Non-Dual Awareness in The Book of Job

The Book of Job is an enigmatic text on several dimensions. At the core of the Book of Job lies the question: “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Or, in the religious rendition, “Why do some of the worst things occur to those most faithful to God?” The question implies not the morality of why but the ontology or psychology of why. While the good should not be smitten by life, they routinely are.

The text does not provide any straightforward answers to these questions. Still, its contents consist of phenomenological descriptions of the state of being one is in when such questions arise in one’s spirit, which is of paramount importance. This state of being is one of anxiety and angst, or existential dread, where one’s uppermost valuations devalue themselves before one’s very eyes.

The Book of Job does not explain or answer how one might handle being in such a state. Still, it describes how certain manners of thinking and feeling within this state causally transpire for the one whose being is undergoing such thoughts and feelings.

The Book of Job –especially 40–42 — makes clear, as per the voice of God (whose praxis is that of the Nous in Anaxagoras’ sense) from out the whirlwind, that the manner of thinking and feeling (i.e., experiencing) which negates existential dread is one of non-dual awareness, or what Buddhists call śūnyatā.

Where Did The Book of Job Come From?

Yet, before even approaching an analysis of the Book of Job’s philosophic content, we must first address the text itself, which holds its mysteries and uncertainties.

If one reads the Bible from front to back without any knowledge of its philology, at the very least, Job stands out as the first profound stylistic departure from all the books that precede it. The Book of Job, often dated to between the 7th and 4th centuries BCE, belongs to the Ketuvim, or Writings, section of the Hebrew Bible and is categorized as wisdom literature.

Its narrative and philosophical depth distinguish it from the historical and legal texts that precede it and from the more ambiguous and arguably politically oriented prophetic books and lamentations found in the traditional ordering of the Christian Old Testament and the Hebrew Bible.

Job’s unique content, style, and structure prompt significant questions about human suffering, divine justice, and the nature of the relationship between God and humanity. From a stylistic standpoint, Job is primarily composed of poetic dialogues, with prose sections at the beginning and end framing the story.

This use of prose poetry to explore deep theological and existential questions marks a significant shift from the narrative and legal prose found in earlier books, such as Genesis through Deuteronomy (the Pentateuch) and the historical books that follow—the poetry of these earlier books being of the ‘epic’ genre. Ironically, this produces a literary effect of more remarkable directness. While earlier biblical texts certainly address questions of suffering and divine justice, Job does so in a much less oblique and more concentrated manner.

Furthermore, the Book of Job introduces a level of existential inquiry uncommon in the texts that precede it. It centers on the character of Job, a righteous man who experiences the tragic downfall of losing his wealth, health, and children through a series of catastrophes — similar to the demise of a virtuous protagonist in Greek tragedy.

The dramatic interactions between Job, his wife, and his friends trying to make sense of his suffering mirror the intense dialogues found in ancient Greek plays.

The book even includes lengthy monologues and poetic verses characteristic of tragic works.

Job’s ultimate redemption, while still leaving profound questions about undeserved human suffering, provides a hint of the cathartic resolution sometimes seen in Greek tragedies as well. While predating the Greek dramatists, the Book of Job is considered an early masterpiece of ancient literary tragedy stemming from the Hebrew world.

Of all the Old Testament books, it is arguable that the Book of Job’s origin is the most hotly contested. For example, as expressed by Thomas Paine in The Age of Reason (1807):

From all the evidence that can be collected, the Book of Job does not belong to the Bible. I have seen the opinion of two Hebrew commentators, Abenezra and Spinoza, upon this subject; they both say that the book of Job carries no internal evidence of being a Hebrew book, that the genius of the composition and the drama of the piece, are not Hebrew; that it has been translated from another language into Hebrew, and that the author of the book was a Gentile; that the character represented under the name of Satan (which is the first and only time this name is mentioned in the Bible) does not correspond to any Hebrew idea; and that the two convocations which the Deity is supposed to have made of those whom the poem calls sons of God and the familiarity which this supposed Satan is stated to have with the Deity are in the same case. It may also be observed that the book shows itself to be the production of a mind cultivated in science, which the Jews, so far from being famous for, were very ignorant of. The allusions to objects of natural philosophy are frequent and strong and are of a different cast to anything in the books known to be Hebrew. The astronomical names Pleiades, Orion, and Arcturus are Greek and not Hebrew names, and it does not appear from anything that is to be found in the Bible that the Jews knew anything of astronomy or that they studied it. They had no translation of those names into their own language but adopted the names as they found them in the poem. That the Jews did translate the literary productions of the Gentile nations into the Hebrew language and mix them with their own is not a matter of doubt; Proverbs xxxi. 1, is evidence of this: it is there said, The word of King Lemuel, the prophecy which his mother taught him. This verse stands as a preface to the proverbs that follow, and which are not the proverbs of Solomon, but of Lemuel, and this Lemuel was not one of the kings of Israel, nor of Judah, but of some other country, and consequently a Gentile. The Jews, however, have adopted his proverbs, and as they cannot give any account of who the author of the book of Job was, nor how they came by the book, and as it differs in character from the Hebrew writings, and stands totally unconnected with every other book and chapter in the Bible before it and after it, it has all the circumstantial evidence of being originally a book of the Gentiles. The Bible-makers, and those regulators of time, the Bible chronologists, appear to have been at a loss where to place and how to dispose of the book of Job, for it contains no one historical circumstance nor allusion to any that might serve to determine its place in the Bible. But it would not have answered the purpose of these men to have informed the world of their ignorance; and, therefore, they have affixed it to the æra of B.C. 1520, which is during the time the Israelites were in Egypt, and for which they have just as much authority and no more than I should have for saying it was a thousand years before that period. The probability, however, is that it is older than any book in the Bible, and it is the only one that can be read without indignation or disgust.

Paine makes a compelling case that the Book of Job stands apart from the rest of the Hebrew Bible in several key ways that suggest it may have originated from non-Jewish sources. The dramatic literary style, cosmic framework involving divine councils, and vivid astronomical metaphors seem uncharacteristic of contemporary Hebrew literature.

The striking presence of the figure of “Satan” as a distinct entity also appears to be an innovation not found elsewhere in the Torah or prophetic works. Citing respected Hebrew scholars, Paine argues persuasively that the very language and concepts employed provide circumstantial evidence that Job was composed by a Gentile author and later incorporated into the Hebrew canon, perhaps translated from another source language.

This would parallel how the Book of Proverbs admittedly includes wisdom sayings attributable to the Gentile king Lemuel. If true, Job may represent an enlightening intersection of ancient Israelite tradition with more cosmopolitan perspectives and ideas circulating in the broader ancient Near East.

However, other scholars have pushed back against this view of Job as a non-Hebrew work. Some argue that while distinctive, the book’s theology and imagery still evince Semitic cultural roots, whether Israelite or from closely related traditions. Job’s pervasive reverence for a single supreme deity aligns with ancient Hebraic monotheism.

Others contend that the putative “un-Hebrew” elements may simply reflect Job’s great antiquity as one of the oldest works eventually incorporated into the Hebrew Bible, preserving more primordial theological conceptions before the later standardization of concepts like Satan. Loanwords like “Pleiades” need not indicate foreign authorship but perhaps early linguistic sharing between Semitic peoples.

Ultimately, while Paine’s perspective remains plausible, the uncertain origins and fraught transmission history of many Biblical texts mean judgments either way involve some speculation. Nevertheless, such discussions underscore the Book of Job’s uniqueness and transcendent profundity at the textual level.

A Philosophical and Theological Analytic of Job

Returning to the Book of Job’s philosophical, theological, and existential import, the purported range of dates where its events and transcriptions transpired occurred before God spoke of the New Covenant through Jeremiah.

The Old Covenant, which God inaugurated with the Torah’s patriarchs — most importantly Moses, through the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:1–17) — corresponded with His corporeal wrath as the immanent response to transgressions.

Such corporeal wrath is notably absent following the New Covenant, as God declares through Jeremiah: “For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (Jeremiah 31:33).

The Existential Vertigo of Divine Abandonment

The old covenant had been broken by the endless transgressions of the Israelites, especially through their ancient Kingdom/nation-state. This is best captured by carefully examining the differences in how God treats God’s ministers.

Kings (the primary political leaders in the Torah) — especially Saul, because of his scorn at reproach, as seen in 1 Samuel 15:23 (“For rebellion is as the sin of divination, and presumption is as iniquity and idolatry”), and except for David, in virtue of his good faith repentance (2 Samuel 12:13, “David said to Nathan, ‘I have sinned against the Lord.’”) — are the most scorned.

In contrast, major prophets like Elijah and Elisha receive no wrath. God gives them special powers due to their ability to keep the stipulations of the old covenant, which is implied as being related to their absence in political activity (where Kings sought their counsel).

Thus, Job assumes with rightful grounds that the misfortune that has befallen him was due to his own will’s transgressions. Insofar as we, the willed, negate the will –God, or His ‘voice’ as our moral-intellectual consciences — the latter will ‘retaliate’ with painful consequences.

Yet, while the events of the narrative are situated within the context of the old covenant, with its framework of blessings and curses transparently corresponding to obedience or transgression, Job himself embodies the spirit of the new covenant, keeping the law written on his heart (Jeremiah 31:33).

This is evident in the description of Job as “perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil” (Job 1:1). The calamities that befall him are not warranted by any genuine transgressions on his part, making him a proto-archetype of the righteousness of the new covenant while still operating under the old.

Through Job’s experiences, the limits of the old covenant’s transactional system are laid bare. Despite his virtuous devotion, he suffers incomprehensible anguish that seems to negate divine justice.

This contrast gives birth to Job’s vexing questions: “What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him?…If I have sinned, what do I unto thee, O thou watcher of men? Why hast thou set me as a mark…so that I am a burden to myself?” (Job 7:17–20). These questions catalyze Job’s journey towards non-dual awareness — the experiential realization that the apparent distinctions between blessings and curses, righteous and wicked, and even human and divine are merely superficial scintillations.

Transcending Dualistic Thinking

The voice of God from the whirlwind encapsulates this realization, with its chaos-transcending utterances equalizing the ultimate, non-dual reality:

Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?… When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?… Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days, and caused the day-spring to know his place? (Job 38:4–7,12).

In revealing the interpenetrating essence behind all manifestations, the divine voice extracts Job from his existential dread — his encounter with the dualistic delusion of separation from God’s will, akin to the mythic Gog and Magog.

The calamities heaped upon Job are recontextualized as mirages obscuring the non-dual ground –when the walls are caving in, one learns that the walls are truly not walls.

Job’s experience is one where the nature of the will and its willingness upon the willed is described as inconstant, yet in such inconstancy, a harmonious –even divine — equality resides. All of the best and worst events come from the same place –they possess dependent origination. “It is all one; therefore I say, he destroyeth the perfect and the wicked.” (Job 9:22).

In this particular section, Job essentially states that there is no reasoning with whatever wickedness God has cast over his life –he knows it, itself, not to be God (otherwise, he’d consult it), and yet, to also be God (otherwise, it must have come from elsewhere, which would be absurd, as there is only one “I AM” (Exodus 3:14) from which all beings in their Being spring.) (Exodus 3:14)

Job repeats here, as a praxis of rationality, self-affirmations of the self-consciousness of his morally upright nature –God is and is not with Job, as God is and is not in general. In this light, God, conceptually, is a dialetheia or a true contradiction. There is a logic of ultimate reality, and it is non-dual –meaning that it makes room for some true contradictions, like God as “I AM.”

The just, the perfect man is a laughing stock. (Job 12:4).

From the purview of most conventional worldviews and the perspectival frames they bring to bear, it appears that good people are disincentivized out of their goodness, while wickedness is what is commonly rewarded.

Ultimately, however, this is but another conventional perspective, as the wicked are routinely punished, albeit in ways opaque to themselves and the unwise –often, the intensity of their self-opacity is punishment enough. Yet, it is not the case that such matters are strictly ‘chosen’ –this, being what follows from ‘choice’, is essentially a matter of how the willed decides to respond to the will.

The Book of Job is a timeless testament to the transcendence of the human spirit, illuminating the path from dualistic perception to non-dual awareness.

The dramatic poetry of the Book of Job crafts a phenomenological portrait of non-dual awareness overcoming dualistic perception. Job’s ultimate redemption embodies the affirmation of God’s will that the new covenant’s internalized law makes possible.

Yet, this realization transcends any historical covenant — it is the primordial experiential truth awaiting all who, like Job, heed the call of their deepest conscience echoing, “I AM that I AM” (Exodus 3:14). In recognizing the conventional world’s scintillations as oneself, the willed becomes co-terminal with the will itself. Righteousness and wickedness, blessings and curses, all return to the equalizing nature of reality’s non-dual source.

From this vantage, Job’s cry of feeling forsaken by God gives way to an understanding that he never was divided from the divine will that willed him to will. His is the eternal redemption of realizing one’s true nature. This realization is a beacon of hope for all who seek to transcend dualistic illusions that veil ultimate reality.

The Path to Non-Dual Awareness

If I had called, and he had answered me, yet would I not believe that he had hearkened unto my voice. For he breaketh me with a tempest and multiplieth my wounds without cause. He will not suffer me to take my breath but filleth me with bitterness. (Job 9:16–18)

Job’s lament here captures the existential vertigo of feeling forsaken by the divine will, even as one strives to align with it. The fact that Job can voice such a complaint is a testament to his righteousness — he knows, on some level, he knows that the afflictions besetting him are not truly of God, even as he struggles to reconcile this intuition with his circumstances.

The self-consciousness of his moral uprightness is the anchor that prevents him from fully succumbing to the illusion of separation from the divine.

This theme is further developed when Job declares, “It is all one; therefore I say, he destroyeth the perfect and the wicked.” (Job 9:22). Here, Job is beginning to apprehend the non-dual nature of ultimate reality, recognizing that the conceptual distinctions and divisions that define conventional existence are, in essence, illusory.

The ultimate is undivided, transcending the dualistic categories of good and evil, pleasure and pain. This realization is the key to maintaining composure amidst the vicissitudes of life — one’s inner continence should remain unchanging, even as the outer world fluctuates.

Yet, from within the conventional perspective, this non-dual understanding is often met with derision and incomprehension. The wisdom of the righteous is frequently scorned by those mired in dualistic thinking, who mistake the transient rewards of wickedness for true fulfillment.

However, as Job notes, this is a temporary inversion: “The triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the hypocrite but for a moment. Though his excellency mount up to the heavens, and his head reach unto the clouds. Yet he shall perish forever like his own dung.” (Job 20:5–7) The apparent success of the wicked is fleeting, while the trials of the righteous are but a prelude to eternal joy.

Of course, this is not to say that the righteous are exempt from moral failings. As Eliphaz points out to Job, “Is not thy wickedness great? And thine iniquities infinite? For thou hast taken a pledge from thy brother for naught and stripped the naked of their clothing. Thou hast not given water to the weary to drink, and thou hast withholden bread from the hungry.” (Job 22:5–7)

All humans are prone to these kinds of transgressions, albeit to varying degrees. The path to righteousness lies not in denying one’s culpability but in acknowledging it and striving to rectify it.

This process of moral refinement is often beset by “snares” and “sudden fear,” as Eliphaz describes: “Therefore snares are round about thee, and sudden fear troubleth thee; Or darkness, that thou canst not see; and abundance of waters cover thee.” (Job 22:10–11)

These snares can take the form of self-deception, where one’s past transgressions are skillfully hidden behind a veil of ego-centricity. It is all too easy to project blame onto others rather than take responsibility for one’s own actions.

Yet, as Eliphaz reminds Job, God’s omniscience pierces through all obfuscation:

Is not God in the height of heaven? And behold the height of the stars, how high they are! And thou sayest, How doth God know? Can he judge through the dark cloud? Thick clouds are a covering to him, that he seeth not; and he walketh in the circuit of heaven. (Job 22:12–14)

Ultimately, the path to righteousness lies in heeding the call of conscience, which is the voice of God within. This requires a willingness to engage in honest self-examination, acknowledging one’s transgressions, and striving to align one’s will with the divine.

As God asks of Job, “Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days; And caused the dayspring to know his place; That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, That the wicked might be shaken out of it?” (Job 38:12–13) One must first recognize its presence within to truly shake the wickedness out of one’s being. This process of self-examination is not for the faint of heart. It requires a willingness to plumb the depths of one’s psyche, confronting the darkest aspects of one’s nature.

As God asks Job, “Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea? Or hast thou walked in search of the depth? Have the gates of death been opened unto thee?” (Job 38:16–17) Only by fearlessly exploring the depths of one’s being can one hope to attain the “intellectual love of God” — the ultimate realization of non-dual awareness. In the face of this awesome realization, the only appropriate response is profound silence and humility.

As Job declares, “Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth. Once have I spoken; but I will not answer: yea, twice; but I will proceed no further.” (Job 40:4–5) In recognizing the utter inadequacy of conceptual thought to capture the essence of the divine, one is left with no choice but to surrender to the ineffable mystery of being.

This surrender is not a passive resignation but an active embrace of the divine will.

It is the realization that, in condemning God, one is merely condemning a conventional distinction — a false image of the divine. The true God, the “I AM” of Exodus 3:14, is beyond all condemnation and all praise. To know this God adequately is to destroy the wickedness within oneself, not as an end but as a natural consequence of aligning one’s will with the divine.

In this way, the Book of Job is a phenomenological writing that gives quasi-effability to the transformative power of non-dual awareness.

Through his trials and tribulations, Job is gradually stripped of his attachment to dualistic thinking, recognizing the fundamental unity of all existence. This realization does not negate the reality of suffering but rather recontextualizes it within a larger framework of meaning and purpose.

In surrendering to the divine will, Job finds the strength to endure his afflictions, knowing they are a fleeting shadow cast by the light of eternal truth.

His story is a reminder that, no matter how great the darkness may seem, the dawn of spiritual awakening is always waiting to break forth, illuminating the path to liberation and self-realization.

Ultimately, to have dominion over this ‘dark night’ or deep abyss of the soul (for that is non-dual awareness of the depths) is to be responsible for the moral affections that one has towards even Satan (as the accuser), i.e., one’s inner demons or shadow.