Gregorius Moralia EN 551
551 (Jb 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.
552 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:
553 (Jb 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:
554 (Jb 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.
555 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:
556 (Jb 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.'
557 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,
558 (Jb 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."
559 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."
560 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,
561
(Jb 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.
562 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."
563 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,
564 (Jb 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."
565 (Jb 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.
566 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:
567
Or will man be more pure than his maker? (Jb 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,
Gregorius Moralia EN 551