1

1.

Long ago in Constantinople I got to know you, blessed brother. The official business of the Holy See detained me there, while you came as a representative in matters involving the conversion of the Visigoths. I poured out into your ears everything that troubled me about my life:[3] I told you how I had long fended off the grace that would convert me, and how even after I was touched by the longing for heaven I chose to stay hidden beneath worldly garb. I had already been shown the love of eternity that should fill my desires, but the chains of long-bred habit kept me from altering my outer way of life. While my heart forced me to go on serving this world (at least to all appearances) many worldly pressures began to arise that threatened to bind me to this world not in appearance only but (what is more burdensome) in mind as well. Finally I fled all that in my anxiety and sought the cloister's harbor. I thought, in vain as it turned out, that I had finally abandoned the things of the world and come to shore naked from the shipwreck that is this life. But often a storm arises and the waves blast a carelessly moored ship away from even the safest port. Thus suddenly I found myself, under cover of Holy Orders, back on the sea of secular affairs. I learned (by losing it) how tightly we should embrace the quiet of the monastery that I had taken for granted. The duty of obedience was invoked to persuade me to accept ordination to the sacred ministry of the altar. I took orders in deference to the church's authority, when I would have shunned the task and fled again if I could have done so with impunity. The ministry of the altar was a burden, so it was against my will and in the face of my resistence that the added weight of pastoral office was imposed. I bear these burdens now with greater difficulty, as I sense myself unequal to the task and know none of the consolation that comes from self-confidence. because the times are in turmoil, as the end draws near and evils multiply, even those of us who are thought the servants of inner mysteries are entangled by superficial anxieties. So it came about, at the time I entered the ordained ministry, that quite contrary to my expectations my taking the burden of orders meant that now I could serve with fewer restraints in a very worldly palace. To be sure, many of my brethren from the monastery followed me there to Constantinople, bound by brotherly love: I see behind this a divine mercy providing that their example would be like an anchor cable to me, binding me fast to the serene shore of prayer even as I was tossed by the unending battering of secular business. I would flee to their companionship from the rolling waves of worldly affairs as to anchorage in a safe harbor. Though my mission had taken me away from the monastery and had all but destroyed the life of quiet I had known, at least in the midst of my brethren a breath of compunction gave me life again each day as I spoke to them on the scripture we were studying. They were pleased (but it was you who inspired them, as you recall) to drive me by their constant requests to comment on the book of blessed Job and, as far as truth should give me strength, to reveal the book's mysteries in all their profundity for my brothers. To the burden of their request, they added as well the requirement that I should not only shake loose from the words of the historical narrative their allegorical meaning, but should also direct the allegorical interpretation towards moral edification; and that I should also (still another weighty burden) support my interpretations with other scriptural texts and should even interject expositions of those passages if they seemed complicated enough to require unraveling.

2.

But soon I found myself facing in this obscure book (never before expounded) so great and so many difficulties that, beaten down and wearied merely by the weightiness of what I had heard,[4] I confess that I gave it up. But suddenly, as I lay trapped between anxiety and devotion, I lifted my thoughts to the giver of gifts and at once put off all my hesitation, certain that a task enjoined by charity (speaking from the hearts of my brothers) could not be impossible. To be sure, I despaired of my fitness for the task, but in that despairing of myself I rose up all the more courageously to hope in him by whom the tongues of the dumb are loosed, who makes infants eloquent, and who turned the loud, crude brayings of an ass into the intelligent sounds of human conversation.[5] How surprising is it, after all, for him to grant insight to a foolish man when he could proclaim his truth, when he chose, even through the mouths of beasts of burden? Braced by this thought, I was now eager to drink from so deep a fountain. Although the ones who urged me to speak surpassed me by far in the lives they led, I still saw no harm in letting a lead pipe, so to speak, bring running water for human needs. So it was that in short order I expounded the first parts of the book in talks for the assembled brethren and then, because I found my time a little freer, I dictated my exposition of the rest of the book. Later, when there was more time, I went back revising all that had been taken down in my presence as I spoke into books, adding much new material, taking away a little, and leaving a fair amount as it was. I had taken care in dictating the last books to keep the style consistent with that of the first books delivered viva voce, so I went over the talks and diligently brought them up to the standard of the dictated material and kept the dictated material from being too much at variance with the oral style of the rest. The one part trimmed, the other part polished, together they formed a consistent whole though produced in different fashions. But I did leave the third part of the work [i.e., books 11-16] almost as I delivered it as talks because my brethren urged me to leave them unemended and go on to other things. I completed this work in thirty-five books and six volumes, answering their multiple requests that I speak now as a simple expositor of the text, now as a guide on the ascent of contemplation, and now as as moral preceptor. Often I seem to defer the expository part and pay a little more attention to the contemplative and moral dimensions of the work; but whoever speaks about God must take care to seek out whatever will form the conduct of his hearers. He must consider it the proper order to digress usefully from his set path whenever a chance for edification offers itself. The commentator on divine eloquence ought indeed to model his behavior on that of a river: river that runs along through its banks often encounters receptive valleys to one side where it can divert its course for a time, then when it has flooded the hollows it plunges back into narrow banks later on; this is just how the commentator on God's word should behave if he should chance upon an opportunity for seemly edification. He should turn the flow of his words out into the broad valley and then return to his course when he sees the fields of related instruction sufficiently watered.

3.

The reader must realize that some things are expounded here as simple historical narrative, some things examined for their allegorical signification, and some things discussed only for their moral import--but that of course some things are explored carefully in all three ways. First we lay the foundations of historical fact; then we lift up the mind to the citadel of faith through allegory; finally through the exposition of the moral sense we dress the edifice in its colored raiment. The utterances of Truth are nothing but nourishment to refresh the soul. Expounding the text in various ways we offer dishes for the palate of different kinds, so that we may banish the reader's boredom as we might that of a jaded guest at a banquet, who selects what he considers most attractive from the many things set out for him. Sometimes we neglect to expound the overt historical sense lest we be retarded getting to deeper matters. Sometimes passages cannot be expounded literally because when they are taken in that superficial way they offer no instruction to the reader but only generate error.[6] See how it is said, "Before him even those who hold up the earth bow down."[7] But everyone knows that a man like Job believes none of the empty fables of the poets about the mass of the world being held up by the sweating giants. Or consider how he says, when he is sorely smitten, "My soul yearns for the noose and my bones for death."[8] Who in his right mind would think a man with such a reputation for virtue, whom we know to have received the rewards of long-suffering from the judge who judges the heart, could choose to end his life by hanging himself at a time of trial? Sometimes indeed the very words of the text warn us against taking a text literally. For example, Job says, "Perish the day on which I was born and the night in which it was said, 'A man is conceived.'"[9] And a little later he adds: "May fog cover it, and may it be shrouded in bitterness."[10] And he goes on cursing that same night: "Let that night be solitary."[11] But the day of his birth, swept along in the course of time, could not stand still for a minute: how could he ask that it be covered with fog? It had slipped away and existed no longer, and even if it still continued to exist in the natural world could never be aware of bitterness. It is clear that he cannot be speaking of insensate days when he hopes they be smitten with a sense of bitterness. And if the night of his conception had passed away with all the other nights, how could he pray for it to be solitary? Nothing can keep it fixed in the passage of time, so nothing can separate it from the procession of other nights. At another place he says, "How long will it be before you spare me and leave me alone to gulp down my own saliva?"[12] A little before he had said, "Things my soul disdained to touch are now my food in my need."[13] But everyone knows it is easier to swallow saliva than food, so it is incredible that someone who says he has been eating food should claim he cannot even swallow his saliva. In another place he says: "I have sinned: what shall I do for you, o guardian of mankind?"[14] Or again: "Do you wish to devour me for the sins of my adolescence?"[15] And in another answer he adds: "My heart has never reproached me in my whole life."[16] How can he confess publicly that he has sinned and yet claim that he has heard no reproach from his heart in his whole life? Sinful deeds and a clear conscience do not ordinarily go together. But undoubtedly the words of the literal text, when they do not agree with each other, show that something else is to be sought in them. It is as if they said to us, "When you see us apparently embarrassed and contradictory, look within us for that which is coherent and consistent."[17]

4

Sometimes, of course, the reader who neglects to take the words of the text literally hides the light he had been offered, and while he struggles mightily to find something hidden inside, he loses the thing he could have found on the outside without difficulty. The holy man says: "Did I deny the poor the alms they craved, keep the widow waiting for her pittance, devour my mouthful alone with never an orphan boy to share it? Did I spurn the naked who were ready to perish of cold, too poor to find clothing? Did I never earn thanks from the back that went bare until fleece of my flock warmed it?"[18] If we twist these words violently to an allegorical sense, we render all the deeds of his mercy insignificant. This is how divine speech sometimes stirs up the clever with mysteries, but more often provides consolation for the simple with the obvious. It has out in the open food for children but keeps hidden away the things that fill the minds of the eminent with awe. Scripture is like a river again, broad and deep, shallow enough here for the lamb to go wading, but deep enough there for the elephant to swim. As each separate passage provides the opportunity, so the order of this commentary will change its direction designedly to find the sense of the divine words more truly by adapting itself as circumstances demand.

5

And so I send this commentary to your reverence, not because I think it due and worthy, but because I remember you asked for it and I promised to send it. Whatever your holiness finds half-baked or crude in its pages, please forgive it all the more quickly for knowing that it is written by one who is not well. When illness wears at the body, the mind is troubled and even the energy for speaking grows feeble.[19] Many years have now run their course while I have been troubled by frequent disorders of the stomach. I am bothered at all hours by weakness from the enfeebling of my digestion, and I struggle to draw breath in the midst of mild but constant fevers. In the midst of these troubles, I think with care of the words of scripture, "Every son found acceptable by God is scourged."[20] The more I am weighed down by present troubles, the more confidently I breathe with hope of eternal comfort. And perhaps this was the divine plan, that in my trials I should tell of the trials of Job and that I would better understand the mind of one so scourged if I felt the lash myself. But those who consider the matter rightly will at least recognize that bodily disease lessens in no small measure the energy I have for my work, and that when the flesh is scarcely strong enough to speak, the mind cannot express itself adequately. For what is the body's task if it is not to be the instrument of the heart? However skillful a musician may be, he cannot exercise his art unless the instruments are attuned to his touch: an organ cannot echo with the strains commanded of it by a skilled hand nor does the air give voice to his art if the pipes are cracked and broken. Even more so is the tone of my commentary afflicted when the weakness of the instrument so far debilitates my power of speech that there is no art of skill left to give order to this work. As you glance over these words, do not, I beseech you, look for the leafy ornament of eloquence, for it is forbidden to plant trees in the temple of God[21] and scripture restrains the frivolous, empty babbling of its commentators accordingly. Surely we all know how, when the stalks of grain are allowed to run to leafy riot, the grains of wheat within are small and poor. So it is that I have studied to neglect the art of speaking itself, which teachers who confine themselves to externals inculcate. Even the style of this letter proves that I have not worked at keeping my M's from running together,[22] I have not shunned the inelegancies they call barbarisms, and I have refused to keep my prepositions and cases straight, for I consider it most unseemly to hold the words of the heavenly oracle hostage to the rules of Donatus.[23] Translators never observe these rules in the authoritative text of scripture. Since our commentary begins with the scriptural text, it is altogether appropriate that the child thus brought forth should resembles its mother. I use the new translation for my text.[24] But when the argument suggests it, I take my proof-texts sometimes from the new version, sometimes from the old; since the apostolic see, over which (by God's will) I preside, uses both versions, my own work should be supported by both.

Preface

I.

1.

Many people often ask who is to be considered the author of the book of blessed Job. Some conjecture that Moses was the author of this book, while others opt for one of the prophets. In the book of Genesis, one Jobab is said to have descended from the family of Esau and succeeded Bale the son of Beor as king;[25] thus they believe that this was the blessed Job and that he lived long before the time of Moses. But they are ignorant of the habit of sacred scripture in mentioning briefly in earlier sections things to be pursued much later on, after other things have been treated in detail. So this Jobab is recorded to have lived before there were kings in Israel, but in no way did he live before the Law, when in fact he is shown to have lived in the time of the Judges in Israel. Some people look at this uncautiously and think that Moses wrote Job's history as if of someone long before his own age; the result is that they think the man who brought forth the precepts of the Law for our instruction also used the story of a gentile to pass on a model of virtue for us. But some, as I said, think the writer of this work was one of the prophets, claiming that no one could penetrate such mystic words of God unles the spirit of prophecy had lifted his soul to higher things.

2.

But who wrote these words is quite a pointless question when we believe confidently that the Holy Spirit is the true author of the book. The writer is the one who dictates things to be written. The writer is the one who inspires the book and recounts through the voice of the scribe the deeds we are to imitate. We might read the words of some great man in his letters but ask by what pen they were written; but it would be ridiculous not to recognize the author and attend to the contents and to go on asking by just what sort of pen the words were pressed onto the page. Since we know the substance of the story and know that the Holy Spirit is the author, if we go on asking who the scribe was what else are we doing than reading the text and asking about the pen?

3. We are closer to the truth if we think that blessed Job himself,

who endured these spiritual battles, is the one who recounted the tale of his accomplished victory. It ought not to bother you that it says in this book things like, "Job said," or, "Job endured this and that." It is customary in sacred scripture for those who write to speak about themselves in the third person. Thus Moses says, "Moses was more gentle than all the people who dwell upon the earth."[26] Thus John said, "The disciple, whom Jesus loved."[27] Thus Luke said that there were two disciples walking down the road, Cleophas and another;[28] the other one is shown by his reticence (in the opinion of some) to be Luke himself. The writers of the sacred words, stirred by the impulse of the Holy Spirit, thus bear witness concerning themselves in scripture as if they spoke of others: The Holy Spirit therefore spoke of Moses through Moses himself; the Holy Spirit spoke through John of John himself. Paul likewise insinuates that it is not on his own account that he speaks: "Must you have proof that it is Christ who speaks through me?"[29] This is why the angel who is said to have appeared to Moses is sometimes called an angel, sometimes the Lord himself: He was an angel for his outward speech; but he was called the Lord insofar as the Lord presided within and furnished the power of speech itself. The figure who spoke from the heart is called an angel for its obedience and the Lord for its inspiration.

David also says, "Listen, my people, to my law; give ear to the words of my mouth."[30] It was not David's law, or David's people, but David assumed the person on whose behalf he was speaking and spoke with the authority of the one by whose inspiration he was filled. We see this happen daily in the church if we watch carefully. Standing in the midst of the congregation, a reader cries out: "I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob."[31] Surely he is not really saying that he himself is God nor is he abrogating the rules of truth in this, because he claims with his voice the mastery proper to the one to whom he offers his service with his reading. So the writers of the sacred words are filled with the Holy Spirit and pulled upwards, and speak of themselves as though from outside themselves, as if of strangers. So also blessed Job, inspired by the Holy Spirit, could write of his own deeds, which were themselves really the gifts of the Spirit from above, as if they were not his own. The things he spoke of were someone else's, insofar as he was speaking as a man of things that were God's. The one who spoke was someone else, insofar as it was the Holy Spirit that recounted things that were a man's.

II.

4. But we ought to put all this aside and get on to considering the facts of the sacred history.

All people, by the very fact that they are human, must acknowledge their creator, whose will they serve all the more devotedly for recognizing that they are in themselves nothing. But see how we creatures fail to acknowledge God: Commandments were given, but we failed to obey the commandments. Models are proposed, but we fail to imitate them as well, even though they come to us from people who lived under the Law. (Because God has spoken openly to those who lived under the Law, we think ourselves immune from those commandments since they were not proclaimed specially to us.) And so a gentile is brought in as an example to confound our impudence: thus, although people under the Law refuse to obey the Law, we should at least be stirred by the sight of one who lived by the Law's precepts even beyond the reach of the Law.[32] The Law was given to people who went astray; to those who go astray even under the Law the example is proposed of those who are beyond the Law, so that--because we have failed to respect our place in creation--we are still admonished by the precepts of the Law, and--because we sneered at obeying those precepts--we are still thrown into confusion by models and, as I said, not by models taken from among those whom the Law bound but from among those whom no law restrained from sin.

5. Divine providence hems us in on all sides,

heads off our excuses and shuts off every escape for our human shiftiness. This gentile man, beyond the Law, is brought before us to confound the depravity of those who are under the Law. The prophet put it briefly and well: "Blush, oh Sidon, says the sea,"[33] for Sidon represents the solidity of life under the Law, but the sea represents the life of the gentiles. The sea tells Sidon to blush because the life of the gentiles rebukes the life of people under the Law, the deeds of laymen rebuke the deeds of the monks when monks, for all their vows, do not abide by what they hear in the commandments, while laymen order their lives in accord with rules by which they are in no way bound.[34]

The authority of this book is made clear from the unshakeable sacred page itself. Through Ezechiel the prophet it is said that three men alone would be set free: Noe, Daniel and Job.[35] Not undeservedly is a virtuous gentile mentioned among biographies of the Jews by the authority we revere, for just as our Redeemer came to redeem both Jew and gentile, so also he willed that his prophecy be spoken by Jew and gentile as well. Thus would be proclaimed among each people the one who one day would suffer on behalf of both people.

6 Relying on the greatest strength, this man Job was known to himself and to God;

but if he had not been scourged, we would never have heard of him. Virtue acts quietly but the reputation of virtue is stirred up by the whip. Left alone, Job kept what he was to himself; beset by troubles, he brought the sweet odor of his fortitude to the notice of all. It is that way with ointments that do not spread their scent abroad unless they are stirred up and with incenses that do not give off their aroma unless they are burned: just so holy men make known the aroma of their virtues in the midst of their tribulations. The gospel puts it well: "If you will have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Go away from here,' and it will go away."[36] Unless the grain of mustard seed is ground down its strength is never known. Leave it alone and it is mild, but grind it and it burns and shows the bitterness that lay hidden within. So every saint, when left unassailed, seems worthless and meek, but when the flail of persecution strikes him, right away you sense the true flavor of the man. Whatever had seemed weak and worthless before is transformed into a fervent zeal for virtue. The things he had gladly concealed in time of tranquillity he is forced to reveal under pressure of tribulation. So the prophet well said, "By day the Lord commanded his mercy, and at night he declared it."[37] The mercy of the Lord is commanded by day, because we learn about it in quiet times; but it is declared by night, because the gift that is received in peacetime is made known in time of trial.

III.

7 But we must consider a little more carefully why Job suffered so many wounds,

he who kept himself blameless by guarding his virtues so carefully and well. He possessed the virtue of humility, for he himself says, "Did I refuse to submit to judgment with a man-servant of mine or woman-servant, when they had a complaint to bring?"[38] He showed hospitality, as he testifies, "No stranger stayed outside, for my door was open to the traveler."[39] He observed strict discipline, as he indicates: "Princes stopped speaking and placed a finger over their lips."[40] He was strong but gentle: "When I was sitting like a king, with my retinue about, I would comfort those who mourned."[41] He was abundantly generous with alms, as he hints: "Did I sit over my meal alone with never an orphan boy to share it?"[42] Though he had performed all the commands of virtue, one thing was lacking to him: that he should learn to give thanks even in time of suffering. It was clear that he knew how to serve God in the midst of blessings, but it was appropriate that a severe test should find out whether he would remain devoted to God even under the blows of misfortune. Pain reveals whether the professed loves of the untroubled are genuine. The enemy sought to make him yield but only made him advance. The Lord generously allowed the thing the devil had sought so wickedly, for when the enemy asked for Job to destroy him, by his temptations he only succeeded in enhancing Job's merits. For it is written: "In all this Job did not sin with his lips."[43] To be sure, some of his responses seem harsh to unskilled readers; but they do not know how to understand devoutly the words of the holy as they are spoken. They do not know how to imagine themselves in the place of the just man as he grieves and so cannot interpret the words of his grief correctly. Only one who shares the suffering can accurately read the mind of the sufferer.

8 So some believe Job to have sinned in his words,

since they pay careless attention, for if they reproach the answers of blessed Job, they actually claim that the Lord's judgment of him was mistaken, for the Lord said to the devil, "Have you considered my servant Job? For there is none like him on the earth, a man simple and upright, who fears God and draws back from all evil-doing."[44] The devil answers: "Has Job revered God for nothing? Haven't you built walls around him, and all his household? . . . But reach out your hand and touch him and see if he does not curse you to your face."[45] So the enemy tried his strength against blessed Job but was really entering a contest against God. Between God and the devil Job stood as the object of their contest. What is it to assert that the holy man sinned with his words in the midst of his trials but to accuse God, who had taken Job's side, of a transgression? God wished to take up the cause of the man who suffered temptation (and who had honored him before) and God allowed the one he singled out to be tested by these scourges. If Job is said to have gone astray, the God who praised him must have given in, even though the gifts attest that Job sinned in no way--who does not know that sin deserves not rewards but penalties?--for the one who deserved to receive back twice what he had lost[46] shows, by that reward, that everything he had said had been not vice but virtue. To this assertion it may be added that he also intervened for his erring friends.[47] For if someone is in the midst of grave sins, he does not wash away others' sins while he is weighted down by his own. He is shown to have been spotless in himself if he could win forgiveness for others.

But if some readers are unhappy that Job tells the story of his own virtues, consider this: that in the midst of the ruin of such wealth, so wounded in body, surrounded by so many corpses of his children, with his friends coming to console him but bursting out with rebuke, he was sorely pressed to despair of his own life. Afflicted by such losses, he had to bear the insulting words of reproach as well. (For those who had come to console him, while they decried what they thought was his misconduct, drove him utterly to desperation.) If he recalls his virtues then, it is not to blow himself up with boasting, but to bring hope back to his heart when it was almost overwhelmed by suffering and rejection. The mind is smitten with a terrible sword of despair when it is pressed down by the trials of wrath from above and attacked from without by insulting voices. Blessed Job, therefore, pierced by the arrows of so many griefs, fearing he would be undone by his critics, called himself back to confidence by looking back over his past life. He did not fall into the vice of arrogance because he fights against the temptation to despair inwardly by using outwardly the words of those who had praised him, so that by mentioning the good things he had done he would not despair of the good he had sought.

IV.

9 But now let us follow the sequence of his temptation.

The enemy was raging and struggling mightily to subdue the stout heart of the holy man. He brought to bear every possible instrument of temptation: He took away his wealth, killed his children, wounded his flesh, goaded his wife, brought in friends to console him, and then stirred them up to harsh rebukes. The devil kept another friend, even more bitterly reproachful, for the last and most bitter attack, in order that by smiting the heart with frequent blows he would keep opening new wounds. Because he saw Job was a powerful man in the world, the devil thought he could be reached by the loss of his wealth, but even the death of his ten children did not shake him. Seeing that bereavement only inspired Job to praise God the more, he attacked the health of his body. But then seeing that the body's sufferings could not affect the man's spirit, he stirred up the wife.

It is as though he saw that a city he wished to sack was too strongly fortified. By inflicting so many blows externally he was, so to speak, bringing up the army outside the walls, but by inflaming the wife's mind he corrupted, so to speak, the hearts of the citizens within. Thus we can learn from the rules of warfare what to expect in battles for the soul. The enemy goes on the rampage and surrounds the city with his armies. If then he sees the battlements unshaken he turns to other schemes of warfare to weaken the resolve of the people within so that when he brings his forces to bear from outside, he will also have assistance within. As the battle rages outside, he relies on those within whose betrayal will lead to the capture of the forsaken city.

10 So each time bad news came to Job, it was like a battering ram pounding the city wall.

The devil corrupted the hearts of citizens within when he sought to destroy the fortifications of the city with the wife's persuasive voice. He brought the force of arms to bear from without and used the poison of bad advice within, to capture the city the more quickly by attacking from without and from within simultaneously. Because words are often more damaging than wounds, he fortified himself further with the voices of Job's friends, as has been said. But since they were men of mature years and Job was thus less grieved at their words, so the young Eliu was brought in to smite Job's holy heart with a more penetrating wound from a stronger young right arm. See how many weapons of temptation the raging enemy found to use against that invincible strength! See how many siege machines he brought up! See how many spears he let fly! But in the midst of all this, Job's mind remained imperturbed, the city stood unvanquished.

Gregorius Moralia EN