had accomplished it thought it bright and
shining.  So Paul, when he said, "I am conscious of no guilt,"
immediately added, "But not by this am I justified."24 Soon he
indicated why he was justified:  "But the one who judges me is
the Lord.  As if to say:  'I deny that I am justified for
having a clean conscience precisely because I know that I will be
scrutinized more carefully by the one who judges me.'  So the
things which others praise are to be dissembled, the things which
clamor within are to be kept in check, and even the business of
the world that seems necessary is to be resisted.  And still in
all these things we must fear the whips of the strict judge
because even our perfection is not without fault, unless the
stern judge should weigh it mercifully on the delicate balance of
his scrutiny. 

22. And it is well added, "And displeasure has overcome me."  
With the skill of a great teacher, when he was about to mention
his punishments, he first mentioned his good deeds, so that
everyone might realize what kind of punishments wait for sinners
if even the just are chastised here with such forceful blows.  So
it is that Peter says, "It is time for justice to begin with the
house of God.  . . . And if the just man shall scarcely be saved,
where shall the impious and the sinner appear?"  So Paul, when
he had said much in praise of the Thessalonians, added then,
"Just so we take pride in you in the churches of God for your
long-suffering faith, for all your persecutions and tribulations,
which you endure to give example of the just judgment of God." 
As if to say:  'While you do such good deeds and yet bear such
harsh treatment, what else are you doing but giving examples of
the just judgment of God?  For we are to understand by your
suffering how God smites those with whom he is angry if he allows
you, in whom he rejoices, to suffer so.  How indeed will he smite
those to whom he owes just judgment, if he so torments those of
you whom he cherishes with compassionate accusation?'

23.  So with blessed Job's first speech ended, his friends (who
had come out of pity to console him) apply themselves to chiding
him.  As they break out with contentious words, they forget the
compassionate purpose for which they had come.  They do this not
out of bad intentions, but though they have sympathy for the
victim, they believe that he could not have become a victim
except as punishment for his own iniquity.  So when their good
intentions are followed by incautious speech, the pity they had
intended is turned into sinful excess.  They should have thought
who it was they were addressing and what the circumstances were. 
For he was a just man, the Job to whom they had come, and at the
same time he was covered by blows from God.  They should have
measured his words against the life he had lived, if they could
not understand them directly.  Seeing his sufferings they should
not have criticized him but feared for themselves.  They should
not have tried to give heart to the just man in his trials with
their rationalizations, but simply joined him with their tears. 
Instead of displaying their own knowledge with their words, they
should have allowed sorrow to teach them how to speak rightly the
language of consolation.  Even if they had thought otherwise,
they should have spoken humbly rather than add new wounds to the
victim with their indiscreet words.  

24.  For often the misunderstood words and deeds of better men
are unpleasant to lesser men.  But because they cannot truly be
understood is all the more reason why they should not be rashly
criticized.  Often better men do something prudently which is
thought a mistake by lesser men.  Often the strong say things
which the weak criticize because they do not understand.  A good
example of this is the occasion when the ark of the covenant
tilted when the oxen drew back.  The Levite who thought it would
fall and wanted to straighten it up quickly suffered the
punishment of death.   What now is the mind of a just man if

not the ark of the covenant?  This ark, pulled along by the
resisting oxen, tilts over, because sometimes even a good ruler,
when he sees his people struggling and confused, out of love for
them changes his policy, making allowances to accommodate them. 
But when strength prudently leans this way, the inexperienced
think it is falling.  So then some of the subjects reach out a
hand of resistance, and lose their life for their rashness.  The
Levite lending a hand reached out but lost his life for his
error, for when the weak rebuke the deeds of the strong, they are
cast out from among the living.  Sometimes holy men say things to
the weak out of condescension, and sometimes they give voice to
lofty thoughts of contemplation; then fools, who cannot
understand the reason either for the condescension or for the
exaltation, brashly criticize them.  What does it mean to want to
dissuade the just man from his condescension, if not that we are
reaching out to support the ark with the haughty hand of rebuke? 
When we blame the just man for saying something we do not
understand, we mistake the action of strength for the fall of an
error.  But the man who arrogantly tried to help God's ark lost
his life, because none of the holy would try to correct what was
right unless he already knew better of himself.  So this Levite
is rightly called Oza because that is translated, "The strong
man."  For the presumptuous always think they are strong men in
the Lord (such is their audacity) and thus think that the words
and deeds of their betters are somehow worse than they really
are.  The friends of Job therefore, when they break out against
him as if to defend God, are breaking the rules of God's commands
in their pride.

25.  But when the deeds of better men are displeasing to worse
men, what disturbs the mind should never be kept in silence but
expressed with great humility.  The compassionate intentions of
the speaker can thus truly follow the pattern of righteousness by
pursuing the path of humility.  What we feel should be said
freely, and what we say should be set out most humbly, lest our
good intentions turn into bad deeds by arrogance of expression. 

Paul, for example, said many things humbly to those who heard
him, but he tried even more humbly to placate them with the
humility of his exhortation, saying, "I ask you brothers, that
you endure word of solace; for I have written for a very few of
you."  Saying farewell to the Ephesians at Miletus, when they
were groaning and afflicted, he called his own humility to mind,
saying, "Keep watch, remembering that for three years I have not
left off weeping night and day, admonishing each one of you." 
To the same Ephesians he said again in a letter, "I beseech you,
brothers, I who am bound in the Lord, that you proceed in a way
worthy of the call by which you have been called."  From this
the disciple should learn the humility with which he should speak
to the teacher, even when he has something just to say, if the
teacher of the nations should so submissively speak to his
disciples on matters in which he could preach with authority.  We
should all learn from this how humbly to say what we well
understand to those from whom we have received our examples of
living well, if Paul humbled himself with his words to those whom
he had himself called to life.

26.  But Eliphaz, the first of the friends to speak, though he
had come to console out of pity, abandons humble speech and
forgets the rules of consolation.  Forgetting to watch his words,
he bursts out with insults for the victim, saying, "The tiger
perished because he had no prey; the roar of the lion and the
voice of the lioness, and the teeth of the lion cubs are ground
down."  Calling blessed Job with the name of tiger he is
accusing him of the vice of inconsistency; by the roar of the
lion, he hints at his own fear of the man; by the voice of the
lioness, he suggests the chattering of his wife; by the
ground-down teeth of the cubs, he means the now-destroyed
gluttony of the children.  So it is fitting that the divine
judgment reprimanded the friends for offering such proud
criticism, saying, "You have not spoken rightly before me, as did
my servant Job."

27.  But we must ask why Paul used the opinions of the friends as
if they were authoritative, if their opinions are rendered void
by the Lord's criticism.  For they were words of Eliphaz which he
offered to the Corinthians, saying, "I shall trap the wise with
their own cleverness."  How can we spit out these words as
wicked things, if Paul uses their authority to his own ends?  Or
how shall we think that these words, which are defined as not
right by the Lord himself, are right on Paul's authority?  But we
can quickly understand how these positions are not in fact
different, if we consider the words of the Lord's judgment
precisely.  For when he said,"You have not spoken rightly before
me," he added immediately, "as did my servant Job."  It is clear
therefore that some things in their words are right but are
bested in comparison with what is better.  Among the things which
they say irrationally, they offer many bold opinions to blessed
Job, but when compared with bolder words their opinions lose all
their strength.  Many of the things they say would be remarkable,
if they were not said in opposition to a holy man.  In
themselves, therefore, they are great things, but because they
were meant to attack the virtue of a just man, they lose their
greatness.  Thus though the dart is strongly hurled, it is hurled
in vain and strikes solid rock, and then bounces off, blunted,
the more for having been so strongly thrown.  So the words of the
friends, though in themselves they are strong, when they strike
the strong life of the holy man, lose all the point from their
tips.  Because they are great in and of themselves but should not
have been used against Job, Paul could use them on the one hand
authoritatively, weighing their strength, while the judge still
reproved them as incautious by considering the person involved. 

28.  But because we said before that the friends of blessed Job
take the part of the heretics, now we must study to see how their
words resemble those of the heretics.  Some of their thoughts are
righteous, but then in the midst of those they slide into
thoughts that are perverse.  Heretics have this characteristic:
they mix good with evil, the more readily to deceive their
hearers.  If they always spoke evil, they would quickly be
recognized for the evil they willed and would never make their
ideas persuasive.  But if they always thought rightly, they would
clearly not be heretics.  So while they use both kinds of
thoughts in their crafty deceptions, they infect the good with
evil, and hide their evil under good to make it palatable.  In
just this way, the poisoner touches the rim of the cup with the
sweetness of honey, and at first taste the sweetness of the honey
is enjoyed, even while that which brings death is unhesitatingly
swallowed.  So heretics mix right with wrong to draw listeners by
a show of good; revealing then their evil, they corrupt them with
the hidden plague.  But sometimes, corrected by the preaching and
exhortation of holy church, they are saved from their errant
ideas.  

So the friends of Job eventually offer the sacrifice of their
reconciliation by the hands of the holy man himself, and are
called back under summons to the grace of the judge above.  They
are well represented in the gospel by the cure of the ten
lepers.  In a leper, part of the skin is made shiny while the
rest keeps its healthy color.  Lepers stand for heretics because
while they mix right with wrong, they scatter stains on their
healthy complexion.  Well they cry out to be saved, "Jesus,
teacher!"   By their words they show they have erred, they call
him humbly the teacher of salvation.  And since they come to
recognize their teacher, soon they recover the appearance of
health.  But because we went on for a time in our preface about
the speeches of the friends, we can now turn to weighing their
words precisely.

XII.29.  In answer, Eliphaz the Themanite said, 'If we begin to
speak with you, perhaps you will take it badly.'  (4.1)  

We have already said what the translations of these names mean.
Because we are in a hurry to reach material not yet discussed, we
will not repeat what is already set out.  Therefore we should
carefully note that those who have the appearance of heretics
begin gently, saying, "if we begin to speak with you, perhaps you
will take it badly."  For heretics are afraid to provoke their
audience at the outset, for fear of being listened to carefully. 
They keep from affronting their hearers, to seize and take
advantage of their negligence.  What they say is almost always
mild, but what follows then is harsh.  So now the friends of Job
begin with reverent and gentle speech, but soon shoot out shafts
of bitter invective.  Similarly, the roots of thorns are soft but
still from that softness they bring forth things that pierce. 

XIII.30.  But who can restrain words once they are conceived? 
(4.1)  

There are three kinds of men, different from one another by
degrees according to their qualities.   There are some who
imagine wicked things to say and whom no heavy silence can keep
from speech.  And there are those who think of wickedness but
restrain themselves with forceful silence.  And there are some
who are strengthened by the habit of virtue and have reached that
height on which they never even think in their hearts of wicked
things to repress and keep silent about.  We see what category
Eliphaz belongs to, because he cannot keep the speech he has
conceived to himself.  In this way he indicates that he knows he
is going to give offense by his speech.   

And he would not have wished to restrain the words he cannot
check, if he did not know the wounds they would inflict.  Good
men rein in the heedless word with the bridle of counsel and they
take great care against letting loose the tongue's wantonness and
wounding the hearers' conscience with careless speech.  So it is
well said through Solomon, "Who looses the water is the source of
strife."  For water is loosed when the flow of the tongue is
unchecked; the one who looses the water is made the source of
strife, because the origin of discord is supplied by carelessness
of speech.  Wicked men are light of thought and headlong in
speech, never thinking to keep silent and think over what they
say.  But what such a flighty conscience imagines, the flightier
tongue publishes immediately.  So now Eliphaz knows from his own
experience what he predicates hopelessly of all men, saying, "But
who can restrain words once they are conceived?"

XIV.31.  Lo, you have taught many people, and strengthened weary
hands.  Your words have fortified the indecisive, and you have
comforted trembling knees. (4.3-4)

If the historical text is studied, the reader takes great profit
from seeing that the quarreling friends, accusing Job with
wounding charges of vice, also bring forth testimony to his
virtues.  There is never so strong a witness for a life as the
praise of one who means to accuse.  Let us consider then the
heights achieved by this man, teaching the ignorant,
strengthening the weary, fortifying the indecisive amid all the
cares of his household, with all his wealth to look after, with
his children to care for, with all the demands on his energy,
still giving himself to the instruction of others.  Busy with all
these things, he still freely served in the office of teacher: he
governed temporal affairs and preached eternity; he showed
righteousness of life by his deeds and urged it by his words. 
But heretics, or any wicked men, when they mention the virtues of
the just, try to turn them into material for accusations.  So
Eliphaz takes this opportunity to attack blessed Job for the
things he has been praising.  

XV.32.  But now a blow has befallen you and you have failed; it
has touched you and you are in turmoil. (4.5)

Wicked men attack the life of the good in two ways, claiming
either that they have spoken wrongly or that they have failed to
live up to what they have said.  So blessed Job later will be
accused by his friends for what he says; but here he is charged
with not having kept to his word when his word was right. 
Sometimes the words of the just, and sometimes their deeds, are
attacked by the reprobate, to make them either fall silent in the
face of abuse or succumb to a life of blameworthiness, convicted
by the testimony of their own words.  And note that first they
praise his speech and only later complain about the weakness of
his life.  Wicked men, fearing they may be publicly seen to be
bad, speak well of the just sometimes, when they know that what
they say is already known to others.  But as we have said, they
use this to increase the burden of their accusations and expect
their criticism to be believed because they have also spoken in
praise.  By seeming to praise goodness devotedly, they succeed
all the more in presenting charges of evil as if true.  They use
the language of praise in the service of defamation, wounding the
righteous just where a little earlier they had been superficially
offering praise.  

But often they first despise the goodness of the just, then make
believe that it has vanished and complain of the loss.  So
Eliphaz counts up the virtues of the holy man which he claims
have been lost, then adds:  

XVI.33.  Your fear, your strength, your patience, and the
perfection of your ways. (4.6)

He adds this all to his earlier statement, "But now a blow has
befallen you and you have failed; it has touched you and you are
in turmoil."   He claims that all Job's virtues have vanished at
once, blaming Job himself that he lies there hounded by the lash. 
But note carefully that though his charges are inappropriate, he
still catalogues the virtues in a fitting order.  He
distinguishes four stages of the virtues of Job's life,
connnecting strength to fear, patience to strength, and
perfection to patience.   We begin on God's way with fear and end
with strength.  Just as in the world's way, audacity produces
strength, so on God's way audacity produces feebleness; and just
as in the world's way, fear produces feebleness, so on God's way
fear begets strength, as Solomon attests, saying, "In fear of the
Lord is the confidence of strength."  The confidence of
strength is present in fear of the Lord because our mind despises
more vehemently all the fears that arise from temporal things
just to the extent that it has truly submitted in fear to the
creator of all temporal things.  When our mind solidly grounded
in fear of the Lord, it finds nothing more to fear, for when it
is joined in legitimate fear to the creator of all, it is lifted
by his power above all things.  

But strength is only shown in adversity, so soon patience is
called for in the wake of strength.  We can show that we have
truly attained strength if we bear evil vigorously, for the man
whom iniquity from outside could lay low must not have been so
strong himself.  Whoever cannot bear opposition, lies wounded by
the sword of his own faint-heartedness.  But because patience
begets perfection, perfection of his ways is mentioned
immediately after patience.  The man who is truly perfect is the
one who is not impatient in the face of the imperfection of his
neighbor.  Whoever abandons his neighbor, unable to bear his
imperfection, is his own witness that he has not yet achieved
full perfection.  So in the gospel Truth says, "By your patience
you shall win possession of your souls."  How do we possess our
souls except by living perfectly in all things, controlling all
the motions of the mind from the citadel of virtue?  Thus whoever
preserves his patience, possesses his soul, for he is made strong
against all adversity to the extent that he has controlled
himself.  By besting himself so laudably, he renders himself
unbeatably strong.  When he overcomes himself in his pleasures,
he prepares himself to face adversity unbeaten.  But to this
invective, Eliphaz now adds some exhortation:

XVII.34.  I beseech you to recall what innocent man ever
perished, or when the righteous were ever destroyed.  (4.7)  

Whether heretics (whom we have said the friends of Job stand for)
or any wicked men make unrestrained rebukes, their exhortations
are just as reprehensible.   He says, "What innocent man ever
perished, or when were the righteous ever destroyed?"  But often
here the innocent perish and the righteous are wiped out
completely; but as they perish, they are preserved to share in
eternal glory.  For if no innocent man ever perished, the prophet
would not have said, "The just man perished and there is no one
who thinks twice about it."  If God in his providence did not
snatch away the righteous, Wisdom would never have said of the
just man, "He is snatched away lest malice should taint his
understanding."  If no punishment ever struck the just, Peter
would not have proclaimed, "It is time for judgment to begin with
the house of God." It is the truly righteous who, out of love
for the home above, are ready to face all the adversities of this
life.  Whoever fears to suffer adversity here for the sake of the
good that is eternal is not really righteous.  

But Eliphaz does not think that the righteous are destroyed or
that the innocent perish here, because often those who serve God
not out of hope of celestial glory but to win an earthly reward,
create for themselves the thing they seek.  And when they make
bold to teach and preach a purely earthly kind of contentment,
they show by all their deeds what they love.

XVIII.35.  But instead I have seen those who work iniquity and
sow sorrows, and reap them, perish at a breath from God,
swallowed up by the spirit of his anger. (4.8-9)

We sow sorrows with fraudulent speech; we reap them when our
words prevail.  Certainly those who do wickedness are sowing
sorrows, and they reap their sorrows when they are punished for
that wickedness; for the fruit of sorrow is the punishment of 
damnation.  But when it is immediately added that those who sow
and reap sorrows perish at a breath from God and are swallowed up
by the spirit of his wrath, we see that in this place the reaping
of sorrow is not taken as the punishment but as the complete
achievement of wickedness, for the penalty of that harvest is
brought down by the spirit of divine wrath.  So they sow their
sorrows and they reap them here, because what they do is wrong,
and they prosper in their wrongfulness.  But it is said of the
wicked man through the psalmist, "His ways are tainted for all
time; let your judgments be taken away from his face, let him
lord it over all his enemies"--of whom it is said a little
later, "Labor and sorrow beneath his tongue."  Thus he sows
sorrows when he does wrong, and he reaps them when he prospers in
this world from his perversity.  

So how do those who are allowed to continue here for a longer
time, and more happily, than the just, perish at a breath from
God?   Of them it is said again through the psalmist, "They are
not among the labors of men and they are not punished with
men."  So Jeremiah says, "Wherefore does the way of the impious
prosper?"  Because, as it is written:  "The Lord is patient in
repaying:" often he tolerates for a long time those whom he
damns forever, but sometimes he strikes hastily, when he hurries
to console the weakness of the innocent.  Sometimes therefore
almighty God allows the unjust to prevail for a long time so that
the life of the just may be purged clean, but sometimes he
swiftly slays the unjust to strengthen the hearts of the innocent
at their passing.  For if now he struck down all those who worked
ill, on whom would the last judgment be passed? But if he smote
none of them at all, who would have believed that God cares for
human affairs?  Sometimes, therefore, he strikes the unjust to
show that he does not leave wickedness unavenged, but sometimes
he bears with the wicked for a long time to suggest to those who
think of these things the judgment for which he is reserving
them.

36.  So if this sentence of destruction pronounced upon the
unjust is not spoken generally of all men at the end of the
present age, it is by and large without force and truth; but then
it will be a true sentence, when there is no longer any
postponement left for iniquity.  This is perhaps the more correct
way to understand it, for neither do the innocent perish nor do
the righteous meet destruction:  even if the flesh is worn down
here, in the sight of the eternal judge it is restored to true
health; and those who sow sorrows and reap them perish at a
breath from God because the more perversely they advance in
wickedness here, the more harshly they will be struck with the
damnation to follow.  But since it is prefaced to this statement,
"Recall," it is clear that he is calling to mind some past event,
not prophesying the future.  Eliphaz would speak more truly if he
believed that these things would afflict the unjust generally at
the last punishment.

37.  But it is important that we examine carefully what it means
to speak of God's breath.   When we breathe, we draw air in from
outside and then restore what we have drawn in by exhaling.  God,
then, is said to breathe retribution and revenge because he
conceives the judgment of his counsel within based on causes
drawn from without, and from this inner counsel he sends forth
his judgment to those outside.  Something is drawn in from
outside, as if God were breathing, when he sees our wickedness
outwardly and arranges his judgment inwardly.  And again breath
is sent out from within, as if God were breathing, when he
conceives counsel within and sends forth the judgment of
damnation.  It is well said therefore that whoever sows sorrows
perishes at a breath of God, because to the extent they act
wickedly outwardly, they are rightly smitten within.  

Certainly when God is said to breathe (because mention is
immediately made of the spirit of his wrath) the punishment
itself can be taken as intended by the mention of his breath.  
When we are angry, we are inflamed with the breath of fury; so to
reveal the Lord thinking of punishment, he is said to have
breathed in his wrath.  It is not that he suffers any change or
mutability in his nature but, for all his long patience, when the
sinner finally receives his punishment the God who is tranquil in
himself seems stormy to those who perish. The reprobate mind,
seeing the judge hostile to its acts, thinks that the judge is
upset, while in the sight of the judge it is the mind itself that
is upset by its crime.  But after Eliphaz has given expression to
this mild astonishment, he adds open words of rebuke, saying,

XIX.38.  The roar of the lion and the voice of the lioness, and
the teeth of the lion cubs are ground down. (4.10)

What is the roar of the lion if not, as we suggested a little
earlier, the man's sternness?  What is the voice of the lioness
but the chattering of the wife?  What are the teeth of the cubs
if not the children's ravenous hunger?  For this mention of teeth
indicates that the children died when they were feasting.  The
unyielding Eliphaz rejoices over their grinding down as if
proclaiming that they were justly condemned.  He then doubled the
harshness of his attack by adding,

XX.39.  The tiger perished because he had no prey, and the lion
cubs are scattered.  (4.11)

Who can he be suggesting, with the tiger's name, to be of various
colors, if not blessed Job, whom he accuses of being marked with
the spots of hypocrisy?   Every hypocrite wishes to seem
righteous but cannot show himself clean in all things.  Though
his hypocrisy pretends certain virtues and gives way secretly to
the vices, suddenly some of those hidden vices will break out in
the open and by their irregularity show that the mottled coat of
hypocrisy is just a cover put on to obstruct the vision.  It is
often then a matter of remark that a man who is distinguished for
great virtues should also be stained by many reprobate acts.  But
every hypocrite is a tiger because the pure color that hypocrisy
pretends is varied by black outbreaks of vice.  

Often, for example, a man is praised for the purity of his
chastity, but is stained with the filth of avarice.  Often
someone is seen displaying the virtue of generosity, but is
befouled with spots of lust.  Often a man is dressed in a fine
show of chastity and generosity but is darkened over with
atrocious cruelty masquerading as zealous justice.  Often
generosity, chastity and compassion are laid on to make a fair
appearance, but are blotched by a mixture of the darkness of
pride.  And so it happens that the hypocrite does not show a pure
appearance in himself, what with his intermixture of vices, just
as the tiger is unable to show a solid color on his pelt.  The
hypocrite snatches his prey like a tiger, when he claims the
glory of human applause for himself.  He rejoices in this stolen
praise the way a tiger gluts himself on his prey.  (Praise is
fittingly described as the prey of the hypocrites, for prey, or
booty, is the result of taking what is another's.)  But every
hypocrite, by pretending to lead a life of justice, is snatching
for himself the praise of the just, and surely what he takes is
another's.  So Eliphaz, because he knew that blessed Job had done
praiseworthy things in the days when he was yet untouched,
believed that he had only done those things as a hypocrite,
letting them go when trouble struck, so he says, "The tiger
perished because he had no prey."  As if to say:  'The
spottedness of your hypocrisy is wiped out because the adulation
of praise is taken away; and now your hypocrisy does not have its
prey because it was struck by God and no longer enjoys the
applause of men.'

40.  But in the translation of the seventy interpreters it does
not say "the tiger" but "the ant-lion perished because it had no
prey."  The ant-lion is a very small animal, enemy of the ant,
which hides itself under the sand and kills ants carrying bits of
grain, and then eats the ants.  Ant-lion is said in Latin to be
either "lion of ants" or at least, more precisely, "both ant and
lion."  It is rightly said to be both ant and lion, because by
comparison to flying things, or to other small animals, it is an
ant, but to the ants it is a lion.  It devours them like a lion,
but it is devoured by the other animals like an ant.  When
therefore Eliphaz says, "The ant-lion perished," what is he
attacking in blessed Job under this name if not both fear and
boldness?  As if to say openly: 'You have not been struck
unjustly, because you are timid against the strong, but bold
against the weak.'  As if to say openly: 'Against the clever,
fear restrained you, but against the simple, cockiness puffed you
up.  But the ant-lion does not have its prey because your timid
pride is beset by blows and kept from wounding others.'  But
because we said the friends of blessed Job stood for heretics, it
is important for us to say how these words of Eliphaz can be
interpreted allegorically.

XXI.41.  The roar of the lion and the voice of the lioness, and
the teeth of the lion cubs are ground down. (4.10)

Because the nature of any particular thing is made up of diverse
elements, in sacred scripture one thing can legitimately signify
various other things.  The lion has strength, but also savagery: 
by his strength he stands for the Lord, by his savagery the
devil.  So it is said of the Lord, "The lion of the tribe of
Judah has conquered, the root of David." And it is written of
the devil, "Your adversary has circled like a lion roaring,
seeking someone to devour."  The name of the lioness sometimes
indicates the holy church, sometimes Babylon.  For boldness
against adversity, the church is called a lioness, as in blessed
Job's own words when he speaks of Judea abandoned by the church,
then says, "The sons of the peddlers have not trampled it, nor
has the lioness passed through it."  But sometimes the name of
the lioness stands for the city of this world, that is, Babylon,
which rages with immense cruelty against the life of the
innocent, which joins with the ancient enemy as if coupled with a
savage lion, taking the seed of his wicked temptation and bearing
reprobate sons from itself like the devil, as if they were nasty
lion cubs.  But lion cubs are the reprobate people sired to a
wicked life by the sins of evil spirits.  All together they make
up the city of this world we mentioned, this Babylon, and yet
these individual sons of Babylon are not the lioness herself but
her cubs.   Just as the whole church is called Zion and the
individual saints are called sons of Zion, so also the reprobate
individuals are called the sons of Babylon, and Babylon itself
stands for all of them together.  

42.  But holy men, as long as they are in this life, watch over
themselves with care and circumspection, lest the lion on the
prowl should creep up on them, that is, lest the ancient enemy
lurking under some pretense of virtue should kill them.  They
watch that the voice of the lioness not sound in their ears, that
is, that the glory of Babylon not turn their hearts away from
love of the celestial home.  They watch that the teeth of the
cubs not bite them, that is, that they not allow the reprobate to
find a place in their hearts with their enticements.  On the
other hand, the heretics are already confident of their own
holiness, because they think that the merits of their life have
already overcome everything.  So it is now said, "The roar of the
lion and the voice of the lioness, and the teeth of the lion cubs
are ground down."  As if to say openly:  'We are worn down by no
whips because we have trampled the strength of the ancient enemy,
and the lust for earthly glory, and the enticements of all the
reprobate with the triumphant merits of our life.'

XXII.43.  The tiger perished because he had no prey, and the lion
cubs are scattered.  (4.11)

The name of the tiger means the same thing indicated by mention
of the lion, for Satan is called a lion for his cruelty, and for
the variousness of his manifold cleverness he is not inaptly
called a tiger.  Sometimes he presents himself, ruined as he is,
to human senses and sometimes he presents himself as if he were
an angel of light.  Sometimes he tempts the minds of the foolish
with blandishments, sometimes leads them to sin through fear. 
Sometimes he openly tries to woo us to vice, sometimes he covers
his suggestions with an appearance of virtue.  This beast spotted
with such diversity is rightly called a tiger, though called by
the seventy interpreters as we said before, an ant-lion.  That
animal hides in the dust, as we said, to kill ants carrying bits
of grain.  So also the apostate angel, cast down on earth from
heaven, ambushes the minds of the just as they prepare for
themselves nourishment on the path leading to good works.  And
when he defeats them from ambush, he is like an ant-lion
unexpectedly killing ants bearing grain.  But he is rightly
called an ant-lion, that is lion-and-ant:  for he is a lion to
the ants, but to the birds a mere ant, because to those who yield
to him the ancient enemy is strong, but to those who resist him
he is feeble.  If his suggestions find assent, he is as
unstoppable as the lion; but if they are resisted, he is stepped
on like an ant.  To some therefore he is a lion, to others an
ant.  Minds devoted to the flesh can scarcely endure his cruelty,
while spiritual minds step on his weakness with the foot of
virtue.  So heretics, because they take pride in their presumed
holiness, say as if rejoicing, "The ant-lion," or at least, "The
tiger perished, because he had no prey."  As if to say openly: 
'The old adversary does not have prey in us because for our
purposes he already lies beaten.'  So he is mentioned again with
the name of ant-lion or tiger because he had already been said to
be trampled on in the roar of the lion:  for whatever is said out
of joy is often repeated.  The soul doubles its voices when it
rejoices.  So in true joy the psalmist often repeats that he
knows he has been heard, saying, "The Lord has heard the voice of
my weeping; the Lord has heard my prayer; the Lord has accepted
my pleading."

44.  But holy men, when they are happy to have escaped from
certain vices, chasten themselves with a great fear in the midst
of their happiness:  for even if they have been snatched from the
gusts of one storm, they know that they are still adrift on the
fickle waves of an unreliable sea.  They rejoice in hope to
tremble in fear, and tremble in fear to rejoice in the confidence
of hope.  So it is said through the same psalmist, "Serve the
Lord with fear, and rejoice in him with fear." On the other
hand, there are those who are swollen up with the appearance of
holiness; when they overcome some one vice, soon they prop up
their mind with pride and boast as though of the perfection of
their whole life. And because they have been perhaps snatched
from the danger of the storm this one time, they forget that they
are still journeying at sea.  They think they are great in all
things and think that they have overcome the ancient enemy once
and for all.  They think that all others are beneath them because
they think that they have surpassed one and all in their wisdom. 
So our text then reads, 

XXIII.45.  Then a hidden word was spoken to me. (4.12)

Heretics pretend they hear a hidden word, in order to cast a veil
of reverence over their preaching in the minds of their hearers. 
So they preach to make their preaching seem to be as holy as it
is obscure.  They shun ordinary knowledge lest they might seem no
different from others.  They are always looking for new doctrines
which others do not know, so that they can boast of themselves to
less clever minds for their unique knowledge.  They claim their
knowledge is hidden, so that they can claim to have come by it
secretly in order to be able to work wonders.  So in Solomon
there is a woman who stands for the heretics, saying, "Stolen
waters are sweeter and the hidden bread is sweeter."  So this
also is added:

And like a thief my ear gathered in the stream of its whisper.
(4.12)

They gather in the stream of the whisper like a thief, because
they lose the benefits of knowledge shared with others and
approach their doctrines without entering through the door, as
the Lord attests and says, "Whoever does not enter through the
door into the sheepfold, but climbs in from some other direction,
he is a thief and a robber."  The man who wants to learn of the
power of God but who avoids the open door of public preaching and
seeks gaps in the wall for his wicked mind is the one who gathers
in the streams of the divine whisper like a thief.  But because
the thief and robber, who comes in from some other direction both
loves darkness and hates bright light, it is rightly added,

XXIV.46.  In the fright of a night vision when sleep usually
covers men. (4.13)

Often heretics who try to utter loftier doctrines are themselves
the witnesses that they are saying things that are untrue,  for
in a night vision we do not see clearly.  They say that they have
picked up little glimmers of whisper in the fright of a night
vision because they claim that they can scarcely grasp themselves
the things they pass on to others as if lofty and true.  Thus we
should observe how clear and certain these things can be to the
hearers, when they barely see them themselves.   There is a
wonderful pattern to the way they proclaim lofty things and show
themselves foolish in the process, tangled up in the words of
their own supposed exaltation. But what follows shows just how
far they are puffed up with their unique knowledge:  "when sleep
usually covers men."  This is as if it were said openly by the
heretics, 'When men sleep below, we keep watch to grasp what is
from above, because we know those things which other men,
sluggish of heart, fail to reach for and grasp.'  As if to say
openly, 'Where our understanding lifts itself up, the sense of
other men sleeps on.' But sometimes when they see that they are
despised by their audience, they pretend to be afraid themselves
of what they say.  So it follows:

 XXV.47.  Fear held me, and trembling, and all my bones were
terrified.  (4.14)

Because they want their exalted doctrines to make them seem
wonderful to others, they make as if to fear what they have
imagined.  Since it is easier to hear than to speak, they are
eager to bring forth teachings they then pretend they can bearly
stand to hear themselves.  So it is added further,

XXVI.48.  And when the spirit passed by in my presence, the hair
of my flesh stood on end.  Someone stood there whose face I did
not know. (4.15-16)

To show that they have known things that are incomprehensible,
they claim that the spirit did not stand still but passed by
them.  They pretend not to have recognized the face so that they
can claim to be known to him who lies beyond the human power of
comprehension.  

 XXVII.49.  His image before my eyes, and I heard a voice like a
soft breeze. (4.16)

 Often heretics create for themselves an image of the God they
cannot see in the spirit and they testify to having heard his
voice like a soft breeze, because they want to rejoice in knowing
his secrets, as if they were closer to God than others.  They
do not teach the things that God says publicly, but things that
have been breathed into their ears as if secretly.

 We say these things therefore to indicate what must be
understood in the words of Eliphaz under the appearance of
heresy.  But because the friends of blessed Job would not have
been friends of such a man if they had not clearly learned
something of the truth, however much they should be in error
about their abusive criticism of Job, they do not altogether
totter and fall in their knowledge of truth.  So let us repeat
these words from a little before so that we may understand
precisely how the things they have said about how to grasp the
truth can be spoken truthfully by those whose thoughts are right. 
Sometimes, of course, heretics say things that are true and
sublime, not because they have received them from God but because
they have learned them in quarreling with the church.  They take
them not for the improvement of their own conscience but to
display their own knowledge.  So it often happens that they know
how to say high truths but do not know how to live the truth they
speak.  Whether therefore we take them as heretics, who have the
words but not the ways of knowledge, or simply as friends of
blessed Job, who certainly could have experienced something of
the truth which he sought to proclaim, let us go over the things
again we have already rushed through, considering them now more
carefully.  Thus when the words of Eliphaz are more carefully
discussed, it will be shown how great was his knowledge, even
though he did not maintain humility in his knowledge, claiming
for himself particularly a gift that belongs to all.  For he
says,

 XXVIII.50.  Then a hidden word was spoken to me. (4.12)

The hidden word is the invisible son of whom John speaks, "In the
beginning was the Word."  He himself indicates that it was
hidden when he adds, "And the Word was with God and God was the
Word."  But this hidden word is spoken to the minds of the
elect when the power of the only-begotten son is manifested to
those who believe.  But the hidden word can also be taken as the
language of inner inspiration, of which John says, "His anointing
teaches you about all things." This inspiration touches the
human mind and lifts it up and represses worldly thoughts,
inflaming it with eternal longings to such an extent that nothing
more will be pleasing to it except the things that are above, and
that it will despise all the clamoring things here below that
take their origins from the corruption of humanity.  To hear the
hidden word therefore is to conceive the language of the holy
spirit in the heart.  This language cannot be known except by one
who is capable of possessing it.  So in the voice of Truth it is
said of this hidden speech, "I shall ask the Father and he will
give another Paraclete to you, to abide with you forever, the
spirit of truth which the world cannot receive."  Just as this
Paraclete, the other consoler of the human race after the
ascension of the Mediator, is invisible in himself, so he fires
every person he fills with desire for invisible things.  And
since worldly hearts love only the things they can see, the world
does not receive this comforter because it does not rise to the
love of what is unseen.  Worldly minds let themselves go abroad
in their desires and thus close up their hearts to his coming. 
And since there are few indeed among the human race who are
cleansed of the taint of earthly desires and thus lie open to
receive the holy spirit after this purgation, this word is said
to be hidden, because it is conceived in the heart of a few, but
unknown by the greatest part of mankind.  At least this breathing
of the holy spirit is a hidden word, because it can be felt but
cannot be expressed in the noises of speech.  Since therefore
divine inspiration lifts up the mind without such noise, a hidden
word is heard because the word of the spirit sounds silently in
the ear of the heart.

XXIX.51.  And like a thief my ear gathered in the stream of his
whisper. (4.12)

The ear of the heart gathers in the streams of heavenly whisper
like a thief because when the mind is breathed upon it grasps the
subtlety of inner speech quickly and secretly.  Unless it hides
itself from outward desires, it will not penetrate what lies
within.  It is hidden away to hear, and it hears to be hidden
away.  It withdraws from what is visible to see what is
invisible, and once filled with what is invisible it learns to
despise what is visible absolutely.  Note that he does not say,
"As if furtively my ear took in his whisper," but "the streams of
his whisper."  The whisper of the hidden word is the language of
interior inspiration, but the streams of his whisper are the
sources and the channels by which this inspiration is led to the
mind.  God opens the streams of his whisper to us when he
indicates to us in a hidden way how he reaches the ear of our
understanding.  Sometimes he fills us with the compunction of
love, sometimes with that of fear.  Sometimes he shows how
empty present things are and stirs our desire to the love of what
is eternal; sometimes first he reveals eternal things so that
afterwards earthly things will seem cheap by comparison;
sometimes he reveals our sins to us and leads even to the point
of grieving for others' sins; sometimes he reveals others' sins
to our gaze and uses the compunction this creates in a wonderful
way to correct us from our own wickedness.  To hear, therefore,
the streams of the divine whisper like a thief is to recognize
the hidden paths of divine inspiration working subtly and
secretly.

52.  But we can also take this whisper, or the streams of
whisper, in another way.  Whoever whispers is speaking secretly,
and does not produce a voice but imitates one. Insofar as we are
burdened with the corruption of the flesh, we see the clarity of
divine power in a way nothing like its own intrinsic
unchangeability, because the vision of our weakness cannot bear
to see what shines unbearably upon us from the radiance of his
eternity.  So when God displays himself to us through the little
chinks of contemplation, he is not really speaking to us, but
whispering, for even if he does not make himself known fully, he
is still revealing something of himself to the human mind.  But
he will not whisper at all but speak openly when his true
appearance is revealed to us.  This is what Truth says in the
Gospel, "I shall speak to you openly of the Father." So John
says, "We shall see him as he is." So Paul says, "Then I shall
know him just as I am known."  But now the divine whisper comes
to us by as many streams as it has created works over which
divine power presides.  When we see all the things that are
created, we are swept up in admiration of their creator.  Just
as water flows along gently and finds more water leaking out in
little streams, so that it may be increased and pour itself out
more abundantly, insofar as it finds broader streams for itself;
so when we earnestly gather knowledge of divinity from our
consideration of creation, we are opening streams to ourselves
for his whisper, for insofar as we see what is created, we admire
the power of the creator.  Through those things that are seen
openly, what lies hidden comes forth to us.  It is as if he broke
out to make a sound for us when he shows us his works to be
regarded, works in which he shows us himself as he is, showing us
how incomprehensible he is.  Because therefore we cannot imagine
him as he is, we do not hear his voice but scarcely his whisper. 
Because we are unable to value fully even the things that are
created, it is rightly said, "And like a thief my ear gathered in
the streams of his whisper."  Cast out from the joys of paradise
and compelled to pay the penalty of blindness, we scarcely grasp
the streams of his whispers, for we consider even his wondrous
works feebly and fleetingly.  We must recognize that insofar as
the mind is lifted up to consider his power, it shrinks back in
fear of his strength.  So it is rightly added:

XXX.53.  In the fright of a night vision. (4.13)

The fright of a night vision is the fear we find in secret
contemplation.  The human mind, as it rises higher to contemplate
what is eternal, trembles and fears the worse for its worldly
deeds.  It sees its own guilt the more clearly, seeing how it has
been at odds with that light that shines above upon it.  When
that light then shines, the mind fears more because it sees
better how far it has fallen out of harmony with the rule of
truth. Its own progress shakes it with great fear, though it
never looked on the world before with anything but placid calm. 
However great its growth and progress in virtue, it grasps
nothing yet clearly of eternity, but still sees it through a mist
of images:  so it speaks here of a night vision.

As we said before, in the night we see dimly, but in the day
clearly and steadily.  So because the cloud of our corruption
interposes itself against the ray of the sun within when we look
to contemplate it, and since that light cannot penetrate to the
weak eyes of our mind with all its unchangeable perfection, we
still see God as if in a night vision, for without a doubt we are
fogged in by an imperfect contemplation.  But though the mind may
imagine some small piece of the light, by comparison with the
full magnitude of the light it is frightened and fears the more
because it senses itself unequal to go where its contemplation
leads.  So it falls back on itself, loving God more ardently even
while unable to bear his wonderful sweetness, scarcely tasting it
as if in a dark vision.  But because it would not reach even this
height unless it had first repressed the noisy crowd of insistent
desires of the flesh, it is rightly added:

XXXI.54.  When sleep usually covers men. (4.13)

Whoever seeks to be about the world's business is like a man
awake.  But whoever seeks repose within and flees the clamor of
this world is like a man sleeping.  But we must recognize that
sleep can be taken figuratively three different ways in sacred
scripture.  Sometimes it stands for the death of the flesh,
sometimes the idleness of sloth, and sometimes, when earthly
desires are surmounted, peaceful life.

The death of the flesh is intimated by mention of sleep (or
falling asleep), when Paul says, "We do not want you, brethren,
to be ignorant concerning those who have fallen asleep." And a
little later:  "So also God shall lead out with Jesus those who
have fallen asleep in him."

 Again, sleep stands for the idleness of sloth, as is said by the
same Paul, "Now is the hour for us to rise from sleep."  And
again:  "Awaken ye just, and do not sin."  When earthly desires
are surmounted, sleep stands for peaceful life, as is said in the
voice of the bride in the Song of Songs:  "I sleep and my heart
keeps watch."  The holy mind knows what is within more truly
because it keeps check on the clamor of worldly concupiscence,
and it keeps watch more alertly over what is within the more it
conceals itself from disturbances outside.  This is well
symbolized by Jacob sleeping on the road, who put a stone under
his head and slept.  He saw a ladder reaching from earth to
heaven, and the Lord leaning on the top of the ladder, and angels
going up and coming down.  To sleep on the road is to find
respite from the love of worldly things while still on the
journey of this life.  To sleep on the road is to close the eyes
of the mind to the desire to see worldly things while our days
slide past.  The seducer opened the eyes of the first men to
these things, when he said, "For God knows that on whatever day
you eat of it, you eyes will be opened."  So a little later is
added, "She took of its fruit and ate; and she gave to her
husband, who ate it, and the eyes of both were opened."  Guilt
opened the eyes of concupiscence, which innocence had kept
closed.  To see angels going up and coming down is to contemplate
the citizens of our home above, by turns clinging with great love
to their creator above themselves and then descending with
compassion and charity to care for our weakness.

55.  We should especially note that Jacob saw angels in his sleep
when he had placed his head upon a stone.  He rested from
external activity and looked within, looking with all his mind
(the mind is the chief part of a man) to imitate his redeemer. 
Thus to place our head on a stone is to cling to Christ in the
mind.  Whoever is separated from the business of the present life
but is not carried away to what is above by any genuine love, can
surely sleep but never sees angels because he refuses to put his
head upon a stone.  There are some who flee the world's business,
but are distinguished for no virtues of their own.  They sleep
not for any good reason but out of laziness, and so they do not
see what is within because they place their head not on a stone
but on the ground.  It often happens to them that the more
confidently they withdraw from outward activity, the more
abundantly they pile up for themselves a mass of unclean thoughts
in their leisure.  

 So it is that under the name of Judea the lazy soul in its
idleness is bewailed by the prophet when he says, "Enemies have
seen her and made mock of her sabbath."  The law commanded they
rest from work on the sabbath:  enemies seeing the sabbath made
mock of it, when evil spirits took advantage of that idleness to
lead them to improper thoughts.  A mind is believed to serve God
to the extent that it holds itself aloof from worldly business,
but in fact it enslaves itself even more to the world's tyranny
when it thinks thoughts it should not.  But holy men, because
they fall asleep in virtue, not in idleness, are more laborious
in their sleep than if they stayed awake.  Insofar as they
abandon and transcend the business of this world, they engage in
mighty battle against themselves every day, lest the mind grow
lazy through negligence, lest it should grow cold in its idleness
and be driven to impure desires, lest it should become more
heated even with good desires than is proper, lest it should grow
lax with itself on a pretext of using discernment to keep from
excess in the search for perfection.  Wide awake is the sleeper
who does these things, withdrawing completely from the restless
concupiscence of this world and seeking rest to concentrate on
the virtues.  He cannot come to contemplate what is within unless
he withdraws carefully from the things that ensnare him
outwardly.  

 Thus it is that Truth says itself, "No man can serve two
masters."  So Paul says, "No man in service to God involves
himself in secular business if he is to please the one who has
recruited him."  So the Lord admonishes, saying through the
prophet, "Keep still, and see that I am God."  Because
therefore we never learn what is within unless we withdraw from
outward entanglements, the text here expresses well the time for
divine whisper and the hidden word, when it says, "In the fright
of a night vision, when sleep usually covers men, " for our mind
is never carried along to share in interior contemplation unless
it is first deliberately put to sleep in the face of the hubbub
of temporal desires.  But the human soul, lifted up by the
mechanism of divine contemplation, fears for itself all the more
terribly, just as it begins to see the things above it; so it is
rightly added:

 XXXII.56.  Fear held me, and trembling, and all my bones were
terrified. (4.14)

 Are these bones anything but mighty deeds?  Of them it is said
through the prophet, "The Lord watched over all their bones." 
Often men think the things they do are of some importance because
they know nothing of the subtlety and severity of the one who
judges within.  But when they are snatched up in contemplation
and see what is above, their confidence and presumption turn to
water.  They quaver in the sight of God because they no longer
think their good deeds are worthy of the judgment of the one they
now behold.  So it is that the man who had made some progress in
doing mighty deeds was filled with the spirit and cried out, "All
my bones shall say, 'Lord, who is like to you?'"  As if to say: 
'My flesh is speechless, because my weakness is entirely silent
in your presence; but my bones proclaim the praise of your
greatness, because they also tremble at the thought of you,
though I had thought them the strongest part of me.'  So it is
that Manue, trembling at the sight of an angel, says, "We will
die the death, for we have seen the Lord." His wife immediately
consoled him, saying, "If the Lord had wished to kill us, he
would not have taken holocaust and libations from our hands." 
Why does the man become timid and the woman bold at the sight of
the angel if not because as often as heavenly things are shown to
us, the spirit smites itself with fear but hope still manages to
be presumptuous?  Hope stirs itself to dare greater things just
when the spirit is troubled, because it is the first to see the
things above.

 So when the mind rises up to see the highest secrets of heaven,
and all the strength of human force trembles, it is now rightly
said, "Fear held me, and trembling, and all my bones were
terrified."  As if to say:  'When I grasp the subtlest secrets
within, then in the presence of the judge I shake and quiver just
in the limbs I had thought strongest.'  Considering the severity
of divine justice, we rightly fear even for deeds we thought we
had performed with real strength.  When our righteousness is
compared to the standards of the judge who judges within and
comes in all severity, our righteousness is at variance, with all
its foldings and twistings, with the true inner righteousness. 
Paul saw that he had the "bones" of virtue and still felt them
tremble at the coming judgment, and he said, "It is of no
importance that I might be judged by you, or on the day of man. 
But I do not judge myself either; for I know nothing against
myself."  But because he had heard the streams of the divine
whisper and his bones were trembling, he then added, "But not for
this reason am I justified.  The one who judges me is the
Lord."  As if to say:  'I recall having done what is right, but
I do not presume upon my merits, for our life is coming to be
judged by that one before whom our bones and our strength are put
in turmoil.'

 57.  But when the mind is suspended in contemplation, when it
transcends the limitations of the flesh, when it sees a little of
the freedom and security that lie within through the power of its
gaze, it cannot stand there still for long.  Even if the spirit
leads the mind to the heights, still the flesh presses it down
with the weight of its corruption.  So it is added, 

 XXXIII.58.  And when the spirit passed by in my presence, the
hair of my flesh stood on end. (4.15)

 The spirit passes by in our presence when we come to know what
is invisible yet still see these things not solidly, but just at
a glance.  Nor does the mind stay fixed in the sweetness of inner
contemplation for a long time, because it is driven back by the
magnitude of that light and comes to itself.  When it tastes the
sweetness within, it burns with love and it struggles to go above
itself, but it breaks and falls back to the darkness of its
weakness.  As it goes on, full of great virtue, it sees that it
cannot see what it loves ardently, though it would not love so
ardently if it did not see just a little.  So the spirit does not
stand still but passes by, because our contemplation opens a line
to the light above for our eagerness and just as quickly hides it
from our weakness.  However much progress virtue makes in this
life, it still feels the sting of its own corruption:  "For the
corruptible body weighs down the spirit; our earthly dwelling is
a burden on the mind thinking of many things." It is rightly
added, "The hair of my flesh stood on end."

 59.  The hairs of the flesh are the superfluities of human
corruption.  The hair of the flesh stands for the thoughts of the
old life, which we cut away from our mind in such a way that we
feel no pain at their loss.  So it is well said through Moses,
the Levites "shave all the hair of their flesh." Now "Levite"
is translated "taken up."  A Levite must shave all the hair of
his flesh because one who is "taken up" to serve the Lord must
appear in the eyes of God cleansed of all thoughts of the flesh,
lest his mind should bring forth illicit thoughts and render the
fair face of the soul unpleasant as though bristling with hairs. 
But as we said, however far the virtue of a holy life leads
anyone on, still there comes to him something of the old life
that must be borne with.  So even the Levites are commanded to
shave the hair and not to pluck it out.  With shaven hair, the
roots remain in the flesh and grow again to be cut again, because
though our useless thoughts are cut away with great zeal, still
they cannot be entirely uprooted.  Often the flesh gives birth to
useless things which the spirit immediately cuts away with the
iron/sword of care.  But we see these things more clearly in
ourselves when we reach the heights of contemplation.  So now it
is rightly said, "When the spirit passed in my presence, the hair
of my flesh stood on end."

 60.  The human mind, lifted to the citadel of contemplation,
grows more ashamed of its useless thoughts because it sees more
clearly the subtle nature of what it loves.  And when it sees
that what it longs for above is beautiful, it judges severely
whatever weakness it had formerly tolerated calmly in itself. 
When the spirit passes by, the hairs stand on end, because in the
face of compunction's power useless thoughts fly away to leave
nothing dissolute, nothing disorderly that might please the mind.
The severity of the inner experience of the spirit's presence
inflames and inspires the mind against itself.  And when the
heart's illicit progeny is cut back by our constant watchfulness,
it often happens that the mind is enlivened to spread the light
of its contemplation more widely abroad, and almost succeeds in
making the spirit, that passes by, stand still.  Even when
contemplation makes the spirit tarry, the power of divinity is
not revealed completely because its immensity transcends all the
power of humankind, no matter how aided and enhanced.  So it is
well added,

 XXXIV.61.  Someone stood there whose face I did not know. (4.16)

 We do not say "someone" except of a person we do not wish to
name, or whom we cannot name.  But the sense here of "someone" in
this place is made clear when it immediately follows, "Whose face
I did not know."  The human soul, banished from the joys of
paradise by the sin of the first humans, lost the light of
invisible things and gave itself over totally to the love of
visible things.  It is blinded in its inner vision just insofar
as it is given over to the world outside in deformity.  So it
happens that it knows nothing but those things it can, so to
speak, touch with the eyes of the body.  If we had chosen to keep
the commandment, we would have been spiritual even in the flesh,
but by sin we have been made even carnal in the mind, to think
only of those things which we can bring to the mind through
bodily images.  The mind grows gross and unsubtle for inner
vision when it delights to give itself entirely and ceaselessly
to gazing on the bodily forms of heaven, of earth, of waters, of
animals, and all things visible.  Because it cannot any longer
lift itself to the highest things, it gladly lies here among the
lowest.  But when it struggles with marvelous efforts to rise
from these things, it is a great thing if the soul is led to know
itself, with bodily images shut out for a moment.  If it can
imagine itself without a bodily image and think of itself, it has
made for itself a way to consider the substance of eternity.

 62.  In this way the soul makes a kind of ladder for itself, by
which it ascends from what is outside, passing into itself, and
then passes on beyond itself to its creator.  When the mind
abandons corporeal images and comes into itself, it rises not a
little.  But though the soul is not a body, yet it still clings
to a body, and is recognized by the fact that it is limited to
the body's place.  When it forgets what it knew, when it knows
what it had not known, when it remembers things it had forgot,
when it finds gladness after sorrow, when it is pained after
being happy, it reveals by its own variousness how different it
is from the substance of the eternal immutability that is always
the same, everywhere present, everywhere invisible, everywhere
entire, everywhere incomprehensible, seen without looking by the
mind that pants for it, heard without any ambiguity, received
without any movement, touched without a body, possessed and held
without place or space.  When the mind that is used to bodily
things tries to think about such a substance, it has to endure
various fantastic images.  When discernment reaches in and pushes
these images away from the mind's eye, putting this substance
ahead of everything else, it catches sight of it a little.  If it
does not yet grasp what it is, it knows already what it is not. 
So because the mind is swept up into unfamiliar regions when it
seeks the essence of divinity, it is rightly now said, "Someone
stood there whose face I did not know."

 63.  Well said, "stood."  Every creature, because it is made of
nothing and left to itself reaches out towards nothingness, does
not have the capacity to stand, but only to flow away.  But a
rational creature is fixed in place, to keep it from passing away
to nothingness, by its having been created in the image of its
creator.  But an irrational creature is fixed in no place, but is
kept from passing away until it shall have served by its
appearance to help fill up the whole of the universe.  Even if
heaven and earth shall abide afterwards forever, of themselves
nevertheless here and now they are heading towards nothingness,
but for the benefit of those to whom they serve they may persist,
changed for the better. To stand therefore is characteristic
only of the creator through whom all things pass, for he does not
pass away, and in whom somethings that pass are held back.  So
our Redeemer, because the nature of his divinity could not be
grasped by the human mind, came to us in the flesh, created,
born, died, buried, rising, and returning to heaven, to show
himself to us as if by passing by.  This is well indicated in the
gospel when the blind man received the light:  when the Redeemer
passed by, he let the blind man hear, but when he stood still, he
made his eyes whole again.  By virtue of his humanity, the
Redeemer had the ability to pass by, but the ability to stand
through the power of his divinity (which is everywhere).  The
Lord is said to hear the voices of our blindness as he passes
because when he had been made man he took pity on human
wretchedness; stopping still he brought back the light because he
shines upon the darkness of our weakness through the power of
divinity.  So it is well said first, "When the spirit passed in
my presence," then added, "Someone stood there whose face I did
not know."  As if to say openly, 'I did not recognize as he
passed the one whose passing I felt.'  The one who passes is the
same one who stands.  He passes by because he cannot be
recognized and held; but he stands still because insofar as he is
recognized he appears unchangeable. Because therefore the one who
is always the same is fleetingly glimpsed, God is said at the
same time to be passing by and to be standing still.  Or
certainly at least "standing still" means to suffer no change or
variance, as is said to Moses, "I Am Who Am." And James hinted
at this, saying, "In his presence there is no metamorphosis, nor
the shadow of a change."  But because whoever grasps already
something of eternity in contemplation beholds it through its
equally eternal image, it is rightly added,

 XXXV.64.  His image before my eyes. (4.16)

The son is the image of the father, as Moses indicates of the
creation of mankind, saying, "God made man in the image of
God."   And a certain wise man said in the name of wisdom about
the same Son: "He is the shining of the eternal light."  And
Paul says, "For he is the splendor of his glory and the form of
his substance."  Thus when eternity is seen, insofar as our
weakness allows the possibility, his image is presented to the
eyes of our mind.  When we are truly moving towards the Father,
we see him through his image, that is, through the Son, and
through the image that is born of him without beginning, we try
to see in some way the one who neither begins nor ends.  So the
same Truth says in the gospel, "No man comes to the father,
except through me."

XXXVI.65.  And I heard a voice like a soft breeze. (4.16)

The voice like a soft breeze stands for our knowledge of the holy
spirit, which proceeds from the father and, taking its existence
from that which is of the Son, is poured out gently into our
feeble capacity for knowledge.  Coming upon the apostles it was
made known through an audible sound as of a great wind, when it
is said, "And there came suddenly from heaven a sound like that
of a great wind rushing in."  When the holy spirit makes itself
known to human infirmity it is expressed in the sound of a great
wind and the voice of a soft breeze.  It is powerful and soft as
it comes, soft because it adapts itself to our knowledge and
sense so that it can be known at all, but powerful because
however it adapts itself, its coming still lightens the blindness
of our infirmity and shakes us with its shining.  It touches us
softly with its light but it strikes our weakness mightily.

66.  So the voice of God is heard like a soft breeze because
divinity does not reveal itself as it is to those in this life
who contemplate it, but shows its brightness a little at a time
to the bleary eyes of our mind.  This is well indicated in the
way the law was received, when it says that Moses went up and the
Lord came down to the mountain.  The mountain is our
contemplation, where we ascend, to be lifted up to see things
that are beyond our weakness; but the Lord descends to our
contemplation because as we advance he opens a little of himself
for our senses to perceive.

(If indeed we can speak a "little" of him or "some" of him at
all, he who is always one and the same:  he cannot be understood
in part and yet his faithful are said to have a part in him when
his substance allows no division into parts.  But because we
cannot describe him in perfect language, impeded by the
limitations of our humanity as if by the weakness of infancy, we
babble and stammer about him just a little.)

That we do touch something of the subtlety of the knowledge of
eternity, when we are lifted up in great contemplation, is shown
in the words of the sacred story when the noble prophet Elias is
instructed in knowledge of God.  When the Lord promised that he
would pass by Elias, he said, "Behold, the Lord passes, a great
and mighty wind, overturning mountains and grinding down the
rocks before the Lord," then adds, "The Lord is not in the wind;
and after the wind a earthquake, but the Lord is not in the
earthquake; and after the earthquake, fire, but the Lord is not
in the fire; and after the fire, the breath of a gentle
breeze."  The wind overturned mountains and ground down rocks
ahead of the Lord, because the fear of his coming rushed in and
cast down the loftiness of our heart and turned its solidity to
water.  But the Lord is said not to have been present in the
wind, the earthquake, the fire, but to be present in the breath
of a gentle breeze, because when the mind is suspended in the
sublimity of contemplation, whatever it manages to comprehend
perfectly is still not God.  But for it to catch sight of
something subtle, this is to hear of the ungraspable substance of
eternity.  We hear the breath of a gentle breeze when we catch in
the sudden glimpse of contemplation a taste of unbounded truth. 
Our knowledge of God is true when we realize that we cannot know
anything of him fully and perfectly. So it is well added there,
"When Elias heard this, he covered his face with his cloak and
went in and stood in the mouth of the cave."  After the breath
of a gentle breeze, the prophet covered his face with a cloak
because he recognized how much ignorance still covers man even in
the subtlest contemplation of truth.  To cover the face with a
cloak is to cover the mind with recognition of its weakness, lest
it try to seek what is too high for it, and try to cast the eyes
of its understanding rashly beyond itself, rather than close them
reverently in the face of what it cannot grasp.  The man who does
this is said to have stood in the mouth of a cave.  

For what is our cave but this dwelling place of corruption, in
which we are held back by some of our old ways?  But when we
begin to know something of divinity, we are standing in the mouth
of our cave. Because we cannot go all the way out, yet still pant
after a knowledge of truth, we just catch a little of the breath
of liberty.  To stand at the entrance of the cave is to begin to
go forth to know the truth, having gotten past the obstacle posed
by our corruption.  So the Israelites saw a cloud descending on
the tabernacle from a distance, and seeing this stood at the
mouths of their tents, because they, looking upon the coming of
God, were already beginning to leave the dwelling of the flesh.
Because therefore the human mind, however great the virtue of its
effort, scarcely grasps anything of the things that lie deep
within, it is now rightly said, "And I heard a voice like a soft
breeze."  But since knowledge of God reveals itself at least a
little to us and instructs our ignorance and weakness towards
perfection, so the man who hears the voice of a soft breeze
should say something of what he has learned from this hearing. 
So it follows:

XXXVII.67.  Shall man be justified by comparison with God?  Or
will man be more pure than his maker? (4.17)

Compared to divine justice, human justice is really injustice,
just as a lantern may be seen to shine in the darkness but is
itself darkened when placed in the light of the sun.  What did
Eliphaz learn when he was rapt in contemplation except that man
cannot be justified by comparison with God?  We think our outward
deeds are right when we know nothing of what is within; but when
we learn anything of what is within, we no longer judge our other
deeds just any way, for the more a man sees the brightness of
light, the more carefully he tries to discriminate in the
darkness.  The man who sees the light knows what to think of
darkness. But the man who has never known the brightness of light
praises the dark, thinking it light enough.  

So it goes on appropriately, "Or will man be more pure than his
maker?"  When a man complains about tribulation, what is he doing
but reproaching the justice of the one who strikes him?  So a man
who complains of the lash thinks himself more pure than his
maker.  He clearly values himself over his maker when he
criticizes the judgment that brings him affliction.  In order for
a man to keep from criticizing the judge of his guilt, he should
think humbly of nature's maker, for the one who made man
miraculously out of nothing does not afflict his creature without
pity.  Eliphaz learned this when he heard the voice like a soft
breeze.  By considering the greatness of God he learned how
humbly he should fear for himself when he receives punishment. 
Someone who has tasted what is above bears with lesser things
calmly, because he has seen fully within how little value he
should set on what goes on outside.  The man who does not know
the rule of the highest righteousness wrongly thinks himself
right:  often a piece of lumber is thought straight and true if
it is not measured against a ruler, but when it is matched to a
ruler, we find just how twisted it is:  straightness cuts off and
rebukes what the eye is deceived by and approves.  So Eliphaz,
because he had seen what is above, brought forth severe judgment
on what was below. And though blessed Job he criticized not
rightly, he still describes rightly the nature of created things
by comparison with the creator of all things, when he says, 

XXXVIII.68.  Behold, the ones who serve him do not stand fast,
and he found wickedness in his angels.  How much more shall the
ones who dwell in houses of mud, who have a foundation of earth,
be eaten up as if by moths? (4.18-19)  

Even when angelic nature clings to contemplation of its creator
and abides forever unchangeably in its original state, still it
suffers some alternation of changeableness in itself for the mere
fact that it is a created being.  But to be changed from one
thing to another is to be intrinsically unstable.  Everything
tends to become something else to the extent that it is subject
to the movements of mutability.  Only the nature that is
incomprehensible is unable to be moved from its original state,
not knowing how to change because it is always the same.  If
angelic substance had been entirely untouched by mutability, it
would never have fallen, as the reprobate spirits did, from the
citadel of its blessedness, having been created good by the
creator.  But almighty God wonderfully made the nature of the
highest spirits good but mutable, so that those who did not wish
to stand might fall and those who remained as they were created
might stand the more worthily because they stood by their own
choice.  And they would be the more deserving with God for having
brought their motion to a halt through the power of the will. 
Because therefore even the angelic nature by itself is mutable,
but conquered that mutability by binding itself in chains of love
to the one who is always the same, it is now rightly said,
"Behold, the ones who serve him do not stand fast."  And evidence
of that mutability is immediately added, when it is said of the
apostate spirits, "and he found wickedness among his angels." 

From the angels' fall, Eliphaz wisely understands something of
human infirmity, for he adds, "How much more shall the ones who
dwell in houses of mud, who have a foundation of earth, be eaten
up as if by moths?"  We dwell in houses of mud because we exist
in bodies made of earth.  Paul said of this well, "We have this
treasure in earthen vessels."  And again:  "We know that if
this earthly home of our dwelling should be dissolved that we
have our support from God, a house not made of hands."  A
foundation of earth is the substance of the flesh:  the psalmist
observed this carefully in himself, saying, "My face is not
hidden from you, which you made in secret, and my substance in
the depths of the earth."  Moths come from clothing and, as
they come, corrupt the clothing they come from.  The flesh is a
kind of clothing of the soul; but this clothing has its moths
because from it the temptation of the flesh comes, by which the
soul is torn.  Our clothing is eaten by moths of its own when the
corruptible flesh gives birth to temptation and through this
leads itself to ruin.  Man is consumed by a moth when what wears
him away comes from himself.  This is as if to say openly, 'If
those spirits which were burdened by no weakness of the flesh
could not be immutable how do men arrogantly think that they can
abide forever in the good when the weakness of the flesh drags
them down and impedes their understanding as it reaches for the
heights?  Through the vice of corruption they have in themselves
the cource of the oldness that alters the freshness within.  

69.  The angels can also be taken as holy scholars, as it says in
the prophet, "The lips of the priest preserve knowledge and they
will seek the law from his mouth, because he is the messenger
[angelus] of the Lord of hosts."  However great the virtue with
which they shine, they cannot be entirely without fault when they
follow the path of the present life, because their step may be
tainted by the mud of illicit acts or the dust of thought. They
dwell in houses of mud when they rejoice in this enticing life of
the flesh.  Paul belittled the thought of living in these houses
of mud when he said, "Our dwelling is in heaven."  To let it be
said, "Behold, the ones who serve him to not stand fast and he
found wickedness among his angels.  How much more shall the ones
who dwell in houses of mud, who have a foundation of earth, be
eaten as if by moths?"  This is as if to say openly, 'If people
who proclaim eternal things and gird themselves to endure worldly
things cannot pass through the road of this life without being
infected, what disadvantages will not be sustained by the people
who rejoice to be among the delights of the flesh's dwelling
place?'  The people who serve him are not standing fast, because
when the mind reaches for the heights, it is distracted by the
thoughts of the flesh.  So often the mind, eager for what is
within, looking only to heaven, is struck with sudden pleasure of
the flesh; divided from itself it lies prostrate and, though it
thought it had conquered its troubles and weakness, groans to
find itself laid low by a sudden wound. 

Wickedness is found in the angels as well, for even those who
proclaim the truth are sometimes dragged down by the temptation
of the deceptive life here.  So if the ones whose holy intentions
had stiffened them to face the wickedness of this world are
smitten by it, what blows will not succeed in reaching those who
lie cast down before its arrows by their delight in weakness?
They are well said to be eaten up by moths, for the moth does his
damage and makes no sound; so the minds of the wicked, because
they fail to think about the injuries they suffer, lose their
integrity in ignorance.  They lose the innocence of the heart,
the truth of the mouth, the continence of the flesh, and, as time
passes, life itself. But they do not see themselves losing these
things as they go, for they are totally wrapped up in worldly
cares by their desires. So they are eaten up by moths, because
there is no sound as they bear the bite of sin, unaware of the
damage done to their life and to their innocence.  So it is well
added,

XXXIX.70.  From morning to evening they will be cut down. (4.20) 

The sinner is cut down from morning to evening when he wounds
himself by the doing of wickedness from the beginning of his life
to the end.  At all times the reprobate are redoubling the blows
of malice against themselves by which they are cut down to fall
to the depths.  Of them it is well put by the psalmist, "Men of
blood and deceitful ones shall not cut their days in half."  To
cut your days in half is to divide the time of your life badly
spent on pleasure, to leave room for the laments of repentance,
and thus by measuring out your life to repair it to a good use. 
But the wicked do not cut their days in half because they change
their perverse mind not at all, not even at the end.  Against
them Paul warns us well, saying, "Redeeming the time, because the
days are wicked."  We redeem the time when we repair our past
life with tears, the life we had wasted in lasciviousness.  

XL.71.  And because none understand, they will perish forever.
(4.20)  

None, none of those who are cut down from morning to evening,
none of those who perish or who imitate the evil ways of those
who perish, none understand.  So it is written elsewhere, "The
just man perishes and there is no one who thinks of it in his
heart, and men of mercy are gathered together, because there is
none who understands."  So when wicked men seek temporal goods
alone, they despise the goods that abide for the elect forever. 
When they see that the just are afflicted and do not recognize
the reward that awaits beyond this affliction, they place their
foot on the path to the pit, because they have voluntarily closed
their eyes from the light that gives understanding.  Deceived by
their folly and pleasure, they love the worldly things they see
and do not see that they are alienated from themselves, plunging
into eternal ruin.

Morning can also stand for the prosperity of this world, evening
for its adversity.  From morning to evening, therefore, the
wicked are cut down, because they wallow to perdition in the
midst of prosperity, and they quail at adversity and let it drive
them to madness.  Their guilt would not cut them down from
morning to evening, if they would believe that prosperity is a
kind of succour for their wounds, or adversity a surgeon's
healing knife.

72.  But because the whole of the human race is not left to head
down the road to perdition, there are some who despise the
enticements of the present life even when they are at hand,
recognizing that they are transitory and trampling on them out of
love for eternity.  And when they place their feet on the first
step of right judgment, they reach the higher steps with a
livelier step and not only despise earthly things because they
must be quickly lost, but they even  cease to desire to cling to
them, even if they could have them forever.  they take their love
away from the beautiful things of creation because they turn the
steps of the heart towards the author of all that beauty.

And there are those who love the good things of the present life
but still do not pursue them.  They desire temporal things with
all their heart, they seek the glory of this world, but they
cannot attain it.  The heart, if I may say so, draws these men to
the world, but the world repels them to find their heart. Often
it happens that they are broken by their adversities, come to
their senses and, once restored to themselves, consider the
emptiness of the things they were seeking and turn about
completely to weep for their foolish wants.  And then they desire
eternity the more ardently for having worked so foolishly for
earthly things for which now they sorrow.  So after describing
these reprobate people, it does on,

XLI.73.  But the ones who are left will be taken from them.
(4.21)  

Who are the ones who are left if not the ones despised by the
world?  When the present age chooses them for no glorious
service, it leaves them as the least and most unworthy.  But the
leftovers of the world are said to be taken away by the Lord
because he has deigned to choose the despised of the world, as
Paul attests and says, "Not many of the wise according to the
flesh, not many of the powerful, not many of the noble; but God
has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise;
and God has chosen the weak ones of the world to confound the
strong."  

This is well indicated in the books of Kings by the servant
growing weary on the road whom the Amalakite left ill on the
road; David found him, refreshed him with food, and made him the
guide of his journey.  He pursued the Amalakite, found him
feasting, and wiped him out utterly.  Why does the Amalakite's
Egyptian servant grow weary on the road, if not because the lover
of this present age, covered with the blackness of his sin, is
often left abandoned by the same present age, weak and despised
and unable to run with it, broken with adversity and devoid of
energy?  But David found him because our Redeemer, truly strong
of hand, now and again comes upon those despised by the world's
glory and converts them with his love.  He refreshes him with
food, because he feeds him with the knowledge of his word.  He
makes him the guide for his journey, because he makes him his own
preacher.  And the one who could not keep up with the Amalakite
is made a leader for David, because the one the world has
abandoned as unworthy not only converts and receives the Lord in
his mind, but by his preaching leads him to the hearts of others. 
With this leader, David found the Amalakite feasting and wiped
him out, because Christ destroys the festivities of the world
with such preachers, men whom the world refused to accept as
comrades.  Because therefore the Lord often chooses those whom
the world leaves behind, it is now rightly said, "But the ones
who are left will be taken from them:"

XLII.74.  They will die, and not with wisdom.  (4.21)

Why does he first mention the death of the reprobate ("And
because none understand, they will perish forever"), then next
speak of the elect of God ("But the ones who are left will be
taken from them"), and then immediately add something that does
not apply to the elect: "They shall die, and not with wisdom"? 
If they have been taken away from the reprobate by God, how can
they be said to die, "and not with wisdom"?  But surely it is the
custom of sacred scripture, when it narrates something, to
interject a remark on one subject, then return to what went
before.  After it said, "And because none understand, they will
perish forever," it immediately mentioned the fate of the elect,
saying, "But the ones who are left will be taken from them."  And
then it casts an eye back to the death of the wicked already
mentioned, and adds suddenly, "They will die, and not with
wisdom."  As if to say:  'Those whom I said would perish because
they do not understand, without doubt they die without wisdom."

But we can show this to be the custom of sacred scripture better
if we produce another example like this one.  Paul the apostle,
when he admonished a beloved disciple how to organize the offices
of the church, said, lest any unworthy persons should come forth
for sacred orders out of order, "Lay hands on no man quickly, and
do not communicate with others' sins:  keep yourself chaste."
Then he turns aside his words to speak of the weakness of the
body, saying, "Drink water no longer, but use a little wine for
your stomach, and your recurring illnesses."  Immediately he
ads: "The sins of some men are manifest, leading them to
judgment, but some men's sins follow them behind."  What has
this statement about the hidden and manifest sins of some men got
to do with telling the sick not to drink water?  It is just that
with a sentence interposed about the weakness of the flesh, he
was returning to his earlier subject where he last said, "Lay
hands on no man quickly, and do not communicate with others'
sins."  This shows how vigorously he should examine these sins,
when after interposing a counsel of discernment for the troubles
of the flesh, he immediately mentioned what is overt in some,
hidden in others, saying, "The sins of some men are manifest,
leading them on to judgment, but some men's sins follow them
behind."  In this sentence, then, Paul's words do not readily fit
with what he had said about Timothy's illness, but referred back
to what he had said before the interruption; similarly in this
place, when Eliphaz was speaking of the elect, ("But the ones who
are left will be taken from them") he adds, "They will die and
not with wisdom," referring to what he had said before, "and
because none understand they will perish forever."

75.  The reprobate despise the elect because they reach beyond
visible death towards invisible life.  Of them it is well said
now, "They will die, and not with wisdom."  As if it were said
openly, 'They flee death and wisdom equally; but they abandon
wisdom altogether, without being able to evade the snares of
death.'  And though they could have found life in death when they
were going to die anyway, instead they fear the death that is
certainly coming so much that they lose both life and wisdom.  On
the other hand, the just die with wisdom because they refuse to
prolong the life that must end sometime when to do so would
require the sacrifice of truth.  Bearing death calmly, they turn
the penalty imposed on their race into an instrument of virtue
and so deserve to receive life on account of just the thing that
compels life to end as punishment for the first sin.  But because
Eliphaz proclaimed these things truthfully against the wicked,
thinking blessed Job an object of reproach, he really filled
himself up with the pride of wisdom.  So after approving great
rectitude, he adds words of derision, saying, 

XLIII.76.  Call, then, if there is anyone who will answer you.
(5.1)  

Almighty God often deserts the prayer of a troubled man, when
that man has despised God's commands in time of tranquility.  So
it is written, "Whoever turns away his ear so as not to hear the
law, his prayer shall be despised."  When we call, we beseech
God in humble prayer; when God answers, he grants effectiveness
to our prayers.  Eliphaz says therefore, "Call, then, if there is
anyone who will answer you." As if to say openly, 'However much
you cry out in affliction, you do not have God to answer you
because the voice of tribulation does not find the one whom the
mind has despised in tranquility.'  So he adds in derision.

 XLIV.77.  And turn to some one of the saints. (5.1)  

As if he should say in contempt, "You can find none of the saints
to help you in affliction, since you chose not to have them as
comrades when things were happy.'  After deriding Job, he passes
sentence on him, saying,

XLV.78.  Rage his killed the fool and envy slaughtered the
infant.  (5.2)  

This judgment would be true if it had not been directed against a
man of such long-suffering. Let us weigh what is said (though it
be rejected in consideration of the virtue of the one who heard
the sentence) to show how right the sentiment is if it had not
been directed against blessed Job; for it is written, "But you,
Lord, judge in tranquility."  We must take pains to recognize
that whenever we restrain the turbulent movements of the soul
with gentleness, we are attempting to restore the likeness of our
creator in us.  When rage batters the tranquility of the mind, it
leaves it troubled and battered and torn, at odds with itself,
bereft of the strength of the likeness impressed upon it within.
We should weigh carefully then the great fault of anger, through
which, as gentleness is lost, the likeness we bear to the image
from above is spoiled.

Wisdom is lost through anger,so that we no longer know what is to
be done in what order, as is written:  "Anger rests in the bosom
of the fool."  When we stir up the mind and confuse it, we take
away the light of understanding.  

Life is lost through anger, even if wisdom might seem to be kept,
as is written, "Anger destroys even the prudent." When the mind
is confused it cannot bring wisdom to life, even if prudence has
managed some understanding.  

Justice is abandoned by anger, as is written, "The wrath of man
does not accomplish the justice of God." When the mind is in
turmoil it makes the judgment of its rational faculty harsh, and
thinks that everything anger suggests is right.  

Through anger we lose the pleasure of sharing life with others,
as is written, "Do not be too close to aman of anger, lest you
might learn his paths and take scandal for your soul." Whoever
does not restrain himself with human reason must necessarily live
like a beast alone. 

Concord is broken through anger, as is written, "A spirited man
causes quarrels.  And an angry man unearths sin."  The angry
man unearths sin because he makes even those wicked men whom he
carelessly stirs to further discord worse than they were before. 


The light of truth is lost through anger, as is written, "Let not
the sun go down upon your wrath."  When anger covers the mind
with the darkness of confusion, God hides from the mind the ray
of his knowledge.

Through anger the splendor of the holy spirit is cast aside, of
which it is written according to the old translation, "Upon whom
shall my spirit rest, if not on the humble and the peaceful and
the ones who fear my words?"  Saying humble, he adds peaceful
right away:  so if anger takes away peace of mind, it closes the
mind as a dwelling for the holy spirit, and when it departs the
mind is empty and soon drawn to open madness, abandoning the
inmost foundation of its thoughts to dissipate itself in
superficialities.

79.  The heart burns and pounds under the stimulus of its anger,
the body shakes, the tongue trips over itself, the face flushes,
the eyes flash, and friends go unrecognized.  We form our mouth
to cry out, but our sense does not know what it is saying.  How
does a man who is not aware of what he is doing differ from
people who are beside themselves?  So it often happens that anger
takes control even of the hands and, as reason withdraws, anger
grows bolder; the mind cannot control itself, because it is
subjected to another power; fury drives the limbs to flail around
outwardly as it holds the mind, master of the limbs, captive
within. But sometimes it does not use the hands, but turns the
tongue into a dart barbed with curses.  In rage he demands his
brother's death with his prayers and wants God to perpetrate the
crime which his own perversity would fear or blush to perform. 
By his prayers and words he becomes a murderer even when his
hands refrain from wounding his neighbor.  

Sometimes anger compels the afflicted spirit to silence as if out
of good judgment, and by not speaking out with its feelings
through the tongue, inwardly it burns the worse.  so the angry
man withdraws from conversation with his fellows, and by saying
nothing reveals how hostile he is.  (Then sometimes this severe
silence works designedly as a discipline, if of course the
control of discernment within is strenuously maintained.)   But
sometimes when the mind is inflamed, it checks itself from its
accustomed speech and as time goes by is cut off almost
completely from love of neighbor, and harsher goads come to the
mind, and new causes arise to make matters worse.  And the mote
in the eye of the angry man becomes a beam, as anger is turned
into hatred.  Often anger, shut up within the mind, grows
hotter in  silence and, still silently, gives shape to loud
words; it casts  the words up to itself, making matters worse,
and still more  angrily responds to itself as if some kind of
trial were going  on.  Solomon hints at this briefly:  "The
anticipation of the  wicked is fury."  So it happens that the
mind hears a louder  uproar in its silence and the flame of
repressed anger consumes  the mind in its distress.  So a wise
man before us once said,  "The thoughts of an angry man are
viperous offspring, and they  devour the mind their mother."

80.  But note that there are some people who are quickly enraged,
and just as easily abandoned by their anger.  Some are slow to
anger but cling to their anger longer.  Others are like reeds on
fire, giving voice to their feelings, like the sounds of flames
crackling; they feed the flame quickly but soon grow cool and
turn to ash.  Others are like harder and heavier woods, taking
flame slowly, but once inflamed they are difficult to extinguish
and because their hackles were raised more slowly, they keep the
flame of their fury longer and harder.  But there are others,
worse yet, who take flame quickly and give it up slowly.  But
some both take flame slowly and give it up quickly.  In these
four kinds of people, the reader will readily recognize that the
last is closer to the ideal of tranquility than the first, and
that the third is worse than the second.  But of what use is it
to describe how the mind is possessed by anger, if we do not say
how anger can be brought under control?  

81.  There are two ways in which anger can be broken and made to
let go of the mind.  First, the mind, before it begins any
action, should consider in advance all the rebukes and insults it
could suffer and then consider the indignities visited upon our
Redeemer, and so prepare itself for adversity ahead of time.  The
man who has cautiously foreseen and armed himself against the
things that come, bears them with more strength.  The man who is
caught unawares by adversity is like one caught sleeping by the
enemy; the enemy kills him quickly, attacking a defenseless man.
Whoever is cautiously aware of threatening dangers is like
someone keeping watch in ambush against enemy attack; he is more
strongly fortified for victory because the enemy thinks to catch
him unawares.  So the mind should think carefully, before it
begins to act, about all the adversity that can come, so that
thinking of these things always, it will be always fortified
against them with the breastplate of patience. With its foresight
it will overcome whatever happens and will count what does not
happen as profit gained.

But the second way to preserve our gentleness is to think of our
own sins against others when we see others going too far against
us.  When we consider our own weakness, we can excuse others'
wickedness.  The man who compassionately remembers that he has
perhaps done something already that cries out to be tolerated is
ready to bear some proffered injury calmly.  Just as fire is put
out by water, so if we call our own faults to mind when we feel
the mind rising to anger, we blush at the thought that we might
not tolerate others' sins when we remember that we have done
things against God or neighbor that demand toleration equally.

82.  But in this, we must realize that there is one kind of anger
aroused by impatience, and another shaped by zeal.  One comes
from a vice, the other from a virtue.  If no anger came from
virtue, Phineas would never have calmed the thrust of divine
punishment with his sword.  Because Eli did not have this kind
of anger, he stirred the movement of heavenly revenge against
himself irresistibly. To the extent that he had been cool in
pursuing the vices of those under him, to that extent the
punishment of the eternal governor flamed up against him.  Of
this it is said through the psalmist, "Be angry, and do not
sin."  Those who want this to apply only to anger against our
own sins, and not those of our neighbors, misunderstand the
passage. If we are commanded to love our neighbors like
ourselves, it is clear that we should be as angry at their
transgressions as at our own.  Of this it is said through
Solomon, "Anger is better than laughter, because the mind of the
sinner is admonished by the sadness of the face."  Of this
again the psalmist says, "My eye is clouded with anger." Anger
that comes through vice blinds the eye of the mind, but anger
that comes through zeal clouds it, because contemplation is
broken up (for it cannot be kept except by a tranquil heart) when
the mind is stirred by jealousy for rectitude.  Because the zeal
for rectitude stirs the mind with restlessness, it soon beclouds
the sight, so that it does not in its disturbance see what is
higher, what it had seen better before in time of calm. But then
it is led back to the heights of vision from which it had been
driven away for a time.  That jealousy for righteousness reveals
eternal things to itself more abundantly in tranquility for
having been shut off a little while through its disturbance.  The
mind draws strength to see truer and brighter from just the
source of its disturbance and passing obscurity.  So when an
ointment is placed on a diseased eye, it loses the light
altogether, but then a little later it takes in the light more
clearly, having lost it a little while for its own good. 
Contemplation and disturbance are never together, nor does the
mind in turmoil manage to see what it scarcely manages to sigh
for in tranquility, for neither is the ray of the sun seen when
blustering clouds cover the face of heaven, nor does a troubled
spring of waters give back the image of an onlooker which it
shows accurately when it is calm, for in the stirring of its
waves it loses the appearance of the image in it.

83.  But when the mind is moved by zeal, it must be watched
carefully lest the anger that is taken up as an instrument of
virtue should become the mind's lord and master; it should be a
handmaiden ready to serve, standing calmly behind our rational
faculty, never going before like a mistress of a household.
Zealous anger is more effectively aroused against sin when it is
subordinated to the service of reason.  Though anger may rise
from the zeal of righteousness, if it is unchecked and controls
the mind, it soon refuses to serve reason at all, then spreads
itself abroad insolently, thinking the vice of insolence to be a
virtue.  So it is necessary above all that whoever is stirred by
zeal for righteousness should take care that anger not get beyond
the control of the mind but, observing the time and the manner,
the mind should keep the rising disturbance of the soul carefully
under control for the punishment of sin, restraining high spirits
and keeping fervent enthusiasm checked by a sense of fairness. 
So a man punishes others more justly to the extent that he has
first triumphed over himself.  Before he corrects the faults of
others, he should grow in patience and get beyond his ardor,
taking care lest he should become unreasonably excited by the
zeal of righteousness and wander far from righteousness itself. 
But because, as we said, even a laudable jealousy for goodness
clouds the eye of the mind, it is rightly now said, "Rage has
killed the fool." As if to say openly, 'Anger disturbs the wise
when it comes through zeal, but anger that comes through vice
slays the fools, because the first kind is controlled by reason,
but the other kind rules irrationally over a vanquished mind.'

XLVI.84.  And envy slaughtered the infant.  (5.2)

The only ones we can envy are those whom we think are better than
we are in some way.  The man who is killed by envy is an infant,
because he bears witness against himself that he is inferior to
the one he envies so painfully.  So it is that the clever enemy
crept up on the first man out of envy, because having lost his
happiness he knew that he was inferior to the immortality of the
man.  So it is that Cain fell into the commission of fratricide;
when his sacrifice was disdained, he was angry that the one whose
offering God had accepted was preferred to himself.  He cut down
the one he saw was better than himself, so that this one would
not be at all.  So it is that Esau was eager to persecute his
brother, because he had lost the blessing due to the first-born,
selling it for a mess of pottage, and then lamented that he had
become lesser than the one whom he had preceded by right of
birth.  So it is that Joseph's brothers sold him to the passing
Ishmaelites, because they were trying to obstruct his advance
lest he become greater than they, once the mystery of revelation
was made known.  So it is that Saul pursued David his subordi
nate,hurling his lance, because he sensed that the one who was 
growing daily with all the virtues was gradually growing beyond 
Saul's own power. So the one who is killed by envy is an infant 
because unless he were less than the other, he would not feel 
sorrow for the good the other enjoyed.

85.  But in this we must realize that, though every sin that is
committed spreads abroad in the human heart the poison of the
ancient enemy, in this crime particularly, the serpent draws on
everything inside him and brings forth the plague of malice to
impose on another.  It is written of him then, Death came into
the world through the devil's envy."  When the foulness of envy
has corrupted the vanquished heart, even outward appearances show
how gravely the soul is afflicted within by madness. The
complexion is touched with pallor, the eyes are downcast, the
mind is inflamed but the limbs grow cold, there is madness in
thought and gnashing of teeth; and when hatred hidden in the
thickets of the heart grows greater, a hidden wound pierces the
heart with blind grief.  It takes no pleasure in what is its own,
because its self-inflicted penalty inflames the festering mind,
tormented by another's happiness.  As someone else's
constructions grow tall, the foundations of the inflamed mind are
deeply undermined.  As others go on to better things, the mind
falls more into worse things. In this fall is lost what had
seemed well-built by other deeds before. When envy makes the mind
disintegrate, it eats away at all that it sees well done.  So it
is well said through Solomon, "The life of the flesh, health of
the heart:  but envy is the rot in the bones."  What is flesh
if not what is weak and tender?  And what are the bones if not
bold deeds?  And often it happens that people who have true
innocence of heart may seem weak in some of their deeds; and some
doing great deeds in the eyes of the mind are still rotting away
within with the pestilence of envy for the goods of others.  So
it is well said, "The life of the flesh, health of the heart,"
for if the mind's's innocence is preserved, even the things that
are outwardly weak are eventually made strong.  And it is rightly
added, "but envy is rot in the bones," for through the sin of
envy, even their mighty deeds of virtue perish in the eyes of
God. For the bones to rot through envy is for strong things to
perish.

86.  But why do we say all this of envy if we do not show how it
may be uprooted?  It is difficult not to envy someone who
possesses what we hope to gain.  Whatever temporal goods are
attained, they become less valuable insofar as they are divided
up among many.  And so envy tortures the mind's of the one who
desires them because either another takes what he desires from
him entirely or at least takes some part of it.  Whoever wants to
be entirely free of the plague of envy must love that inheritance
that is not limited by any number of co-heirs.  It isone and the
same, all and entire, to one and all.  It is revealed to be that
much more abundant, the more the multitude of those who receive
it is expanded.  The reduction of envy comes about through the
rising affection for the sweetness that lies within, and the
final death of envy is the perfect love of what is eternal.  When
the mind is drawn back from seeking something that must be shared
among those who receive it, it loves its neighbor the more for
fearing less any harm coming from the advance of another.  If it
is perfectly filled with love of the heavenly home, it is fully
strengthened in love of neighbor. When it desires nothing of this
world, there is nothing that can speak against its charity for
neighbor.  What is charity if not the eye of the mind?  If it is
touched by the dust of earthly love, soon it is wounded in its
sight and draws back from the light within.  But because the one
who loves earthly things is an infant, and the one who desires
eternity is a great man, it can appropriately be understood,
"Envy slays the infant."  For the only one who dies of the
disease of this plague is the one who is still weak with desire.                                 Appendix

The last paragraph of the Moralia is a lucid and memorable piece 
of self-revelation that tells us much about Gregory and his great 
work.  Since this passage is little noticed even among scholars, 
and since it may be some time before the final volume of the 
present translation appears, I have thought it best to include it 
here.  

                    Gregory, Moralia 35.20.49

"Now that I have finished this work, I see that I must return to
myself, for our mind is much fragmented and scattered beyond
itself, even when it tries to speak rightly.  While we think of
words and how to bring them out, those very words diminish the
soul's integrity by plundering it from inside.  So I must return
from the forum of speech to the senate house of the heart, to
call together the thoughts of the mind for a kind of council to
deliberate how best I may watch over myself, to see to it that in
my heart I speak no heedless evil nor speak poorly any good. The
good is well spoken when the speaker seeks with his words to
please only the one from whom he has received the good he has. 
And indeed even if I do not find for sure that have spoken any
evil, still I will not claim that I have spoken no evil at all. 
But if I have received some good from God and spoken it, I freely
admit that I have spoken it less well than I should (through my
own fault, to be sure).  When I turn inward to myself, pushing
aside the leafy verbiage, pushing aside the branching arguments,
and examine my intentions at the very root, I know it really was
my intention to please God, but some little appetite for the
praise of men crept in, I know not how, and intruded on my simple
desire to please God.  And when later, too much later, I realize
this, I find that I have in fact done other than what I know I
set out to do.  It is often thus, that when we begin with good
intentions in the eyes of God, a secret tagalong yen for the
praise of our fellow men comes along, taking hold of our
intentions from the side of the road.  We take food, for example,
out of necessity, but while we are eating, a gluttonous spirit
creeps in and we begin to take delight in the eating for its own
sake; so often it happens that what began as nourishment to
protect our health ends by becoming a pretext for our pleasures. 
We must admit therefore that our intention, which seeks to please
God alone, is sometimes treacherously accompanied by a
less-righteous intention that seeks to please other men by
exploiting the gifts of God.  But if we are examined strictly by
God in these matters, what refuge will remain in the midst of all
this?  For we see that our evil is always evil pure and simple,
but the good that we think we have cannot be really good, pure
and simple.  But I think it worthwhile for me to reveal
unhesitatingly here to the ears of my brothers everything I
secretly revile in myself.  As commentator, I have not hidden
what I felt, and as confessor, I have not hidden what I suffer. 
In my commentary I reveal the gifts of God, and in my confession
I uncover my wounds.  In this vast human race there are always
little ones who need to be instructed by my words, and there are
always great ones who can take pity on my weakness once they know
of it:  thus with commentary and confession I offer my help to
some of my brethren (as much as I can), and I seek the help of
others.  To the first I speak to explain what they should do, to
the others I open my heart to admit what they should forgive.  I
have not withheld medicine from the ones, but I have not hidden
my wounds and lacerations from the others.  So I ask that whoever
reads this should pour out the consolation of prayer before the
strict judge for me, so that he may wash away with tears every
sordid thing he finds in me.  When I balance the power of my
commentary and the power of prayer, I see that my reader will
have more than paid me back if for what he hears from me, he
offers his tears for me."