Commentary on Job 1 part 6/12

'Until I am utterly dried up and, while living, die.' 'If I have sinned,' he says, 'what can I do to you?' That is to say:

'What ought I to do further? The sin is past.' See how he disposed himself, that even for sins he who was attested by God as righteous and blameless pays penalties.

'What can I do to you? What must I now do so that the sin should not be a sin, so as to make atonement and reconciliation?' 'You who know the mind of men, why have you set me as one who pleads against you?' — not as though he were pleading against Him, far from it, but because the things befalling him gave rise to much accusation against God.

'You who know the mind of men'

'Even if they do not speak, you know their secret things, that they harbour thoughts in their mind:'

'This man such as he has suffered such things.' But these words are not those of one justifying himself:

for indeed he did not say, 'I am righteous,' but rather, 'They held a good opinion of me, and now I am accused before you through the things I suffer.'

'And am I a burden upon you?' He speaks of the weight of words and of blasphemy.

'And why did you not make my sin to be forgotten?' Do you see how the righteous man says he has sinned? 'And the cleansing of my iniquity? But now I shall depart into the earth, and rising early I shall be no more.'

'And nature itself,' he says, 'will recognize its own end, and it is possible that tomorrow I shall not be.' That is to say:

'Why did you not forget a man so worthless?' AND BILDAD THE SHUHITE ANSWERING SAYS:

'How long will you speak these things? A wind of many words is that of your mouth.'

'Will the Lord do wrong in his judging, or will he who made all things pervert justice?' Did he then say that 'I suffer unjustly'? Do you see how they nowhere hit upon the aim of the righteous man? For nowhere did he say this, but he took refuge in the weakness of nature, saying:

'Am I the sea, or a dragon? Is my strength the strength of stones? For what is my life? For I shall not live forever, that I should be patient.'

Furthermore he even confesses his sins:

'Why,' he says, 'did you not make my iniquity to be forgotten — if not for my sake, then for your own? If I have sinned, what can I do to you?' — just as some poor man who has nothing, having devoured everything, might say to his creditor:

'What can I do for you? For I am not able to pay it back henceforth.' Then he also condemns his prattling, not knowing that for those who are in extreme anguish, speaking brings some consolation, as indeed he himself says:

'I will speak, being in the distress of my spirit.'

'But nevertheless even these things,' he says, 'I uttered for this reason, because the distress demanded it; for this cause I sought death.' But he who dared not even come to ask for this, unless the distress demanded it — see how great reverence he displays, so that the argument is not off the mark.

'Will the Lord,' he says, 'do wrong in his judging?' And indeed he did not testify righteousness to himself, but what? 'Why did you not forget my iniquity?' And he says that the life of man, all of it, is thus a trial upon the earth.

'Will the Lord,' he says, 'do wrong in his judging, or will he who made all things pervert justice?' See what he says:

that justice follows upon the Creator.

'But nevertheless, even if the things said have no bearing upon Job, let us see what he says.'

'Do you not see,' he says, 'how much justice there is in creation, how much good order, how all things are lawful and arranged? He then who preserves justice and good order in all other things, was he going to throw things into confusion in your case? And besides, why did he make all things? Was it not for your sake, the man? Then would he who did such great things for your sake not impart even justice to you — he who made you out of love, and did such great things for your sake? If he made the world out of goodness, he also bears witness to his own power.'

'Often indeed we throw justice into confusion through weakness; but this One,' he says, 'made all things.'

'Was he who is so wise, so powerful, going to be unjust? If your sons sinned before him, he sent forth their iniquity into their own hands.'

'Why do you lament your children?' he says.

And yet nowhere did he make mention of his children, nor of his possessions.

And yet who would not have lamented? But nowhere in his words do you see him saying this, but only that he could not bear the pains.

But these men bring the calamity back to mind, and bitterly, saying not only that they died, but that it was even because of sins.

For it was not enough for him to say this to himself afterwards:

'Were the sacrifices, so many of them, in vain and superfluous? Lest perhaps,' he says, 'in their mind they conceived some evil against God.'

See how the death of these children melted him — him who so provided for their virtue of soul.

'For is it not possible both to be righteous and yet not to be giving punishment for sins, but rather to be tested, as in his case? For are punishments only on account of sins?' 'But you,' he says, 'rise early to the Lord Almighty in supplication.'

He shows that those men sinned more grievously than this one.

And see how they exhort him and admonish him — which itself too is grievous.

'If you are pure,' he says, 'and true, he will hearken to your prayer.'

'If he is pure, on what account was he suffering these things?' Do you not then know that it is possible to suffer these things even while being pure? And it is not at all the case that he will hearken to the prayer of the pure and true man:

for there are times when a man asks for things not profitable.

'My time is short,' he says.

'So then your former things shall be few, but your latter things beyond number.'

'He is able to make you prosper in greater prosperity than the former.' Then again the burdensome words:

'Ask the former generation, and search out according to the race of the fathers.'

'For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing.'

For our life upon the earth is but a shadow.

Will not these teach you and tell you words, and utter understanding of wisdom out of their heart? Does the papyrus flourish without water, or the reed grow tall without drink, while it is yet upon its root? Shall not every herb be cut down before it can drink?

But if it does not drink, it withers away.

And what he means is this:

Since we are but of few days, let us ask those who have grown old, and they themselves will tell us that, just as it is impossible for grass to spring up without moisture, so it is impossible for anything to endure without righteousness.

So too, he says, neither shall the ungodly endure. Thus, he says, shall be the end of all those who forget God.

For the hope of the ungodly shall perish.

His house shall be left desolate—his house and his way—and his tent shall turn out to be but a spider's web.

Though he prop up his house, it shall not stand; and though he take hold of it, it shall not remain.

For he is moist under the sun, and from his rottenness his tender shoot shall come forth.

He lies down upon a heap of stones, and shall live in the midst of the pebbles.

But if it swallow him up, the place shall deny him.

Have you not seen such things—that such is the overthrow of the ungodly? Yet out of the earth another shall spring up.

For the Lord will by no means reject the guiltless, but, he says, will accept no gift of the ungodly.

See here too how he strikes at him, since it was likely that he trusted in his sacrifices.

But consider for me how, under the form of exhortation, they wound him.

For those who said, 'Hope in God,' are the very ones who now say that there is not even any hope.

But the mouth of the truthful, he says, he will fill with laughter, and their lips with rejoicing.

But their enemies shall be clothed with shame, and the dwelling of the ungodly shall be no more.

Than how many wounds is it not more grievous, than what sickness, than what wasting away, to hear that one is ungodly, that one is laden with countless evils, that, were this not so, he would not have suffered these things?

In truth I know that it is so.

How great is the philosophy of these words!

I know, he says, that the ungodly perish, but the righteous do not. You see how he nowhere charges God with injustice? In truth I know, he says, that it is so—and that with a conscience consenting to what is said.

For how shall a mortal be righteous before God? Not to this point only, but he also fails to make his case with respect to his own purpose.

For the one had said that the righteous is saved, and the other,

that the sinner shall perish; but this man says:

I know that I suffer these things because of sin—you see his philosophy, how he is not proud?—and I understand that there is a great distance between me and God. For if he should wish to enter into judgment with him, God would not answer him, so that a man could not gainsay a single word of his out of a thousand.

You see how great is the abundance of righteousness? If God should speak a thousand words condemning us, we are not able to stand against even one, but he prevails with a thousand just charges against us.

For he is wise in mind, and mighty and great.

For being wise, he does countless good deeds.

But if you disbelieve, O man, come, let us examine the matter closely:

When he speaks a thousand words, we are not able to answer even one.

The righteous shall be among good things. What kind of righteous man? he says;

for where shall any man be found righteous before God? Against one word of his out of a thousand.

Which is just what the prophet also said:

No living man shall be justified before you.

If you, Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who shall stand? And see how confident he is in his statement:

Bring forward, he says, whatever man you will, whether from the Old or from the New; you wish for Paul, than whom nothing could be equal, the topmost portion of virtue—him God made when he was not, and to him when he came into being he gave a law, and for his sake he made heaven.

Or rather, let us work this out with the common case of all:

He made human nature.

For what reason? Out of goodness alone.

The world for his sake, and all other things for his sake.

He gave a commandment; man disobeyed.

Again he gave a law; again man disobeyed.

Again he sent the Son; again man disobeyed.

Again he granted repentance; again man disobeyed.

Again he threatened Gehenna; again man disobeyed.

And still he desired to save him.

Do you wish that we examine Paul himself? Hear him as he says:

But I obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbelief.

Then he bore witness, after this—after being called—to how great zeal and providence he enjoyed.

Or rather, why do we say these things? For it is not possible to tell it.

Then, so that he might not deal with what has been said piece by piece, he confirms it from the general principle and says:

Who, having hardened himself against him, has endured? So mighty is he.

Then from experience he confirms the word:

Great is God, he says; man is nothing. And see how loftily he speaks:

He who makes the mountains grow old, and they know it not.

He wears out the mountains imperceptibly, he says, just as David said:

He touches the mountains, and they smoke.

Here he discourses concerning his power—that he is able to do all things—concerning his power to punish.

He bore witness to his righteousness; he bears witness also to his power:

He who overturns them, he says, in his anger; who shakes what is under heaven from its foundations, and its pillars totter.

He who says, he says, to the sun, 'Do not rise,' and it does not rise, and he seals up the stars.

You see how great is the power and providence to which he bears witness? Not as though the sun could hear, but displaying the greatness of his authority—that is, he does the same thing also with the stars.

And the same thing shows him again to be the Creator:

He who alone stretched out the heaven.

And who walks upon the sea as upon a pavement.

Here there is also a certain prophecy.

He who makes the Pleiades and Hesperus and the chambers of the south; who does great and unsearchable things, glorious also and marvelous, of which there is no number.

Is it not plain that no one will be able to withstand such a One, one so wise and righteous? Notice that nowhere does he speak of his essence, but of his operations.

If He should pass over me, I shall not see it; and if He should pass me by, I shall not perceive it at all.

If He should take away, who shall turn Him back? Or who shall say to Him:

'What have You done?' For He Himself has turned back wrath.

And He is mighty, and has none like Himself.

By Him were the sea-monsters that are under heaven bowed down.

So that they do not overstep, He says, their appointed places, so as not to stand upright † inasmuch as He looks upon the sea, being in the midst of it †.

Fittingly he makes mention of the sea-monsters, and from these he sets forth His power.

'Who,' he says, 'having grown hardened against Him, has endured?' That is to say:

to blaspheme Him; so that he knows this, and would not himself have suffered these things—so that even if he were permitted for a brief while, yet he would not endure it.

Then he speaks concerning His power and His invisibility:

'But if He should hearken to me and discern my words with Him.' For even if I am righteous, He will not hearken to me.

I shall beseech for His judgment.

If He should make an examination of my words, having heard them—for this is what 'discern' means:

should He put me to the test and demand a reckoning—I am not even found worthy to be heard, though I be righteous.

Even if He should scrutinize my words, though I be righteous, I am not worthy to be heard by Him. And even if I should call and He should hearken, I do not believe that He has listened to my voice.

But if in His lovingkindness I should seek to be saved, I do not know—that is to say:

I do not believe—that He has hearkened to my voice. Let Him not crush me in the darkness.

Perhaps what he means by 'in the darkness' is this: that great is the authority with Him, and whatever He may do, there is none that withstands, nor any that even knows how one perishes.

Since they were saying continually:

'Rise early to the Lord, and He will hearken to you'—'From where?' he says.

If I am righteous, He will not hearken; but if He should examine my words, I do not know that I am righteous; and if I should call upon Him, I do not know whether He has heard me.

For from present circumstances I cannot conjecture these things. And He has multiplied my wounds without cause.

But You said that his possessions were destroyed without cause.

Why then do you marvel if he too says what God said? Or the phrase 'without cause' means not that he did not sin, but that no benefit will come from his punishment and chastisement.

I am full of many dreadful sufferings. And He has filled me with bitterness.

For as to His prevailing in strength—'Who then shall withstand His judgment?'—he does not say this to mean that He simply prevails by strength, but that He is able to do whatsoever He wills.

For even if I be righteous, my mouth will speak impiously.

For I am judged before God. And even if I be blameless, I shall turn out crooked.

For whether I have acted impiously, I do not know in my soul—only that my life has been taken from me.

Do you see how great an abundance he speaks of, both of God's righteousness and of our own weakness—we who are not even able to discern our own sins? Therefore he said:

Wrath destroys the great man and the mighty, and the wicked shall perish by an extraordinary death; but the righteous are laughed to scorn.

For they are delivered into the hands of the ungodly.

With God everyone is unrighteous, yet there is a certain distinction:

the mighty man is seized by Him, the base and wicked man perishes, and the righteous man, when He wishes to examine him, is laughed to scorn—as one who not only suffers dreadful things, but is also convicted through his punishments.

When God bestirs Himself and wills to proceed against a man, no righteousness stands before Him, no baseness resists, no power, nor anything else.

For they are delivered into the hands of the ungodly.

Not by punishment only, but also by delivering them over to the ungodly, He makes them objects of scorn.

'He covers,' he says, 'the faces of its judges.'

But my life is swifter than a runner.

Do you see? Continually he takes refuge in the brevity of time.

Then he even makes a comparison, how short-lived is human life, so that it does not even appear.

For in the whole span of eternity such is its nature:

'It fled away,' he says, 'and I saw it not.'

Is there indeed any track of a path for ships, or of an eagle flying in search of prey? For even if I should speak, I shall forget while speaking.

And the things of memory have utterly perished from me; I do not even know that I am uttering words:

so great is the anguish within me.

In the midst of speaking I forget, so great is the tempest, so great the trial. But you, when you hear him saying something rash, look at the excess of the tempest and the shipwreck.

Then do you marvel if something burdensome was spoken thus by a despondent soul, and do you compare yourself with him? For that no one might condemn him for these things, on this account both at the outset and after the end the verdict of God stands forth as his defender, not only acquitting him of charges, but also investing him with the dignity of the righteous.

'I know,' he says, 'that He will not leave me unpunished.'

'Even if I should be freed from punishment, the punishment has opened against me the mouths of all'; or, that He will not cease chastising me, but will punish me yet further. 'Since, then, I am ungodly,' he says, 'why did I not die?' Do you see how he does not deny that he is a sinner? 'Why did I not die?' he says.

This is not the speech of one making accusation, but of one inquiring.

'I do not know the dispensation,' he says.

For if I should wash myself with snow and cleanse myself with clean hands, You have dipped me deeply enough in filth, and my very garment has abhorred me.

I am set as an example of ungodliness to all:

for the wicked man ought to be taken out of the midst, so as not to be a teacher to others.

Even if I become purer than the sun, I have a stain, he says, and no ordinary one. 'And my garment has abhorred me.'

What need is there to speak of men, when even my very clothes hate me? What he means is this: that even the one nearest to me, even he has hated me.

Not on account of the punishment did they turn away, but as from one accursed and defiled, as from one unclean and lowest of all, so did they turn away from me.

What gain comes from this, to pronounce such a verdict concerning me? For You are not a man like me, with whom I might contend, he says.

If it were a man who chastised, the punishment would by no means have condemned the one suffering ill, but I would have been able to be judged against him and to prove him doing wrong.

But since You are God, this is impossible; rather, it suffices to be chastised and to bear the ultimate verdict. 'That we might come,' he says, 'together into judgment.'

Would that there were a mediator between us, one to reprove and to arbitrate between us both.

Let Him remove His rod from me, and let not His fear terrify me.

And I shall not fear Him, but I will speak.

For I am not conscious in myself of anything unrighteous.

But I am weary in my soul; and groaning over myself, I will let loose my anger, and I will speak my words, held fast in bitterness of soul.

And yet he himself said above, that he could not answer Him one word in a thousand.

How then does he speak here? 'In bitterness of soul,' he says—so that the words are not his own, but those of bitterness, so far as it is possible to speak from reasonings.

What does 'if there were one to judge between us' mean? Not so that his life might be examined and it be shown that he suffers unjustly—for he does not say this:

for through the foregoing he has often said that it is by reason of iniquity—but that the affliction, persisting, is overturning me, he says, just as when Isaiah says:

Was it you who grew angry, and yet we were led astray? Or again, when he says:

'Why did you lead us astray from your way?' This is what I fear, he says: lest I fall or be overturned.

I was afraid lest I should ever be compelled to utter something blasphemous, or even to destroy myself. And I will say, he says, to the Lord:

'Do not teach me to be impious; and why have you judged me thus? Or is it good for you if I act impiously, that you should reject the works of your hands?' He did not say 'the righteous one' or 'the virtuous one,' but 'the works of your hands.'

He did not say 'the righteous one, the virtuous one,' but 'the works of your hands.'

'Yet have you given heed to the counsel of the impious?' For if it is on account of sins, how then do you give heed to those men? 'Or do you see as a mortal sees, or do you look as a man looks? Or is your life human, or your years those of a man?' But why do you not exact punishment for every sin? This is what it means to enter into judgement.

'For you have searched out,' he says, 'my lawlessness, and traced out my sins.'

You see that he does not desire to enter into judgement as one who acts purely, but because, he says, 'this affliction profits me nothing, but I fear lest it harm me; for you have searched out,' he says, 'my lawlessness, and traced out my sins.'

'For I know that I have not been impious;

but who is it that can deliver from your hands?' I, he says, do not know, but it may be that I have acted impiously and am unaware of it. 'But who is it that can deliver from your hands?' That is to say:

When you punish, no one is able to be justified. For surely he ought not to have said this.

Then he says that 'we are the works of your hands, even if we are sinners.'

'Your hands,' he says, 'fashioned me and made me;

remember that you formed me of clay, and now you turn me back again into earth.'

So then, on account of the meanness of my nature, and because I am lowly by nature, and because such an end awaits me, was not the punishment on these grounds sufficient for me? 'Did you not milk me out like milk, and curdle me like cheese? You clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews; and you granted me life and mercy.'

You who have shown such great love for mankind, such great wisdom and providence—do you now overlook me? For this reason he describes, bit by bit, the composition of man, in order to show that, having made him out of that which was not, and displayed such great providence and wisdom, do you now overlook him? He shows that man is nothing.

'And your visitation preserved my spirit.'

Nature was not sufficient for itself, but there was need of great providence concerning us.

'Throughout my whole life,' he says, 'I have enjoyed your providence. Having these things within myself, I know that you can do all things;

you see that what may be known of God is manifest in them, that our very creation was already sufficient to show me what God is, and his power—not the heaven alone. For to make such a being out of seed, and to sustain it, and not to let it fall into dangers, is enough to display God's might and power; and to preserve one who has sinned and not punish him, and to chastise and requite one who is righteous.'

'For if I sin,' he says, 'you will watch me, and you will not leave me guiltless of lawlessness.'

For lest you should think that being watched is salvation—'you are able,' he says, 'to keep me, though I am condemned. For if I act impiously, woe is me; and if I am righteous, I shall not be able to lift up my head.'

'My righteousness does not suffice me for salvation,' he says.

'I am hunted like a lion for the slaughter, and again, turning about, you terribly destroy me, renewing against me my indictment.'

'And you have used great anger against me, and brought upon me trials.'

'Why then did you bring me forth from the womb, and I did not straightway die, and no eye had seen me, and I had become as though I had never been? Why did I not pass from the belly to the tomb? Is not the time of my life short? Let me then rest a little, before I go to the land whence I shall not return, to a land dark and gloomy, to a land of everlasting darkness, where there is no light nor sight of the life of mortals.'

'I am hunted,' he says, 'like a lion for the slaughter'—that is to say:

Being held fast, I know not why. Then again he recounts his own calamity, how great and strange it is, and the brevity of life, and that after this there is no hope.

'Shall he who speaks much also be answered?' Behold, this one too accuses him of idle chatter.

'A spirit full of words comes from your mouth'; and this one says:

'Shall he who speaks much also be answered? And is the fluent of speech thought to be righteous?' For surely, because you are able to utter words, he says, are you therefore already righteous? Then he speaks of man's nature:

'Blessed is the short-lived one born of woman.'

'Since you are the son of a woman,' he says, 'how then are you righteous? Do not multiply words.'

'Or is there no one who can answer you back?' Or he means this:

'For is there indeed no one who can answer you back?'—that is to say:

We are; or is there no one who knows your evils except God, who, if he had wished to convict you, you would already have perished?

See how, though Job nowhere says that he suffers unjustly and has no sins, they nonetheless bring this charge against him.

'For do not say that I am pure in my works and blameless before him.'

How so? And yet he himself said:

'In truth I know that no mortal is pure before the Lord.'

You see how they bring contradictory charges? 'But how might the Lord speak to you, and open his lips with you?

Then he will declare to you the power of wisdom, that it will be twofold to what is according to you.'

'And then you shall know that things worthy of what you sinned have come upon you from the Lord.'

'It is possible,' he says, 'for God to answer you, that he is twofold to what is according to you'; then you would know that you suffer justly. The one point is wrongly said, the other rightly.

For to say that, if it were possible for God to answer you—for indeed he is far better than you and wise—he would have shown you that you suffer these things rightly: this is well said. But to say 'and then you shall know that things worthy of what you sinned have come upon you from the Lord': this is no longer well said.

'Would that there were one to reprove and to decide between us both'—he himself says the contrary, that if there were, he would have shown it.

But Job did not say this—that I suffer undeservedly—but that I grow weary at what is to come, and that my nature is lowly, and that I am the work of his hands.

But he, as though Job had said 'I suffer unjustly,' speaks thus:

But he did not say so; rather, he said, 'I fear lest I sin.'

'Will you find the track of the Lord, or have you reached the uttermost things that the Almighty has made?' That is to say:

Are you able to know his wisdom and his way? And yet he himself, earlier, had confessed these very things and discoursed much concerning his power and his wisdom and his incomprehensibility and his purity, so that these words are superfluous.

'High is the heaven, and the earth is deep—and what will you do?' Or he means this:

What such thing can you do? Or that, as you are lowly upon the earth, so God is exalted in heaven, and you can accomplish nothing; but as far as heaven is distant from earth, so far are you also from God.

For he himself knows all things. 'Or do you know things deeper than those in Hades? Or do you understand things longer than the measures of the earth, or the breadth of the sea? For if he should overthrow all things, or gather them together, who shall say to him:

"What have you done?" For he himself knows the works of the lawless, and, seeing what is amiss, he will not overlook it.'

'But man,' he says, 'floats vainly upon words; and a mortal born of woman is like a wild ass of the desert.'

'Like a wild ass of the desert'—that continually brays.

'Our words,' he says, 'differ in nothing from that meaningless cry which shouts at random and without purpose;

over everything we find fault, everything we accuse.' Again they exhort him to give heed to his manner of life:

'And yet this is nothing,' he says.

'If I am righteous, I shall not lift up my head.

Behold, I am righteous, yet unclean before him. For if you have made your heart pure,' he says, 'and stretched out your hands to him;

if there is lawlessness in your hands, put it far from you, and let not injustice lodge in your dwelling.'

'For thus shall your face shine forth like pure water, and you shall put off filth and shall not be afraid;

and you shall forget your troubles like a wave that has passed by, and shall not be dismayed.'

For since he had said that change is impossible:

'Though I wash myself with snow, you have plunged me deeply in filth'—for this reason he says:

'Thus shall your face shine forth like pure water.'

Now the other things are well said; but to keep saying that these things came about on account of sins—this is amiss; and to exhort him to turn to virtue—for he was not in wickedness—this belonged to ignorance and to those who knew nothing.

'And your prayer,' he says, 'shall be like the morning star, and from noonday life shall dawn upon you.'

And you shall be confident, because there will be hope for you; and out of care and anxiety peace shall dawn upon you.

For you shall be at rest, and there shall be none to war against you;

and many, having changed, shall entreat you, but salvation shall forsake them.

For their hope shall perish.

And the eyes of the ungodly shall waste away.

For with Him are wisdom and power.

Are you the only men, or shall wisdom die with you? Since they speak of things manifest and plain, observe how his opening words are more moderate, but his conclusions are not so.

When I begin to speak, they goad me.

'Can you,' he says, 'take up wisdom and depart with it?' Notice how everywhere at the beginning of his discourses, since he is about to utter harsh things afterward, so that they may not condemn him, everywhere he first clears himself before God and says that He is great and wonderful and does nothing unjustly.

'Are you,' he says, 'the only men, or shall wisdom die with you? Yet I too have a heart like you.'

But a righteous and blameless man has become a laughingstock.