Now, if often even when there were no realities words alone have prevailed to unman a person, consider what it was likely he then should feel, when, besides these words, the things themselves also were galling him; and what, as it should seem, was worst of all, it was a wife also who spake thus, and a wife who had sunk down utterly and was giving herself up, and on this account was seeking to cast him also into desperation. However, that we may see more clearly the engine which was brought against that adamantine wall, let us listen to the very words. What then are these? "How long wilt thou hold out? saying, Lo! I wait a short time longer, expecting the hope of my salvation." "Nay," saith she, "the time hath exposed the folly of thy words, while it is protracted, yet shows no mode of escape." And these things she said, not only thrusting him into desperation, but also reproaching and jesting upon him.
For he, ever consoling her as she pressed upon him, and putting her off, would speak as follows: "Wait a little longer, and there will soon be an end of these things." Reproaching him therefore, she speaks: "Wilt thou now again say the same thing? For a long time hath now run by, and no end of these things hath appeared." And observe her malice, that she makes no mention of the oxen, the sheep or the camels, as knowing that he was not very much vexed about these; but she goes at once to nature, and reminds him of his children. For on their death she saw him both rending his clothes and shaving off his hair. And she said not, "thy children are dead," but very pathetically, "thy memorial is perished from the earth, "the thing for which thy children were desirable." For if, even now after that the resurrection hath been made known children are longed for because they preserve the memory of the departed; much more then. Wherefore also her curse becomes from that consideration more bitter. For in that case, he that cursed, said not, "Let his children be utterly rooted out," but, "his memorial from the earth." "Thy sons and thy daughters." Thus whereas she said, "the memorial," she again accurately makes mention of either sex. "But if thou," saith she, "carest not for these, at least consider what is mine." "The pains of my womb, and labors which I have endured in vain with sorrow." Now what she means is this: "I, who endured the more, am wronged for thy sake, and having undergone the toils I am deprived of the fruits."
And see how she neither makes express mention of his loss of property, nor is silent about it and hurries by; but in that point of view in which it also might be most pathetically narrated, in that she covertly refers to it. For when she says, "I too am a vagabond and a slave, going about from place to place, from house to house," she both hints at the loss and indicates her great distress: these expressions being such as even to enhance that misfortune. "For I come to the doors of others," saith she; "nor do I beg only, but am a wanderer also and serve a strange and unusual servitude, going round everywhere and carrying about the tokens of my calamity, and teaching all men of my woes;" which is most piteous of all, to change house after house. And she stayed not even at these lamentations, but proceeded to say, "Waiting for the sun when it will set, and I shall rest from my miseries and the pains that encompass me, by which I am now straitened. "Thus, that which is sweet to others," saith she, "to behold the light, this to me is grievous: but the night and the darkness is a desirable thing. For this only gives me rest from my toils, this becometh a comfort to my miseries. But speak somewhat against the Lord, and die." Perceivest thou here too her crafty wickedness? how she did not even in the act of advising at once introduce the deadly counsel, but having first pitifully related her misfortunes and having drawn out the tragedy at length, she couches in a few words what she would recommend, and doth not even declare it plainly, but throwing a shade over that, she holds out to him the deliverance which he greatly longed for, and promises death, the thing which he then most of all desired.
And mark from this also the malice of the devil: that because he knew the longing of Job towards God, he suffers not his wife to accuse God, lest he should at once turn away from her as an enemy. For this cause she no where mentions Him, but the actual calamities she is continually harping on.
And do thou, besides what has been said, add the circumstance that it was a woman who gave this counsel, a wonderful orator to beguile the heedless. Many at least even without external accidents have been cast down by the counsel of woman alone.
[6.] What then did the blessed saint, and firmer than adamant? Looking bitterly upon her, by his aspect even before he spake, he repelled her devices: since she no doubt expected to excite fountains of tears; but he became fiercer than a lion, full of wrath and indignation, not on account of his sufferings, but on account of her diabolical suggestions; and having signified his anger by his looks in a subdued tone he gives his rebuke; for even in misfortune he kept his self-command. And what saith he? "Why speakest thou as one of the foolish women?" "I have not so taught thee," saith he, "I did not so nurture thee; and this is why I do not now recognize even mine own consort. For these words are the counsel of a `foolish woman,' and of one beside herself." Seest thou not here an instance of wounding in moderation, and inflicting a blow just sufficient to cure the disease?
Then, after the infliction, he brings in advice sufficient on the other hand to console her, and very rational, thus speaking: "if we have received our good things at the hand of the Lord, shall we not endure our evils?" "For remember," saith he, "those former things and make account of the Author of them, and thou wilt bear even these nobly." Seest thou the modesty of the man? that he doth not at all impute his patience to his own courage, but saith it was part of the natural result of what happened. "For in return for what did God give us these former things? What recompense did he repay? None, but from mere goodness. For they were a gift, not a recompense; a grace, not a reward. Well then, let us bear these also nobly."
This discourse let us, both men and women, have recorded, and let us engrave the words in our minds, both these and those before them: and by sketching upon our minds as in picture the history of their sufferings, I mean the loss of wealth, the bereavement of children, the disease of body, the reproaches, the mockings, the devices of his wife, the snare of the devil, in a word, all the calamities of that righteous man, and that with exactness, let us provide ourselves with a most ample port of refuge: that, enduring all things nobly and thankfully, we may both in the present life cast off all despondency, and receive the rewards that belong to this good way of taking things; by the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, with Whom to the Father, with the Holy Ghost, be glory, power, and honor, now and forever, world without end. Amen.