In contrast to the Almighty we have the figure of the Adversary, or Satan, depicted with sufficient clearness, notably coherent, representing a phase of being not imaginary but actual. He is not, as the Satan of later times came to be, the head of a kingdom peopled with evil spirits, a nether world separated from the abode of the heavenly angels by a broad, impassable gulf. He has no distinctive hideousness, nor is he painted as in any sense independent, although the evil bent of his nature is made plain, and he ventures to dispute the judgment of the Most High. This conception of the Adversary need not be set in opposition to those which afterwards appear in Scripture as if truth must lie entirely there or here. But we cannot help contrasting the Satan of the Book of Job with the grotesque, gigantic, awful, or despicable fallen angels of the world's poetry. Not that the mark of genius is wanting in these; but they reflect the powers of this world and the accompaniments of malignant human despotism. The author of Job, on the contrary, moved little by earthly state and grandeur, whether good or evil, solely occupied with the Divine sovereignty, never dreams of one who could maintain the slightest shadow of authority in opposition to God. He cannot trifle with his idea of the Almighty in the way of representing a rival to Him; nor can he degrade a subject so serious as that of human faith and well-being by painting with any touch of levity a superhuman adversary of men. Dante in his _Inferno_ attempts the portraiture of the monarch of hell:-- "That emperor who sways The realm of sorrow, at mid-breast from the ice Stood forth; and I in stature, am more like A giant than the giants are to his arms.... ... If he were beautiful As he is hideous now, and yet did dare To scowl upon his Maker, well from him May all our misery flow." The enormous size of this figure is matched by its hideousness; the misery of the arch-fiend, for all its horror, is grotesque: "At six eyes he wept; the tears Adown three faces rolled in bloody foam." Passing to Milton, we find sublimity in his pictures of the fallen legions, and it culminates in the vision of their king:-- "Above them all the archangel; but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge: cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, ... Millions of spirits for his fault amerced Of heaven, and from eternal splendours flung For his revolt."