De causa Dei: Book II, Chapter 34
Thomas Bradwardine, De causa Dei contra Pelagium (1344). English translation: Wroot Press, CC BY-NC 4.0; machine-learning use permitted with attribution (https://bradwardine.wrootpress.com/rights/).
Source: Henry Savile's edition, London 1618, 626E–636E; Latin from EEBO-TCP A16626 (public domain).
Canonical: https://bradwardine.wrootpress.com/2/34/
Status: draft translation, not yet reviewed.

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CHAPTER XXXIIII.

Through what has gone before, he allures men to fear and love, to confidence, to patience and humility, to prayer, and to giving thanks.

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O great and wonderful God of ours, sole light of our eyes, open, I beg, the eyes of my heart, and the eyes of others, that we may truly contemplate your great and wonderful works set out above, and, having contemplated them, revere them more devoutly. For when the foregoing has been weighed with discerning consideration, who is not shaken with fear? Who is not set on fire with love? Who is not strengthened in confidence? Who is not armed with patience? Who is not summoned to the lowest humility, to diligent prayer, and to unceasing thanksgiving? Who, I say, having considered the foregoing discerningly, would not be shaken with fear, seeing your most omnipotent will, effective in all things, according to which you govern all things heavenly, earthly, and infernal? By it you exalt whom you will, and when you will; whom you will, and when you will, you humble, heal, weaken, bring to life, put to death; whom you will you predestine and save, and whom you will you reject and damn. Even if he were to damn an innocent man, who would reprove him, since his will in such matters is mistress of reason, author of justice, and rule of equity, as is clear from the twentieth, twenty-first, and thirty-ninth of the first? This too that great Nebuchadnezzar bears witness to from his own experience, of whom Daniel 4 writes in this manner: "The word was fulfilled upon Nebuchadnezzar, and he was cast out from all, and ate hay like an ox, and his body was drenched with the dew of heaven, until his hair grew like the feathers of eagles, and his nails like the claws of birds. Therefore, after the end of the days, I, Nebuchadnezzar, lifted my eyes to heaven, and my understanding was restored to me, and I blessed the Most High, and praised and glorified him who lives forever, because his power is an everlasting power, and his kingdom is from generation to generation, and all the inhabitants of the earth are reputed as nothing before him. For he does according to his own will, in the powers of heaven as among the inhabitants of the earth, and there is no one who can resist his hand and say to him, 'Why have you done it?'" Therefore Job also, though most holy, speaks thus: "My foot has followed his steps; I have kept his way and have not turned aside from it; I have not departed from the commands of his lips, and in my bosom I have hidden the words of his mouth. For he is alone, and no one can turn his thought aside; and his soul has done whatever it willed, and when he has fulfilled his will in me, many other similar things are at hand for him; and therefore I am troubled before his face, and considering him I am anxious with fear." On this, blessed Gregory writes thus in Moralia 16.15: "As if he were saying for his part: I am already weighing what I suffer, but I still dread what I may suffer. For he fulfills his will in me, since he afflicts me with many blows; but many similar things are at hand for him, because if he thinks to strike, a place is still found where the wound may grow." From this one must weigh how fearful he was before the scourge, who even after being struck still fears that he will be struck. For considering that an incomprehensible force dwells in him, both of power and of judgment, the just man was unwilling to be secure even about the scourge; hence, still fearing, he adds, "And therefore I am troubled before his face, and considering him, I am anxious with fear." He is rightly troubled before the face of the Lord who sets the terror of that majesty before the eyes of his heart, and is shaken by dread of his rectitude when he sees that he is not fit to render account, if he should be judged strictly. And it is rightly said, "and considering him, I am anxious with fear," because the less anyone considers the force of the divine reckoning, the less he is afraid, and the more he is, as it were, secure in this life, the further he is from considering the inner strict judgment. For just men always return to the inner chamber of the heart, gaze upon the force of the hidden strict judgment, stand present at the judgment of the inmost majesty, so that they may at last be the more secure the less they wanted to be secure here, as long as they lived.[n1] But look: we know of blessed Job that he was devoted to every work of holiness, and yet he takes on so many scourges, and not even amid the scourges does he stand secure, but still fears, still trembles as he considers the force of the divine strict judgment. What then do we say, we wretched ones, we sinners, if he who acted thus fears thus? Hence Augustine also, on Psalm 70, the first treatise: "Much," he says,

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"moves me, the love and fear of God: fear, because he is just; love, because he is merciful. For who would say to him, 'What have you done?' if he were to damn the just? How great, then, is his mercy, that he justifies the unjust!" Who will not fear such a Lord, so great? And who, pierced with so great a fear, will not take care to avoid offending him and to placate him, and so, by fleeing all evils and pursuing all goods, will not in the end love him above all things with all his strength? For love extends to the good, and the greater the good, the more it is to be loved. But you, Lord my God, are the good of every good, good above all goods, a good infinite in the most infinite way, as the first supposition shows. How much, then, ought I reasonably to love you? Surely in proportion, that is, infinitely? Would that I could! But how can I, so small and finite, love you infinitely? And how else will the due proportion between lovable things and loves be preserved? For you, my God, super-lovable, exceed all other lovable things infinitely. How, moreover, if I loved you, the infinite good, in a finite way, could I fail to love some finite good fittingly, one equally, another more? Or perhaps, Lord, I ought to love you infinitely as to manner, even if perhaps not as to act. For as far as the manner of loving is concerned, I ought to love you as final end for your own sake, and no other good as final end for its own sake, but for your sake, Lord, the highest good, who are the beginning and end of all goods. Or perhaps I may love you in some way infinitely as to act, both intensively and extensively. Intensively in some way, because if I love you and any finite good fittingly, however great that good, I love it more intensely, firmly, and strongly, since I love it only for your sake. For that on account of which each thing is what it is, is more so; and so that on account of which we love is the more dear.[n2] Extensively in some way, by comparing you, Lord, the highest good, with any other goods however many and great, and by loving you, Lord, before all things and above all things, when I would rather that all those things, and I myself as well, not exist, than that you alone not exist; or when I would prefer that all those things, and I myself besides, not exist, rather than offend you even once, good God. But still, most loving Lord, considering another proportionality of loves and friendships, I am deeply anxious and disturbed. For if what someone says is true, that in all friendships that exist according to superabundance the proportionate must come about in the loving as well,[n3] that is, that the better is to be loved more than he loves, and the more useful likewise, and each of the other things in like manner; for since the loving comes about according to worth, there is then in some way an equality, which seems to belong to friendship in every case; then, as much as you are better than I, and more useful to me than I to you, so much the more ought I to love you than you love me. But can I do this? How much, I ask, do you love me, Lord? Surely not thinly and faintly, as I am good thinly and faintly? Far be this from you, Lord supremely good. For you would not be supremely good unless in each goodness that you have you were supreme, supremely good and supremely perfect, as you taught me above. Your love, therefore, with which you love your lover and friend, though unworthy, is not thin or slender, cold or faint, but most perfect and highest. Otherwise, as the goodness of your beloved and friend increased, you could intensify your love, advance in love and be changed, the opposite of which you showed in the preceding, in the fifth and twenty-third of the first. How then shall I love you as much as you love me? Indeed, how shall I love you as much more than you love me as you are better than I? Is it perhaps because I ought to love you infinitely in some way as to the manner of loving, and as to the act of love both intensively and extensively in the ways stated, whereas you do not love me so, because I am not to be loved so? For I ought to love you as final end for your own sake, and all other things for your sake; but you do not love me for my sake, nor other things for mine, but me and other things for yours, just as they are not to be loved otherwise. I ought also to love you in some way infinitely in intensity, that is, above any finite good whatever; but you do not love me so. I ought also to love you, Lord, the highest good, in some way infinitely in extent, by willing that any number and any amount of other goods, and myself too, not exist, rather than that you not exist, or that I offend you even once; but you do not love me so, because I ought not to be so loved. Yet I know that in some ineffable way, mute to me,[n4] you love your friends incomparably more than you are loved by them, just as you are incomparably better and greater. For your love surpasses the love of every creature, as each of your goodnesses surpasses every goodness of every creature, incomparably and infinitely. O great Lord, great good, who fill heaven and earth, nay, whom heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain, as you deigned to show me, small as I am, in the second and fifth of the first! Why do you not fill my tiny soul? O soul, so small, so wretched, who are not filled to the full with love of so great a good [n5] —why do you not open all your little doors? Why do you not spread out all your folds? Why do you not stretch out every capacity, that you may be wholly occupied, wholly satisfied, and wholly made drunk by the sweetness of so great a love, little as you are? Especially since you, however small, cannot be satisfied by love of a lesser good, which seems marvelous; but my God is yet more marvelous.

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Say it, then, I beg you humbly, that it may be so, my most lovable God, and without doubt it will be so.[n6] What is more effective for love than to forestall by loving? But you, most loving, and would that you were most loved, Lord, forestalled me, wretched as I was, not loving but hostile, by loving me, by reconciling me, by magnificently lavishing on me the jewels of your splendid charity, as you show from many of the foregoing. What, moreover, is more lovable to one manifoldly wretched than manifold mercy, or more manifold mercy, without end, number, weight, or measure? But you, Lord, as you show from the first of the first, being infinitely and supremely good, are therefore consequently infinitely and supremely merciful, so that nothing more merciful could be, or even be thought. You, most merciful Lord, have in no way shut me out from your most loving protection, me, your most ungrateful servant, who not only withheld from you the service I owed but rebelled in manifold ways; but from roaring lions, from gnashing demons, you mercifully defended me, lest they drag me down devoured to hell, as you teach lovingly from the twenty-second of the first, the thirty-second of the second, and elsewhere; and—what I do not count as the lesser thing—you mercifully preserved me from so many sins, greater and lesser, as I might otherwise have fallen into, as you show from the fourth of this book. Nay more, and this seems a mark of incomparably greater mercy, when I deserved nothing good, but heaped crimes upon crimes and offended you, Lord so great, so manifoldly and continually, you mercifully forestalled me with your gratuitous grace, healed all my infirmities, and, once I was healed, raised me up, carrying me on from virtue to virtue in all the healthy and holy things I did; you kept me healthy and safe from all enemies and from the infirmities of the soul, until I proudly deserted you, as you have revealed from the thirty-fifth of the first with what follows, and from the fifth of this book with the thirtieth of it, and the next. Indeed, even if after the gift of so great a grace, after the covenant of so great a friendship, I desert you in defiance, however ungrateful and unworthy I become, however much I mock and despise you, Lord, you defend me from enemies, you preserve me from sins, as you taught above, and when it pleases your mercy you forestall me and bring me back by your gratuitous grace, me who not only lack merit but am given over to evil merits; and you do not reproach me for past disgraces, nor do you restore me to a lower degree of your friendship but to an equal or more excellent one, most merciful God of mine; and so you diligently keep me, cherish me, nourish me, protect me, and carry me on continually to greater things, until perhaps, growing proud again, I leave you, as you teach by what has been set out, with the forty-third of the first, most loving God of mine. And so, as often as I shall depart from you, however far into a distant country, even to the edge of the desert or the depth of the sea; nay, even if I go away to the gates of the lower hell, your mercy is at hand to bring the wretch back. Otherwise you would have a mercy that could be counted and was finite, the contrary of which you demonstrated above. And beyond all these good things recalled, the consummating good and the crowning of all, without which the rest will not profit, not by reason of the demands of merits but out of your gratuitous grace, you give me, namely, final perseverance, as you show through the fourteenth of this book; and so at last eternal life, glory, and yourself. For you crown with mercy and compassions, and your grace is eternal life. You are the worker, rewarder, and reward of our merits that please you; yet if you wished to reckon strictly with us, we should deserve nothing good at all, as I learned from you in the thirty-ninth of the first. It is not, therefore, of him who wills, nor of him who runs, but of you, Lord, who show mercy most superabundantly. And that I may consider not only the greater goods but the lesser as well, such as the goods of nature and of fortune, as they are commonly called, interior goods and exterior: interior, of mind and of body; of the mind, intelligence, moral and intellectual virtues; of the body, health, strength, beauty, and the other bodily virtues; exterior, nobility, riches, victories, fame, glory, and honor, and whatever others there are, I see without fail that all these goods are your gratuitous gifts, as by the twenty-seventh of the first and what follows you taught me, by your gratuitous grace. There are, moreover, many other great goods which few consider or notice: the privations, namely, of all the evils that a person does not have,[n7] that you are not mad nor foolish, not leprous nor blind, not infamous among the people nor a reproach of men nor the outcast and laughingstock of the crowd, not put to shame by failing in your deeds, whether cleric or layman, not disgracefully defeated, nor given over to vile servitude, not wasted by hunger, not robbed or slain by brigands, not devoured by a beast, not drowned in the sea, not hanged on a gallows, nor consumed by any more shameful and bitter death. And from whom, I ask, Lord, these

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very many goods, infinite in number, and the greatest, infinite also in magnitude, or very nearly so, even to your servant, as good as useless,[n8] if not from you, most manifold in supreme goodness and most infinitely good God, as in your kindness you have willed to show from the thirteenth and twenty-second of the first, and the thirty-second of this book? Hence also you strike my mind with a certain little question: namely, whether I am held more to love you, good Lord, for the positive created goods which I received when you gave them, or for the privative goods mentioned, namely, the exclusions of evils, which I also could not have received or had unless you gave them, since these, as it seems, are finite in number and in magnitude, whereas the others are infinite in number and in magnitude, or at least more numerous and greater? But who will reprove me if, passing over this fine little question, I seek you, Lord, the highest good, and find you, and hold you, and do not let you go? For I know, and for this time let it suffice me to know, that I am bound to your love very greatly both for these goods of yours and for those, but incomparably more, beyond measure, for yourself, the highest good.[n9] You move me also with another question: namely, whether one mercifully preserved from sin is more bound to your love than one who has fallen and been mercifully raised from sin. But this question too I leave aside for the present; grant me to seek your face, to find it, to see it always, and to enjoy it. With these questions and the like now set aside, who, considering so good a Lord and his so great benefits, is not wholly set on fire with delight, wholly lifted up in devotion, wholly turned into love? But I see, Lord, that it is easy to say these things and to paint them on parchment, but perhaps hard to do and to bring about in effect. You therefore, best and therefore most powerful Lord, to whom nothing is hard, grant, I ask, that I may do these things more easily with my heart than I utter them with my mouth: open, I beseech you, your most bountiful hand, and grant that nothing may be easier for me, nothing sweeter, nothing more delightful than to fulfill these things most effectually and most affectionately. But you, most loving Lord, who love those who love you, and forestall them by loving, and love us incomparably more than you are loved in return by us, whom do you not raise, by the gift of so great a love and the covenant of so great a friendship, to hope in you? to trust in you? nay, to hope beyond hope and to presume with confidence? For you, Lord, are so infinitely good and merciful that nothing better or more merciful can be, or even be thought, as you mercifully showed above; and as much as you are good and merciful, so much are you loving and gentle, rich and powerful, magnificent, generous, and gracious in all virtues, as you most truly make manifest from that first, most precious and most true supposition of yours. What then will you be able to refuse your needy friend, humbly begging your help? Allow me, I beg, to presume a little now upon the hope I have conceived, and to argue with your magnificent goodness, that I may thus hope still higher and trust more fully. It is not, I say, the way of human friendship to repel a needy friend who is begging and blushing, and to confound his face still more, especially if ample means are at hand; how much further is so horrible a vice from your friendship! You have also shown me above that I cannot think or ask anything good unless you work it in me, and work it beforehand: you who plant the beginning, therefore, grant the middle, give the end; you who make me ask, make me obtain and hold. You who give many goods to those who do not ask, how will you give nothing to those who ask? You who hear your enemies, even demons asking impiously, how do you reject your friends and sons asking piously? Nor can you plead any want whatever, as the aforesaid supposition clearly teaches. Perhaps you object to me that I do not deserve to be helped. O most generous Lord, if you help no one unless he deserves to be helped, you do not give your help freely, but sell it. What then is your praise? Where is your great generosity? Perhaps you still reply that I not only do not deserve but abundantly ill-deserve. O merciful Lord, more abundant is your great mercy. For all my sin, even that of all men, is finite; for it could be increased; but your mercy is infinite, and cannot be increased. Is it not also more merciful and more generous to do good to an enemy in need, who would otherwise perish and is continually hostile, than to a friend who deserves well? What is more merciful or more generous than, without being in any way anticipated by him, to convert freely to friendship an enemy who is continually hostile, to remit freely all enmity and injury, and freely to confer on him abundant benefits? But your mercy and generosity are so great that none greater could be, or even be thought. And what is more proportionate and fitting to so great a mercy and so great a generosity than to make so great a misery happy as a free gift, and to enrich so great a want without payment? Or if anything more merciful and generous is found, who else will be thought its author than you, most merciful and most generous God of mine? You who give the greater, how will you refuse the less? And if you still set against me my misery, however great, I confess it, and therefore I come with confidence to your mercy, which is greater beyond comparison. For where is your mercy shown, if not in misery revealed? And where is your great mercy, if not in great misery revealed? Did you not also show me above, where you stirred me a little to your love, that your gratuitous grace freely forestalls sinners, freely bestows grace on the ungrateful, and freely keeps those on whom grace has been bestowed?[n10] What sinner, then, will not hope in you, Lord?

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Yet I know, Lord, I know, and not without grief do I know it, or report it, that in spite of all this there are some, namely the proud Pelagians, who would rather hope in men, that is, in themselves. For they say: "If God predestines us and our works gratuitously, and administers them as he wills, so that we can do nothing without his working and preparing, then he can likewise reprobate us, refuse us good works or take away those he has given, hurl us headlong into evil works, and bind us once we have been hurled down. Who, then, can be secure? Who, in truth, will hope, and not rather despair? But if predestination and reprobation depended on our choice, and we alone, without God, were free lords of our acts, we could be secure, it would be well with us, and then we could trust and hope in safety." O vain sons of men, lying sons of men, falsely weighing in the scales! [n11] Why will you not hope in him who is supremely good, supremely merciful, supremely kind, and beyond all estimation abundant in all the gifts of graces, but in yourselves, wretched and wicked in so many ways and wanting in every good? Why will you not hope in the blessed governance of him who cannot err, but in yourselves, who, like the sheep that perished, stray all the more often? Why will you not hope in his powerful help, whose power has no end, whom nothing can overcome, whom nothing can resist, but in yourselves, fragile and weak, and as it were nothing and void? Beware, I beg you, of the prophetic curse, or rather the curse of the Lord through the Prophet: "For thus says the Lord: Cursed is the man who trusts in man, and makes flesh his arm, and his heart departs from the Lord," Jer 17. Take note too, I implore you, what one who hoped in the Lord, and was not cheated in this matter, says: "I," he says, "do not wish to exaggerate in my words, but leave it rather to them to reflect, that they may see what sort of thing it is that they have persuaded themselves of: that the preaching of predestination brings more despair than exhortation to those who hear it. That is to say, a man despairs of his salvation when he has learned to place his hope not in himself but in God; while the Prophet cries out, 'Cursed is the man who has hope in man.'" Augustine, On the Gift of Perseverance, the fifty-second. [n12]

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And below, 64, arguing against those who say that the preaching of predestination makes men despair: "Far be it from you," he says, "to despair of yourselves for that reason, since you are bidden to have your hope in him, not in yourselves. For cursed is everyone who has hope in man, because blessed are all who trust in him." And 65: "Why do we fear to preach the predestination of the saints and the true grace of God, that is, the grace which is not given according to our merits, as Holy Scripture too preaches it? Or is it really to be feared that a man will despair of himself just when his hope is shown to be placed in God? Yet he would not despair if, in utmost pride and faithlessness, he placed it in himself." And 69: "As other things are to be preached, so that the one who preaches them is heard obediently, so predestination is to be preached, so that the one who hears this obediently may glory not in man, and so not in himself either, but in the Lord. For this too is God's command, and to hear this command obediently is likewise, like the rest, a gift of God: that whoever glories may glory in the Lord. Whoever lacks this gift, I do not hesitate to say, has everything else he has in vain." May the Pelagians have these things, we pray. [n13] The same, On the Predestination of the Saints, 13: "Since the Apostle says, 'Therefore it is by faith, that the promise may be firm according to grace,' I marvel that men prefer to commit themselves to their own weakness rather than to the firmness of God's promise. But, you say, God's will concerning myself is uncertain to me. What then? Is your own will concerning yourself certain to you? Are you not afraid? 'Let him who seems to stand take heed lest he fall.' Since, then, both are uncertain, why does a man not rather commit his faith, hope, and charity to the firmer than to the weaker?" The same, Against Julian, 2.17, arguing against the Pelagians who say that men are provoked to virtue when it is preached to them that they can do their deeds by their own virtue, but are cast down and broken by despair when it is preached to them that they can do nothing without God's mercy, his help and grace, speaks thus: "As much as the saints presume of the mercy of God, which is great, so much do you presume of your own virtue, which is nothing. And as much as they, helped by God's grace, wage wars against innate vices, so much do you wage war against the very grace of God. But do you really dare to say in your heart that when men hear you they are fired to virtue, whereas when they hear such great and such men as Cyprian, Hilary, Gregory, Ambrose, and the other priests of the Lord, they are broken by despair and give up the pursuit of perfection? Do such monstrous thoughts rise into your heart, and do they not dash against your brow?" You too, Pelagians, who seem subtle to yourselves, how do you not see that if, by your argument stated above, predestination and God's cooperation are removed, his foreknowledge too can likewise be removed? Or if this is not removed, neither is that? Hope as you will; but would that you hoped in the Lord! As for me, it is good to cling to God, to place my hope in the Lord God, Psalm 72 [73]; for "blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and the Lord will be his confidence," Jer 17. Hence Augustine too, on Psalm

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70 [71], in the first discourse, says: "Let all our hope be in God, and let us presume nothing of good things as if from our own strength, lest by making ours what is from him we lose what we have received." With these words all Holy Scripture agrees, together with all its sacred expositors, as the thirty-second of the first [book] also urged, though briefly, concerning fear, love, and hope. And who, trusting perfectly in such and so great a Lord, without whose will (always best, wisest, most just and most merciful, and never erring) nothing adverse can happen, would not be strengthened to perfect patience in all adversities, as was briefly touched on in the thirty-second of the first? Who, loving God and his neighbour fully, and noting that all things work together for good for those who love God, and that God orders all things for the sake of the elect and for his own sake, as is clear from the thirty-ninth and thirty-second and others of the first, would not bear any adversity with equanimity, and indeed bear it joyfully and cheerfully, and eagerly thirst for adverse suffering, as we read of the Apostles and of many other saints? Who, moreover, whether a sinner or another (if anyone, that is, takes himself to be another), trusting in God most just and most loving that all adversity is sent by him, either for the punishment of sin, so that if it suffices he may fly up immediately after the present life to eternal life, or if it suffices less, then at least be punished proportionally less, or perhaps incomparably less, as it were, in Purgatory, especially if he considers that, according to what was set out in the thirty-ninth of the first, whatever adversity or penalty is sent to him by God is in a way infinitely less than his sin demands, were he dealt with with mercy set aside; or for the matter and heaping up of merit while he bears it patiently? [n14] For who will be crowned with glory unless he has fought gloriously? And who will fight gloriously where there has been no opponent? So God brings man an adversary to contend with, that he may have someone with whom to fight lawfully, and so be crowned for the merit of a victorious contest, as appears from the thirty-first and thirty-second of the first. This is especially so if, according to what was set out in the thirty-ninth of the first, he notes that the sufferings of this time and the merits of patience, however great, are not condign, indeed are as it were nothing and void, in comparison with the future reward and glory to be freely given in compensation for them, or no less so as regards the punishment of sin as the increase of his merit, as is clear from the thirty-ninth and the forty-third of the first. [n15] Who, I say, trusting thus in God, will not bear all adversities most patiently, most willingly, and most joyfully? Further, who, weighing these things duly, will not merely not hate those who practise enmities against him, but love them? Will not only not curse, but on the contrary bless? Not only not reject, but embrace and receive them, as God's ministers and his own benefactors and helpers? For God provides through them, and they provide, the matter that was lacking for exercising virtue and winning most glorious merit and reward. Hence Sennacherib, ravager of the people of Israel, is called a rod, and a staff, an axe and a saw in God's hand; and Nebuchadnezzar, its most savage depopulator, a servant of God, as appears from the thirty-second of the first. Hence also, when Abishai wished to kill Shimei, who was cursing David and throwing stones at him, holy David answered, "Let him alone, that he may curse according to the command of the Lord. For the Lord commanded him to curse David; and who is there who dares to say, why has he done so? Let him alone, that he may curse according to the command of the Lord, in case the Lord may look upon my affliction and render me good for this cursing today," 2 Kings [2 Samuel] 16. Blessed Gregory also, in homily 35 on the Gospels, treating that text of Luke 21, "In your patience you shall possess your souls," reports that a certain Stephen, Father of a certain monastery, a very holy man, singular in the virtue of patience, in whom the virtue of patience had grown so strongly that he held as his friend anyone who had inflicted some annoyance on him, and would render thanks for insults [n16]; and if in his very poverty some loss had been inflicted on him, he counted it the greatest gain. And who, endowed with so great a patience, will lack humility? Who, moreover, considering discreetly that he can by himself do absolutely nothing good without God's specially working it, and that he cannot do it even with God antecedently, but only subserviently, like an instrument in the hand of an artisan, and this both in free consent, so that he works under and with such an artisan, and in all his other movements and rests, as the 20th, 30th and 32nd of this [book] show, would not readily incline to the lowest humility, as is clear from the twenty-third and thirtieth of this [book]? Why, then, of two vessels, equal or unequal as much as you like in the nobility of their matter and form, if a most precious liquid is poured into the one while the other remains empty, should that one be proud and vainly exalt itself above the other? By the same and not unreasonable reasoning, might not even a vessel however ignoble that receives such a liquor do likewise? [n17] A nobler vessel, if such a liquor is poured specially into it, might perhaps be proud, believing that it had been chosen for such a task because of its nobility. But could not this liquor have been poured into a baser vessel? Why, too, do you, a noble vessel, vainly glory in your nobility? Whence do you have your nobility? Not from yourself, as is agreed. Could not your Moulder have fashioned you for the basest use? [n18] Of two trumpets also, equal or unequal in the manner just described, if a noble trumpeter plays one of them with ceremony while the other remains mute, why should that one be proud and exalt itself above the other,

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the causes set out above having been weighed? Of two reeds, moreover, or two pens, equal or unequal in any of the ways stated, if a skilled scribe writes skilfully with the one, the other lying idle, what matter is there for pride and for vain boasting, when all is duly weighed as set out? Truly so it seems to me too, a wretched sinner still: if God should deign to pour some habit or act into me, his ignoble vessel, in preference to certain others equal or inferior to me, if there are any such, or superior (for it often happens that inferior and simpler vessels have more of the liquor poured into them), I judge likewise if my heart should belch forth some good word; or rather, not my heart, but if the Spirit of our Father should speak through me, his instrument, some good word; or if the supreme Scribe should write some true thing through me, his pen, with the finger of his right hand. Who, too, would not think of himself most humbly and abjectly, if he prudently noted how poor and wretched he has been of himself, and that the chief goods he has, he has not from his preceding merits but from God's gratuitous gift; that he is not able even to keep the goods he already has, no, not the least of his goods, but God keeps them continually; and that he can avoid no evil of soul or body, within or without, by himself, but only by God's special help? How wretched, then, how foul and abject he would have been, wholly full, within and without, of all miseries and stenches of mind and body, had God not mercifully preserved him, as the premises testify, which draw us to love! Hence a certain very humble man writes very humbly: "Happy is he to whom God shows his mercy; he is the one who cannot be proud, to whom God shows his mercy. For by showing him his mercy, he persuades him that whatever good the man himself has, he has only from him who is every good of ours; and when he has seen that whatever good he has, he does not have from himself but from his God, he sees that everything in him that is praised comes from God's mercy, not from his own merits. And seeing this he is not proud; not being proud he is not exalted; not exalting himself he does not fall; not falling he stands; standing he clings; clinging he remains; remaining he enjoys; and he rejoices in the Lord his God. His very delights will be the one who made him, and these delights no one corrupts, no one tampers with, no one takes away." Who, too, rooted in this lowest humility, truly weighing that he has nothing good from himself, nor can by himself seek out any, nor keep it once acquired, nor avoid any evil, would not always turn to him, with devout and continual persistence in prayer, who is beyond measure rich and powerful, generous and merciful, as the premises, which lead to love and confidence, testify, and most urgently beseech him to remove all that is harmful and grant everything that will profit? Who would not by every way and means win his favour? But although the Father is infinitely magnificent and overflowingly liberal, and does not wish to sell but to give most freely to his sons the goods given, yet he does not want them to grow numb with sloth or waste away in listlessness, but to reach the crown energetically through prayers and other merits of uprightness, as is clear from the twenty-third and thirty-ninth of the first. For the Lord to give the crown to his soldiers, made worthy through prayers and other merits of uprightness, is much more liberal than to crown them unworthy and without merits. Is it not more liberal to give manifold gifts than simple ones? To some of his sons he gives as it were a single, simple gift, namely to baptized infants, eternal glory. But to some, whom he wished to raise to a more distinguished honour and a more glorious crown, he freely appointed other gifts to go before: he freely girded them with the soldier's belt, freely gave them strong contests, glorious victories, and countless works of uprightness. No less freely he has further given them that they should have himself as their patron in battle, from whom they had all the rest, and should cry out continually his name, which is Almighty, at least in the heart, and at fitting times with the mouth sound it out confidently. "For the name of the Lord is a most strong tower: the just man runs to it, calling on it with devotion, and shall be exalted, triumphing." And who does not know that all prayers and all merits are special gifts of God, as very many places in the first and second [books] clearly show? Hence the Lord himself says, "I will pour out upon the house of David and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem the spirit of grace and of prayer," Zech 12. All this God gives to his own, not for any advantage to himself but for theirs. Is there not, then, greater liberality here than there, especially since the Lord does not give the crown of life to his soldiers for their prior merits, as for some advantage brought to himself, or for some cause antecedently moving his will, but gives the merits for the sake of the crown, and both merits and crown according to his most liberal and gratuitous will, as is clear from the thirty-fifth and thirty-ninth of the first? And who, considering gratefully so many and so great, so pleasing benefits, positive and privative, is not easily provoked? Nay, is not by a certain grateful and spontaneous violence freely drawn and urged to repay thanks of every kind, and of thanksgivings [n19]

[633A–633E]
[n20] the most gratifying acts, ever to sing thanks to God? For whatever good we have or can do, whatever evil we do not have or do not do, is wholly your gratuitous gift, a most gracious grace; and the Author of grace is my God. Nay more, because these things seem small to you who are great, you give us yourself besides: for you gave yourself to us, when we did not yet exist, as provider, predestinator, elector, and at last maker; and you give yourself to us, now existing through you, as most unfailing preserver, most magnificent promoter, readiest helper, and most loving protector in all things. What shall I render to the Lord for all that he has rendered to me freely? What thanks shall I return to the free giver of so many and so great graces? For a grateful requital requires something proportionate, as you, Lord, freely teach, both through natural reason and through the moral Philosophers. What then shall I return to you, for your goods, out of my goods, when I have nothing good, nor can have, except from your gratuitous gift? Nor do you give me your other gifts in such a way that they become mine so as to cease being yours; for I am wholly more yours than mine; nay, I am yours, not mine; and all that is mine is more yours than mine, nay, it is yours and not mine. What then shall I return to you, my God? Nay rather, Lord, for your goods I shall return to you your goods, and the same good, in a way, for itself. Hence a certain son of yours, grateful, exalted by the gifts of your grace, gives thanks gratefully and says: "Blessed are you, Lord God of Israel our Father, from eternity to eternity. Yours, Lord, is magnificence and power, and glory and victory, and to you praise: for all things that are in heaven and on earth are yours. Yours, Lord, is the kingdom, and you are above all princes; yours are the riches, and yours is the glory; you rule over all; in your hand are strength and power; in your hand is the greatness and dominion of all. Now therefore, our God, we confess to you and praise your glorious name. Who am I, and who is my people, that we should be able to promise you all this? All things are yours, and what we have received from your hand we have given you." For you, Lord my God, who have no need of our goods, do not at all require requital so that you may become richer from it, but so that through the same requital you may make us richer, and give us more of [n21] yourself and of what is yours. But still, Lord, considering the proportionality set out above of benefit and requital, I am greatly torn and troubled. For if I am willing to repay you to equality, or beyond, as perhaps I ought if I could, what equal or greater thing shall I repay you for myself, for all my goods, positive and likewise privative? What besides shall I give for yourself, freely given to me? But if I am unwilling to repay you, or not according to the due proportion, how shall I not be ungrateful to you? How shall I be excused of ingratitude? Nay, perhaps you will remit to me the obligation by which I bound myself to repay you. For why, supremely liberal one, so liberal that you could not be more liberal, should you not remit or give away even an obligation of this kind, since you remit and give away much greater things, namely the gravest sins against you? Since you also remit the strongest obligation, arising from your own express command, from one's own oath and solemn vow, whether of virginity of mind or body, or of continence from mortal sin, to the one who has fallen and rises again? And how are you omnipotent, if you cannot do this? And how are you of a worse, less free and less generous condition than a wretched man who can so remit, namely even the strongest obligation, as it seems, by which anyone has been bound to him? Hence one of the lovers of your wisdom (whether wise, I do not know; you know) speaking of the son's obligation to the father and of requital, says thus: "The debtor, namely the son, must repay the father; but in doing nothing worthy of what was provided, he has worked; so he always owes; but those to whom a debt is owed have the power to dismiss it, and the father surely." [n22] But in another way, Lord, you taught me, ungrateful and foolish as I am, more graciously, in the thirty-ninth of the first. For if you were to absolve me, though I did not repay, from the obligation by which I am bound to you, you would make me freer, confer a greater freedom, and give me a new benefit. How then, unless I am made ungrateful, am I not, for so great a new benefit together with the earlier ones, which are not taken away, more tightly bound to you and more lovingly obliged? If someone lends me money under a binding bond, and, when I do not pay, freely remits the money and freely hands back the bond, does he not bind and tie me to himself with the chain of a manifold obligation? Not by an obligation which in the contentious forum would give rise to a coercive action, but by one which in the loving forum of gratitude requires a grateful mind and an answering requital, especially if opportunity permits or necessity requires. Whose mind, I ask, unless perhaps an ungrateful one, does not feel so within? Hence another lover of moral wisdom too, zealous, a most equitable discharger of benefits and a most grateful repayer, at least in teaching and word (would that it were so, Lord, in deed and act before you!), speaks thus: "A creditor of a benefit is to be sought out more carefully than a creditor of money. For on one side, what I have received must be repaid, and if I have repaid it I am discharged and free; but to the other, more must be paid, and none the less, even when thanks have been returned, we still owe: for when I have repaid, I owe it to begin again." But, Lord, so that with the earlier sage, or lover of wisdom, I may dispute a little about your promise [n23] on your behalf and on behalf of the law of gratitude which you have ordained: if, I say, a father can remit to his son the natural obligation by which he is bound to him;

[634A–634B]
let him remit it; and then by your ungrateful hypothesis [n24] the father may fall into whatever calamity he likes, and the son may be as rich and powerful as he likes, yet the son is bound to him in nothing at all, or at least no more to the father than to a stranger. Indeed he would be more bound to free from death any stranger from whom he had received some smallest benefit not yet repaid, than his own father who is about to die. Who, unless a most ungrateful son, will either willingly hear this or even think it? But to descend to lesser obligations, and then from them to ascend to greater: it appears that no obligation, however small, contracted between a benefactor and a beneficiary, even from the smallest benefit, can be fully paid so long as they both remain, such that the beneficiary would be in no way bound to the benefactor by reason of the benefit previously received. For it cannot be fully paid when the benefactor remits every debt and every kind of obligation; for in that way the benefactor who benefits more binds the recipient the more; nor can it be fully paid when the beneficiary repays an equal, or even a greater, a hundred or a thousand times over, or more, however much. For suppose, according to the ungrateful supposition, that the beneficiary has repaid the benefactor fully and has stripped himself entirely of every obligation contracted by reason of the benefit previously received; and then the benefactor and a stranger, both in need, other things being equal, come to the beneficiary, who is able to help only one, humbly begging his aid. Who, unless an ungrateful man (nay, according to a certain grateful man, the most ungrateful of all, [n25] who has forgotten the benefit previously received), doubts that the benefactor is to be preferred to the stranger by reason of the benefaction previously received? Who then will repay his father sufficiently? Or who will repay you sufficiently, supreme Father?

[634B–634D]
COROLLARY.

The corollary is manifold, and welcome to all the grateful. [n26]

From these most welcome rules of gratitude a corollary most welcome to all the grateful is derived. It is that the natural obligation of gratitude, by which the beneficiary is bound to the benefactor by reason of any benefit previously received, even the very smallest, cannot be fully dissolved. Nor can the beneficiary repay the benefactor condignly, sufficiently or fully, that is, in such a way that the whole obligation is wholly extinguished. Indeed, perhaps the more abundantly the beneficiary repays the benefactor, the more he is bound to him and the more he owes him. Much more, then, the natural obligation of gratitude by which a son is bound to his father cannot be fully dissolved, nor can a son repay his father condignly. Rather, perhaps, the more he repays him, the more he is bound to him. Therefore, beyond all measure, more and more, the obligation of a rational creature benefited by God, by which he is bound to God by the law of gratitude, cannot be dissolved, even by God's infinite omnipotence. Nor can anyone repay God condignly for any benefit, even the smallest, in such a way that the whole obligation is wholly annulled. Indeed, and this seems most marvellous and yet is most true and most welcome, the more anyone has repaid the Lord and the more he has discharged the debt of gratitude, the more he owes him and the more he is obliged. O wondrous bond of gratitude, and tie of a welcome obligation, which neither creature nor creator can fully dissolve! Indeed, the more manifoldly the giver of the benefit or its receiver strives to discharge it, forgiving every debt and every kind of obligation and heaping repayments upon repayments, the more manifoldly it binds, the more firmly it makes fast, and the more indissolubly it ties. O vice of ingratitude, therefore, to be detested above all! It strives to dissolve, indeed to break and wholly to scatter, a bond of gratitude so indissoluble that neither any creature nor even God can do so. Who can grant a dispensation from so great a vice? Surely neither man, nor Angel, nor God; yet with other vices they can.

[634D–634E]
Let no one benefited, then, by man or by God, intend to repay in such a way that he hastens to free himself from all obligation and further repayment. For that is the mark of an ungrateful mind. Rather let him always heap repayments upon repayments, gifts upon gifts, and graces upon graces, so that he is always bound more manifoldly by the most welcome bonds of gratitude and becomes ever more grateful, and so at last is wholly transformed, in all gratitude, into grace. The first part of this corollary follows evidently from the premises; the second follows from this first, and likewise from the premises.

[634E–635B]
But what reason or cause is there why from so tiny a root, from so slight and finite a benefit, there proceeds and arises so strong an obligation, so great and in a way infinite? For it can be extinguished neither by finite power nor perhaps by infinite, nor by any finite repayment or finite repayments. I think it is because, with benefactor and beneficiary remaining, it is reasonable and just that the beneficiary be affected in a way toward the benefactor and held to him. This is a thing compounded of what is reasonable and just, which in a way precedes the divine will, and of what follows it, as can be gathered from 21 of the first. [n27] For as it is reasonable and just that a man, so compounded, [n28] be affected and inclined toward the good, so also toward the giver of the good; for the giver is good to him. And as this is reasonable and just, so it is also necessary, as is clear from the same 21 of the first. As therefore, given a creature and a creator, it is reasonable and just and also necessary that the creature be held and subject to the creator, so also is it that the rational creature be good, and naturally affected and inclined toward the good and toward the giver of the good, and likewise obliged to him. So great an obligation therefore arises not from a benefit alone, small or great, nor from any created nature, nor from any human or divine statute. It arises from the immutable truth of the divine essence, as can in some measure appear from 21 of the first. The third part is apparent, since anyone, as it seems, reasonably loves more, and is bound to love more, the one through whom he has a good than another. So he loves more the one through whom and toward whom he performs a laudable operation and meritorious action. Hence the beneficiary too, in repaying, loves the benefactor more, in whose regard he works laudably and meritoriously, and the more he does this, the more. Following this reasoning, the Philosopher in Ethics 9, 7 [n29] maintains that benefactors love the beneficiaries more than the reverse, which he also shows by certain other reasons. But who doubts that a repayment gratefully made is welcome to the beneficiary? [n30] Also the benefactor, having received the repayment, loves the beneficiary who repays more than before and is readier to do him good. So the beneficiary too can then trust in the benefactor more than before, and the more he has repaid, the more. Is not, then, the beneficiary who repays more bound to the benefactor who receives than before, and the more he has repaid, the more? Now the three following parts, concerning father and son, follow in order from these three, and can be proved as these are, and likewise by the topic from the lesser. The other three following parts follow in like order from the first three parts and from these, and are proved likewise.

[635B–635C]
The last of these, which seemed most marvellous, is evidently most true once what has been laid down is understood, and it is also demonstrated better in another way. For according to the premises, whatever we repay to God we have first received from him; therefore for any repayment whatever we are bound to him the more. For when gifts increase, the grounds of the gifts increase too; the remaining parts are evident. O most liberal Lord, who gave me freely to myself, and all my other goods! Moreover, with what an obligation do you bind me to repay you yourself! With what an indissoluble bond do you tie me! This obligation and this bond, as you taught above, can be dissolved neither by me nor by you, almighty Lord. And what worthy thing shall I repay you? What proportionate thing shall I find? What equal or greater? Shall I perhaps repay you condignly in some way, by confessing humbly and truthfully professing that I can never repay you condignly? Or shall I perhaps repay you sufficiently, if with all the strength of mind and body I always repay you as much as I can? For your justice does not permit, nor does your piety allow, that I be bound beyond my power to the impossible.

[635C–635E]
Is it not true what a certain author says on this matter: Friendship requires what is possible, not what accords with worth? For it is not so in all cases, as with the honours that pertain to the gods, and to parents. For no one will ever repay according to worth; but one who serves according to his ability seems to be [Greek word]. [n31] Is it not enough that someone else exhorts us, "Glorifying the Lord as much as you can, his wonderful magnificence will still surpass it; blessing the Lord, exalt him as much as you can; for he is greater than all praise"? Or perhaps can I repay you in some way something equal to myself, to the goods conferred on me, or something greater than these, or something equal to yourself given to me? Since I cannot do more, [n32] if I give back to you my whole self and all that I have and all that I can, and more and greater things if I could, and even, in a certain way, yourself: my whole self, that is, with all the power of mind and body, and whatever in any way I have or am worth in any way, referring it to your praise, glory and honour, indeed to you, Lord, and for your sake alone, preferring to lose irrecoverably all these things, and more and greater things beyond all number and measure, even myself, than once, even very lightly, to offend your majesty, and loving you yourself, for your own sake alone, above all else with my whole heart. For so you teach me, good God, that I ought to love you. Otherwise, if I were given the option either of losing all other goods, however great, even myself, all reduced to nothing without recovery, yet without sin on my part, or of once, and very lightly, offending you and sinning, I ought by the most right reason, even with you, Lord, as judge, to sin. Hence if I did so, I would not sin. For every sin is a certain deviation from the rightness of reason.

[635E–636A]
O mighty and good Lord God, I beg that as I speak aloud so I may effectively do, and doing may persevere to the end. And this gift of yours, bestowed on me by you and by you and me brought back to you, deign, I beg suppliantly, to accept mercifully as repayment of whatever kind. For I have not, nor shall I be able to have, anything greater, unless perhaps it would be effectively to will, to know and to do this; and that in me, around me, and concerning me, in all things prosperous or adverse, joyful or sad, and in all others, only what is most pleasing to you and most agreeable to your will should always come to pass. Grant also this gift, I humbly pray, to me, a wretched beggar. Let it be a gift which you may return, both through yourself and through me, to yourself who give it, and accept as repayment of whatever kind. And if perhaps there is yet anything greater, which, though I look in every direction, I do not see, this too I humbly beseech and devoutly ask: that you show it and grant it to me as I earnestly beg, so that through you I may repay it to you. Thus for your greatest benefits, most gratefully bestowed on me, may I most gratefully repay you the greatest and most welcome repayment possible to me, render most grateful acts of thanks, and give most grateful thanks unceasingly. But still my trembling mind, like a bee ingenious in argument, hesitates and inquires: How can I give thanks [n33] to him to whom, for his gracious works, for his gratuitous benefits, whatever I can do is owed, even I myself?

[636B–636C]
Is it not, "If it is by grace, it is not by works; otherwise grace is no longer grace"? Does a debtor, by paying what he owes, do the creditor a grace? Do not grace and debt seem to be mutually repugnant? From this a marvellous conclusion seems to follow: that no one can in any way be obliged to do a grace, nor to repay a grace. Or may I perhaps unwrap myself from this too ungrateful entanglement by doing freely and with liberty what I am bound to by debt and necessity? Just so the works of your professed, [n34] Lord, or of others otherwise obliged to do certain things, are no less pleasing before your eyes, provided they are not done unwillingly but freely and by spontaneous will. Is it not true, what one of your dear sons, and our Fathers, says: There is a necessity which takes away or diminishes thanks from the one who does good, and there is a necessity by which greater thanks are owed for the benefit? [n35] For when someone does good unwillingly, by the necessity under which he lies, either no thanks, or lesser thanks, are owed him; but when he himself willingly submits to the necessity of doing good and does not bear it unwillingly, then surely he merits greater thanks for the benefit. For this is not to be called necessity but grace, since without anyone compelling him he has taken it on or keeps it, but freely.

[636C]
Such is the case when someone of his own accord vows a purpose of holy living. For although after the vow he must keep it by necessity, lest he incur the damnation of an apostate, and although he can be compelled to keep it if he is unwilling; yet if he keeps what he has vowed not unwillingly, he is no less but more pleasing to God than if he had not vowed. Nor is he to be said to live holily by necessity, but by the liberty with which he vowed. Might perhaps a certain distinction about grace, which you taught me above, defend me from this ungrateful quibble? For "grace" is the name for what is freely repaid for grace freely given. [n36] What then is more owed? What is more pleasing to you, Lord our God? And what is more fitting for us than that in all things, everywhere and always, with whole heart, mouth and deed, we freely give thanks to the Lord our God? Did you not teach one of your dear disciples, and of our Doctors, to say and write: What better can we bear in mind, utter with the mouth, and set down with the pen, than "Thanks be to God"? [n37] Nothing can be said more briefly, heard more gladly, understood more welcomely, or done more fruitfully.

[636C–636E]
You also taught him again to be wise, and to say wisely, that wisdom is the worship of God, which consists chiefly in this, that the soul not be ungrateful to him. Hence in that one most true and singular sacrifice too we are admonished to give thanks to the Lord our God. But the soul will be ungrateful if it attributes to itself what it has from God, as the baneful and ungrateful Pelagians do. Not so, not so, we grateful sons of God. We acknowledge humbly, and no less truthfully, that each and every one of our goods, positive and likewise privative, habits, acts and works, and the absences of evil habits, acts and works, are not ours from ourselves. They descend from our heavenly Father, from the Father of lights, from above, and are gratuitous gifts of the Lord our God. Let us, always and everywhere, in all and each, for all and each, with whole heart, mouth and deed, freely give thanks to the Lord our God. For so, with you as Author, our mother, the most prudent virgin and your most beautiful spouse, having neither spot nor wrinkle, your holy Church, instructs us. Again, then, and again, indeed continually, always and everywhere, with the unceasing voice of heart, and of mouth, and of deed, let us give thanks to the Lord our God.

NOTES

1. The print (and the keyed text) reads quo hic quamdiu viuerent, securi esse voluerunt, "the more they wanted to be secure here." The argument of the whole passage requires "did not want" (noluerunt): the just man is secure hereafter because he refused to be secure here. I take noluerunt to be what Gregory wrote. I translate the evident sense and treat voluerunt as a misprint in the 1618 print.
2. vt propter quod amamus, illud amicum magis est. This applies the Aristotelian principle propter quod unumquodque tale, et illud magis (Posterior Analytics 1.2, 72a29–30) to love. I render amicum "dear," as an adjective of the loved object. The sense is that God, the reason for loving any finite good, is the more loved.
3. Analogum in omnibus secundum superabundantiam existentibus amicitiis et amationem fieri oportet. The unnamed quidam is presumably Aristotle, whose Ethics 8.7–8 (1158b) says that in friendships of unequal standing the love must be proportionate: the better is loved more than he loves. Analogum is Bradwardine's (or his translation's) noun for "the proportionate." I construe amationem as the subject of fieri (the loving must become proportionate), and meliorem magis amari quam amare as the explanation.
4. mihi muto. The print reads muto ("mute"). The margin offers ignoto ("unknown to me"). The main reading construes: the way God loves his friends is ineffable, and "mute" to the speaker, who has no words for it. I have therefore not adopted the variant, which gives the easier sense "unknown to me."
5. The keyed text puts this variant under the address 652E, and the next five units under 652A–E. Savile's p. 652 (an image of which was supplied) belongs to Book 3 and cannot be where this chapter is. Unit 12 runs from p. 627E onto p. 628; the clause "tanti boni amore plenissime non repleris" and the margin tantae bonitatis belong on p. 628. The marker is kept as keyed.
6. Units 13–17 are keyed under the labels 652A–E. From the sequence (p. 627 ends quae; p. 629 begins bona quamplurima), they are on p. 628, which I use as their address. The image of p. 628 was not among those supplied, so these units are translated from the keyed text unchecked against the print. Obvious keying slips (amabilislime, hums, beffia) are corrected silently in the translation and recorded under Errata as inferred.
7. quae quis non habet? quod scilicet non es amens… The generic quis ("one") passes at once into the second person ("you are not mad…, in your deeds"). I keep the "you" in the translation, since the enumeration is addressed to the reader or soul that prays.
8. vel quasi inutili seruo tuo. I take vel as intensive ("even") and quasi inutili as "as good as useless" (cf. Luke 17:10, serui inutiles sumus). The goods are "given to" the servant, supplied from a quo… haec bona. The alternative, taking vel quasi with infinita ("infinite, or nearly so"), leaves inutili seruo tuo without a construction.
9. propter teipsum is the print's reading; the keyed text has reipsum, which would mean "for the thing itself" and has no point after haec bona tua quam illa. The contrast is between loving God for his gifts and for himself.
10. gratia tua gratuita gratis praeuenis peccatores, ingratos gratis gratificas, et gratificatos gratis conseruas. The jingle on gratia/gratis/gratus/gratificare cannot be kept in English. It is rendered "gratuitous grace freely forestalls… freely bestows grace on the ungrateful… those on whom grace has been bestowed." Gratificare here means to give grace, to make pleasing.
11. Ps 61:10 [62:9] (Vulgate): mendaces filii hominum in stateris. The false scales are turned against the Pelagians' weighing of hope.
12. De dono perseverantiae; Savile prints de bono perseverantiae, a title found in medieval circulation. The numbers given with Augustine's works in this chapter (52, 64, 65, 69, 13, 17, 70) are kept as Savile prints them.
13. Haec Pelagiani optamus ut habeant is Bradwardine's own remark, not Augustine's; Augustine's quotation ends at "in vain." Pelagiani is the subject of habeant, fronted for emphasis.
14. The sentence begun at "Who, moreover, whether a sinner or another" never receives its verb. Bradwardine breaks off to justify the claim about contest and crown, and resumes in the next paragraph with "Who, I say, trusting thus in God, will not bear all adversities…".
15. The syntax is loose (vel tam ad punitionem peccati, quam etiam ad augmentum meriti sui non minus). The sense appears to be that the sufferings are "nothing" next to the reward, and by the same measure are no more than a slight contribution either to punishing sin or to increasing merit. I have kept the Latin order.
16. reddat (present subjunctive) stands between the past subjunctives crederet and irrogasset and is probably a slip for redderet. The sense is not affected.
17. posset has no infinitive. I supply "do likewise" from the next sentence (posset … superbire).
18. Plastes is Greek πλάστης, "moulder." Compare Rom 9:20–21, on the potter and the vessel.
19. The gratus / gratis / gratia family runs on through the end of this unit and into the next (grata, gratis, gratias, gratiarum gratissimas actiones). English keeps only "gratuitous," "gratifying," "grace," and "thanks." See Conventions §5.5.
20. Units 38–42 are keyed in the TCP text under page 657 (657A–E), and I have kept those addresses for continuity. The page image supplied under 657 is a different page (Book III, ch. 5), so these five units could not be checked against the print. By content they belong to the page between 632 and 634: the last words of unit 42 ("paululum disputem") are the first word of the page image numbered 634 ("disputem. Si, inquam…"). I have translated the keyed text, correcting evident keying slips (see Errata, marked "suspected"). These units need an image check against the page numbered 633 in the print.
21. The keyed text reads et re et tua amplius nobis dones. re does not construe and is probably te ("yourself and what is yours"), which matches "you give us yourself" above. I translated te; not image-checked (note 20).
22. Aristotle, Ethics VIII, last chapter (EN VIII.14, 1163b), in the medieval Latin translation. The Latin operatus est is awkward. The Greek says that the son "has done nothing worthy of what he received, so that he always owes." I translated the Latin as it stands.
23. de promissione tua is odd. It may be a keying slip for de praemissione ("from your premises"), since praemissa recurs throughout the chapter. Translated as keyed; not image-checked (note 20).
24. tuam here addresses the imagined ungrateful objector, not God. The argument is a reductio of "your" supposition that the father's right can be remitted away.
25. secundum quendam gratum is "according to a certain grateful man," that is, Seneca. Savile's margin cites De beneficiis 3.1: "He is ungrateful who denies a benefit, ungrateful who conceals it, more ungrateful who does not repay it, most ungrateful of all who has forgotten it." The gratum / ingratissimus jingle is kept.
26. Gratis omnibus gratum. The adjective gratus (pleasing, dear, grateful) and the adverb gratis (freely) are the same word in the dative and ablative, and the chapter plays on both, along with gratia (grace, favour, thanks) and gratitudo. In this opening line and in "most welcome rules" and "most welcome corollary" I use "welcome/grateful" for the adjective. The adverb is rendered "freely", and "dear" is used for the grati sons and disciples of 636B–C. The pun cannot be kept in English, and the Latin reader hears all of these senses at once.
27. ex 21. primi. Left as Savile prints it, "from 21 of the first". It evidently refers to the twenty-first part of the first Corollary of Book I, ch. 1 (the axiomatic chapter). I have not checked the content of that part against this use.
28. sic mixtum hominem: "mixtum" picks up the "mixed" reasonable-and-just of the previous sentence. Man is so composed, in his rational nature, of what is reasonable and just as it precedes and as it follows the divine will, and is therefore inclined to the good and to its giver.
29. 9. Ethic. 7. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics IX.7 (1167b17 ff.), where benefactors are said to love their beneficiaries more than the reverse. Savile's numbering here agrees with the modern one.
30. beneficiato gratam esse. The keyed text and the print agree. One would expect benefactori ("welcome to the benefactor"). I translate as printed. The next sentence begins "The benefactor also…", which fits a reading in which the repayment is first said to be welcome to the beneficiary who makes it.
31. The quotation is Aristotle, Eth. Nic. VIII.14 (1163b15–18), in the medieval Latin version, and it is not named in the text. The print has a Greek word at the gap (the keyed text has a gap). I could not read it with confidence from the page image, and I have left it as "[Greek word]". In the Aristotelian sentence the word means "decent/equitable" (ἐπιεικής), which gives the sense "seems to be decent". The print's impotentiam looks like in potentiam run together; I translated "according to his ability", following Aristotle's sense (κατὰ δύναμιν). The gap needs checking against the archive.org images.
32. quia maius non possum, si … retribuam. The sentence has no stated apodosis. The sense seems to be: since I cannot give anything greater than myself, what I give if I give my whole self is, in a way, God himself, because I refer it all back to him. I keep the dash-like suspension rather than supply a main clause.
33. reddere gratiam. Gratiam reddere is the ordinary idiom for "to give thanks". But what follows plays on the Pauline sense of gratia as unearned grace. Throughout 636A–C gratia shifts between "thanks" (due for a benefit) and "grace" (the gratuitous gift), and English cannot hold both together. I use "thanks" where the sense is gratitude, and "grace" in Paul and wherever the gift itself is meant.
34. Professorum tuorum. Those who have made profession, that is, taken vows (the vow example follows at 636C). "Professors" would mislead.
35. Anselm, Cur Deus homo II.5. The wording is Bradwardine's loose paraphrase, not a verbatim quotation. Here gratia means the thanks due to one who does good.
36. The distinction is the one drawn earlier in the work between gratia gratis data (grace freely given) and the gratia (thanks) freely repaid for it. Dicitur gratia thus defines "grace" in its second sense as the response to the first.
37. Augustine's letter to Aurelius (the well-known "Deo gratias" passage), cited in the margin as epist. 10. I have not checked the modern numbering of the letter or whether the wording is exact.