Homily 13 — Romans 7, verse 14, to 8, verse 11

“For we know that the law is spiritual; but I am of the flesh, sold under sin.” [a]

He has said that great evils had come about: that sin, taking its opportunity through the commandment, had grown stronger, and that the result was the very opposite of what the law mainly aimed at. And having thrown his hearer into a great deal of perplexity, he goes on next to give the reason for these events — but first he clears the law of any evil suspicion.

Someone might hear that it was through the commandment that sin took its opportunity, that it was when the commandment came that sin sprang back to life, and that through it sin deceived and killed; and he might then suppose that the law was the source of these evils. To prevent this, Paul first sets out its defense, and to great advantage: he does not merely clear it of the charge, but surrounds it with the highest praise. And he lays this down not as something he himself concedes, but as a verdict everyone shares. “For we know,” he says, “that the law is spiritual.” It is as if he had said: This is agreed and self-evident, that it “is spiritual” — so far is it from being the cause of sin, or to blame for the evils that have happened. And notice that he not only clears it of the charge but heaps great praise on it. By calling it spiritual he shows it to be a teacher of virtue and an enemy of vice; for this is what being spiritual means: leading people away from sin of every kind.

And the law did do this, by frightening, warning, chastening, correcting, and urging every kind of virtue. Then where did sin come from, if the teacher was so admirable? From the sluggishness of its pupils. That is why he went on to say, “but I am of the flesh,” sketching for us now what man was like, both while living under the law and before the law. [c]

“Sold under sin.” He means that with death the whole throng of passions came in as well. For once the body had become mortal, from then on it was bound to take on craving, and anger, and pain, and all the other passions. These needed a great deal of wisdom to keep them from flooding over us and sinking reason in the depths of sin. In themselves they were not sin; but when their excess went unbridled, it produced this result. Let me take one of them and examine it as a sample. Desire is not sin. But when it has run to excess, and will not stay within the laws of marriage, but leaps even on other men’s wives, then the thing becomes adultery from that point on — yet not because of the desire, but because of its excess.

And notice Paul’s wisdom. After praising the law, he hurries at once back to the earlier period, so that he may show the state of our race both then and at the time it received the law, and make plain how necessary the coming of grace was — a thing he labored on every occasion to prove. For when he says, “sold under sin,” he means it not only of those who were under the law, but also of those who lived before the law, and of human beings from the very first. Next he describes the way in which they were sold and handed over.

Verse 15: “For what I do, I do not know.” [d]

What does “I do not know” mean? That I am ignorant? And when could that ever happen? No one ever sinned in ignorance. Do you see how, if we do not take his words with proper care and keep looking to the apostle’s purpose, countless absurdities will follow? For if they sinned through ignorance, then they did not deserve to be punished.

Consider what he said above: “for without the law sin is dead.” He did not mean that they did not know they were sinning, but that they did know, though not so clearly — which is why they were punished, but not so severely. And again: “I would not have known craving.” He did not mean complete ignorance of it, but was referring to the clearest knowledge of it. And he said that sin “produced in me every kind of craving” — not meaning that the commandment made the craving, but that sin, through the commandment, brings in craving of an intense degree. In the same way, here too it is not total ignorance that he means by saying, “For what I do, I do not know.” How then would he “delight in the law of God in the inner man”? What, then, is this “I do not know”? He means: “I get dizzy, I feel carried away, I feel violence being done to me, I get tripped up without knowing how.”

It is like the way we often say, “So-and-so came and carried me off with him, and I never knew how.” We do not mean ignorance as an excuse; we are pointing to a kind of deceit, a getting around us, a plot. [e]

“For what I want, that I do not do; but what I hate, that I do.” Then how can you be said not to know what you are doing? If you want the good and hate the evil, that takes full knowledge. It is clear from this that when he says “what I do not want,” he is not denying free will or pointing to some forced necessity. For if it were not willingly but under compulsion that we sinned, then the punishments inflicted in earlier times would not be just. But just as in saying “I do not know” he was not putting forward ignorance, but what we have described, so in adding “what I do not want” he is not pointing to necessity, but to the disapproval he felt of what was done.

If that had not been his meaning when he said, “What I do not want, that I do,” he would have gone on, “But I do what I am compelled and forced to do.” For that is the opposite of willing and of the power to choose.

But in fact he does not say this. In its place he has put the words “what I hate,” so that you may learn that when he says “what I do not want,” he is not denying the power to choose. So what does “what I do not want” mean? It means: what I do not praise, what I do not approve, what I do not love. And in contrast to this he adds what follows: “But what I hate, that I do.” [f]

Verse 16: “If, then, I do what I do not want, I agree with the law that it is good.”

You see here that the understanding has not yet been corrupted, but keeps its own noble character even in the act. For even while it pursues vice, it hates it all the same — which would be high praise, whether of the natural law or of the written one. For it is plain, he says, that the law is good, from the fact that I accuse myself when I disobey the law, and hate what has been done. And yet if the law were to blame for the sin, how is it that he took delight in it, and yet hated what was done?

For “I agree with the law,” he says, “that it is good.” [g]

Verses 17 and 18: “So now it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells in me. For I know that in me, that is, in my flesh, dwells no good thing.”

Those who find fault with the flesh, and insist that it is no part of God’s creation, attack us with this text. What, then, are we to say? Just what we said before, when we were discussing the law: that as there he makes sin answerable for everything, so he does here too. For he does not say that the flesh does it, but the very opposite: “it is not I that do it, but sin that dwells in me.”

And if he does say that “no good thing dwells in it,” that is still no charge against the flesh. The fact that “no good thing dwells in it” does not show that it is evil in itself. We admit that the flesh is not as great as the soul, and is inferior to it — but not contrary to it, or opposed to it, or evil. It is beneath the soul as a harp is beneath the harpist, and as a ship is under the helmsman. These are not contrary to those who guide and use them, but work with them entirely; yet they are not of equal honor with the craftsman. Suppose someone says that the skill lives not in the harp or the ship, but in the helmsman or the harpist. He is not finding fault with the instruments, but pointing out the great difference between them and the craftsman. In the same way Paul, in saying that “in my flesh dwells no good thing,” is not finding fault with the body, but pointing out the soul’s superiority. For it is the soul that has been entrusted with the whole work of steering, and of playing.

This is what Paul points out here, giving the ruling power to the soul. Having divided man into these two, soul and body, he says that the flesh has less reason and lacks judgment, and belongs among the things that are led, not the things that lead. The soul has more wisdom, and can see what should be done and what should not; yet it is not equal to reining in the horse as it wishes. And this would be a charge not only against the flesh but against the soul as well, which knows what it ought to do, yet does not carry out in practice what seems best to it. “For to will,” he says, “is present with me; but how to do what is good, I do not find.” Here again, in the words “I do not find,” he is not speaking of any ignorance or perplexity, but of a kind of thwarting, a crafty assault made by sin, which he therefore points out more clearly in the next words.

Verses 19 and 20: “For the good that I want, I do not do; but the evil that I do not want, that I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells in me.”

Do you see how he acquits both the essence of the soul and the essence of the flesh of the charge, and moves it entirely onto sinful actions? For if the soul does not want the evil, it is cleared; and if he does not do it himself, the body too is set free, and the whole thing can be charged to the evil moral choice. Now the essence of the soul and of the body is not the same as that of this choice. The first two are God’s works; the other is a movement that comes from ourselves, toward whatever we please to direct it. For willing, to be sure, is natural and comes from God; but willing in this particular way is our own, and comes from our own mind.

Verse 21: “I find, then, a law, that when I want to do good, evil is present with me.”

What he says is not very clear. So what is it that is being said? He means: “I praise the law in my conscience, and I find that it pleads on my side, as far as I desire to do what is right, and that it strengthens this wish. For just as I take pleasure in it, so it gives its praise to my resolve.”

Do you see how he shows that the knowledge of what is good and what is not is part of our nature from the beginning, its very foundation, and that the law of Moses praises it and receives praise from it? Above, he did not say, “I am taught by the law,” but “I agree with the law”; and further on he does not say, “I am instructed by it,” but “I delight in it.” Now what is “I delight”? It means: I agree with it as right, just as it agrees with me when I want to do what is good.

So wanting what is good and not wanting what is evil was made a basic part of us from the first. But when the law came, it became at once a stronger accuser of what was bad and a greater praiser of what was good. Do you notice how everywhere he bears witness that it adds a certain intensity and an extra advantage, but nothing more? For though it praises, and I delight in it, and want what is good, the “evil is” still “present with me,” and its working has not been abolished. So with a man who resolves to do something good, the law acts only as an ally, in that it wants the same thing he wants. Then, since he had put it vaguely, as he goes on he gives a still clearer explanation, showing how the evil is present, and how the law is a law only to the person who has a mind to do what is good.

Verse 22: “For I delight,” he says, “in the law of God according to the inner man.” [h]

He means: “I knew what was good even before this; but when I find it set down in writing, I praise it.”

Verse 23: “But I see another law warring against the law of my mind.”

Here again he calls sin a law warring against the other — not because it has any good order, but because of the strict obedience paid to it by those who give in to it. Scripture gives the name “master” to mammon (Matthew 6, verse 24; Luke 16, verse 13), and the name “god” to the belly (Philippians 3, verse 19), not because they really deserve it, but because of the extreme servility of those who are subject to them. In the same way he here calls sin a law, because of those who are so servile toward it and afraid to leave it, just as those who had received the law dreaded leaving the law.

This, he means, is opposed to the law of nature; for that is what “the law of my mind” means. Next he pictures an army drawn up and a battle, and refers the whole struggle to the law of nature. The law of Moses was added later, over and above. Yet neither the one nor the other — the one teaching what was right, the other praising it — accomplished much in this battle, so great was sin’s slavery, overpowering and getting the upper hand as it did. Paul sets this out, and shows the decisive victory sin had, when he says, “I see another law warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity.” He does not simply say “conquering,” but “bringing me into captivity to the law of sin.” He does not say “the bent of the flesh” or “the nature of the flesh,” but “the law of sin” — that is, its slavery, its power. In what sense, then, does he say, “which is in my members”? What does this mean? Surely it does not make the members to be sin; on the contrary, it makes them as distinct from sin as possible.

For what is in a thing is different from the thing it is in. The commandment is not evil because sin took its opportunity through it; and no more is the nature of the flesh evil, even if sin subdues us by means of it. Otherwise the soul would be evil, and far more so, since it holds the authority in matters of action. But these things are not so — certainly they are not. If a usurper and a robber were to take possession of a splendid mansion and a royal palace, that would be no discredit to the house; the whole blame would fall on those who carried out such a deed. [i]

But the enemies of the truth, along with their ungodliness, fall without noticing into great absurdity as well. They not only accuse the flesh; they also run down the law. Yet if the flesh were evil, the law would be good, for the flesh wars against the law and opposes it. And if the law is not good, then the flesh is good, for even by their own account it wars and fights against the law. How, then, can they claim that both belong to the devil, when they set before us things that are opposed to each other? Do you see how great their absurdity is, along with their ungodliness? But such teachings are not the church’s. The church condemns sin alone. Both the laws God has given, the law of nature and the law of Moses, she says are hostile to sin, and not to the flesh. The flesh she denies is sin; for it is God’s work, and a very useful one for virtue, if we live soberly.

Verse 24: “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from the body of this death?”

Do you notice how great the slavery of vice is, that it overpowers even a mind that delighted in the law? No one can reply, he means, that it was because he hated the law and loathed it that sin overpowered him. For “I delight in it, and agree with it,” and I flee to it for refuge; yet it did not have the power to save one who had fled to it. But Christ saved even one who fled from him. See what a vast advantage grace has!

Yet the apostle has not put it this way, but only with a sigh and a great lament, as though he had no one to help him. By his helplessness he points to the might of Christ, and says, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” The law has not been able to; conscience has proved unequal to it, though it praised what was good — and not only praised it, but even fought against its opposite. For by the very words “warring against” he shows that he, for his part, was drawn up in battle against it. Where, then, is one to look for salvation?

Verse 25: “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” [j]

Notice how he shows the need for grace to be present with us, and that the good deeds done here belong alike to the Father and the Son. For if it is the Father he thanks, the Son is still the cause of this thanksgiving. But when you hear him say, “Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” do not suppose he is accusing the flesh. He does not say “body of sin” but “body of death” — that is, the mortal body, the body that was overcome by death, not the body that gave birth to death. And this is no proof that the flesh is evil, but of the harm it has suffered. When someone taken captive by savages is said to belong to the savages, it is not because he is a savage but because he is held by them. In the same way the body is said to be of death because it is held down by death, not because it produces it. That is also why what he himself wants to be delivered from is not the body, but the mortal body — hinting, as I have often said, that from the time it became subject to suffering it also became an easy prey to sin.

But someone may say: “Why, then, if sin’s slavery was so great before the times of grace, were people punished for sinning?” Because the commands they were given were such as could be carried out even under sin’s rule. He did not draw them to the highest way of life. He let them enjoy wealth; he did not forbid having several wives; he let them give vent to anger in a just cause, and enjoy comfort within bounds (Matthew 5, verse 38). And so great was this stooping down to meet them that the written law demanded even less than the law of nature. For the law of nature ordered one man to live with one woman all his life. Christ shows this in the words, “He who made them at the beginning made them male and female” (Matthew 19, verse 4).

But the law of Moses neither forbade sending one wife away and taking in another, nor prohibited having two at once (Matthew 5, verse 31). [l]

Besides this there are many other ordinances of the law that one can see were carried out in full by those who lived before its day, taught by the law of nature. So those who lived under the old covenant suffered no hardship when so moderate a set of laws was laid on them. And if, on those terms, they could not get the upper hand, the charge lies against their own sluggishness. That is why Paul gives thanks: because Christ, without insisting strictly on these things, not only required no account of this moderate standard, but even made us able to run a greater race set before us. And that is why he says, “I thank my God through Jesus Christ.”

Passing over the salvation that everyone agreed on, he moves from the points he had already established to a further one: that we were not only freed from our former sins, but also made unconquerable for the future. For “there is now,” he says, “no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh.” Yet he did not say this until he had first reminded us again of our former condition, in the words, “So then, with the mind I myself serve the law of God, but with the flesh the law of sin.”

Chapter 8, verse 1: “There is therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” [n]

Then, since the fact that many fall into sin even after baptism raised a difficulty, he hurried to meet it. He does not say simply “for those who are in Christ Jesus,” but adds, “who do not walk according to the flesh,” showing that everything afterward comes from our own sluggishness. For now we have the power not to walk according to the flesh; but then it was a hard task. Then he gives another proof of this in what follows, in the words:

Verse 2: “For the law of the Spirit of life has set me free.”

It is the Spirit he is calling here the law of the Spirit. Just as he calls sin the law of sin, so he calls the Spirit the law of the Spirit. And yet he gave that name to the law of Moses too, where he says, “For we know that the law is spiritual.” What, then, is the difference? A great and boundless one. That law was spiritual; but this is a law of the Spirit. And what is the distinction between this one and that? The other was only given by the Spirit; this one also supplies those who receive it with the Spirit in abundance. That is why he called it the law of life, in contrast to the law of sin — not to the law of Moses. For when he says, “It set me free from the law of sin and death,” it is not the law of Moses he is speaking of here, since nowhere does he call that the law of sin. How could he, when he had so often called it “just and holy,” and destructive of sin besides? He means the law that wars against the law of the mind. This grievous war the grace of the Spirit brought to an end: it slew sin, made the contest light for us, crowned us at the very start, and then drew us into the struggle with abundant help.

Next, as it is always his habit to turn from the Spirit to the Son and the Father, and to count all that we have as resting on the Trinity, so he does here too. After saying, “Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” he pointed to the Father as doing this through the Son; then again to the Holy Spirit together with the Son: “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set me free,” he says. Then again to the Father and the Son:

Verse 3: “For what the law could not do,” he says, “in that it was weak through the flesh, God, sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh.”

Here again he seems to be disparaging the law. But anyone who pays close attention will see that he actually praises it highly, by showing that it agrees with Christ and values the same things. He does not speak of the law’s badness, but of “what it could not do.” And again, “in that it was weak” — not “in that it was harmful,” or “in that it was scheming.” And even the weakness he does not lay on the law, but on the flesh, as he says: “in that it was weak through the flesh.” Here again he uses the word “flesh” not for the flesh’s essence and its very existence, but as a name for a more fleshly frame of mind. In this way he clears both the body and the law of any charge. And not in this way only, but by what comes next as well.

For suppose the law were on the opposing side. How, then, did Christ come to its aid, fulfill what it required, and lend it a helping hand by condemning sin in the flesh? This was what was lacking, since in the soul the Lord had condemned sin long ago. What then? Did the law accomplish the greater thing, and the only Son the lesser? [p]

Certainly not. For it was God who was the chief doer of that too, since he gave us the law of nature and added the written law to it. Besides, the greater would be of no use if the lesser had not been supplied. What good is it to know what ought to be done, if a person does not carry it out? None; it would only mean a heavier condemnation. So it is the one who saved the soul who has also made the flesh easy to bridle. Teaching is easy; but to show besides a way in which these things can be done easily — that is the marvel. It was for this that the only Son came, and he did not depart until he had set us free from this difficulty.

But what is greater still is the manner of the victory. He took no other flesh, but this very flesh that was beset with troubles. It is as if someone saw a poor, despised woman of the lowest class being beaten in the street and said he was her son — when he was the king’s son — and so got her free from those who were mistreating her. This is what he really did. He declared that he was the Son of Man, he stood by the flesh, and he condemned the sin. Yet he could not bear to strike the flesh as well. Or rather, he did strike it, with the blow of his death; but in that very act it was not the flesh that was struck that was condemned and perished, but the sin that had been doing the striking.

And this is the greatest marvel of all. If the victory had not taken place in the flesh, it would not be so astonishing, since the law too did as much. But the wonder is that it was with the flesh that his trophy was set up, and that the very thing sin had thrown down countless times itself won a glorious victory over sin. See what strange things took place here! One is that sin did not conquer the flesh. Another is that sin was conquered — and conquered by the flesh at that. For not being conquered is not the same thing as conquering what was always throwing us down. A third is that the flesh not only conquered sin but punished it as well. By not sinning it kept from being conquered; but by dying too, he overcame sin and condemned it, making the flesh, which sin had so easily made a mockery of before, a plain object of terror to it. In this way he at once broke sin’s power and abolished the death it had brought in. As long as sin laid hold of sinners, it pressed on toward its end with justice on its side. But once it had found a sinless body and handed it over to death, it was condemned for having acted unjustly.

Do you see how many proofs of victory there are? The flesh was not conquered by sin; it even conquered sin and condemned it; and it condemned it not merely, but as having sinned. For after convicting sin of injustice, he goes on to condemn it — and not by bare power and might, but by the rules of justice. This is what he means by saying “for sin, condemned sin in the flesh”: as if he had said that he convicted it of great sin, and then condemned it. So you see that it is sin that is condemned everywhere, and not the flesh. The flesh is even crowned with honor, and it is the one that passes sentence on sin.

And if he says that he sent the Son “in the likeness” of flesh, do not suppose on that account that his flesh was of a different kind. It was because he had called it “sinful” that he put in the word “likeness.” For it was not sinful flesh that Christ had, but flesh like our sinful flesh, yet sinless, and the same as ours in nature. So even from this it is plain that the flesh was not evil by nature. Christ did not bring it back to victory by taking a different flesh in place of the old one, nor by changing the substance of this same flesh. He let it remain in its own nature, and yet made it put on the crown of victory over sin; and then, after the victory, he raised it up and made it immortal.

Someone may say: “What is it to me whether it was in this flesh that these things happened?” It concerns you very much. That is why he goes on:

Verse 4: “That the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who do not walk according to the flesh.” [q]

What does this word “righteousness” mean? The goal, the aim, the good accomplished. For what was the law’s purpose, and what did it command? To be without sin. This, then, has now been accomplished for us through Christ. Taking a stand against sin and getting the better of it came from him; but enjoying the victory is ours. Will we never sin from now on, then? Never — unless we become exceedingly slack and lazy.

That is why he added, “to those who do not walk according to the flesh.” He did not want you, once you had heard that Christ has delivered you from the war with sin, and that the requirement of the law is fulfilled in you by sin’s being “condemned in the flesh,” to tear down all your defenses. So in that earlier place too, after saying, “There is therefore no condemnation,” he added, “to those who do not walk according to the flesh.” And here too, after “that the requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us,” he goes on with the very same thing — or rather, not with that only, but with something much stronger. For after saying, “that the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who do not walk according to the flesh,” he goes on, “but according to the Spirit.”

In this way he shows that we are bound not only to keep ourselves from evil deeds, but also to be adorned with good ones. To give you the crown is his part; to hold on to it once it is given is yours. The righteousness of the law — that no one should fall under its curse — Christ has accomplished for you. So do not betray so great a gift, but keep guarding this fine treasure. In this passage he shows that the font will not be enough to save us unless, after we come up from it, we show a life worthy of the gift. And so, in saying this, he is again speaking up for the law. For once we have become obedient to Christ, we must use every means and every plan so that the law’s righteousness, which Christ fulfilled, may remain in us and not come to nothing.

Verse 5: “For those who are according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh.”

Yet even this does not disparage the flesh. As long as it keeps its own place, nothing wrong comes of it. But when we let it have its own way in everything, and it oversteps its proper bounds and rises up against the soul, then it ruins and corrupts everything — not because of its own nature, but because it has grown out of proportion, and disorder follows. “But those who are according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit.”

Verse 6: “For to be fleshly minded is death.” [r]

He is not speaking of the nature of the flesh or of the essence of the body, but of being fleshly “minded” — something that can be set right again and done away with. And in saying this he does not give the flesh any reasoning power of its own. Far from it. He is describing the coarser movements of the mind, naming them after the lower part — just as he is often in the habit of calling the whole human being, a creature with a soul, “flesh.” “But to be spiritually minded…”

Here again he speaks of the spiritual mind, as he does further on when he says, “But he who searches the hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit” (verse 27). And he points out the many blessings that come from it, both in the present life and in the life to come. The evils that being fleshly minded brings in are far outnumbered by the blessings a spiritual mind gives. He points this out in the words “life and peace.” The one is set against the first — for death is what he says being fleshly minded is. The other is set against what follows. For after mentioning peace, he goes on, in verse 7: “Because the fleshly mind is hostility against God” — and that is worse than death.

Then, to show how it is both death and hostility, he says, “for it is not subject to the law of God, nor indeed can it be.” But do not be troubled when you hear “nor indeed can it be.” The difficulty is easily solved. What he here calls “the fleshly mind” is the reasoning, the way of thinking, that is earthly and coarse, eager for the things of this life and its wicked deeds. It is of this that he says it “cannot be subject” to God.

What hope of salvation is left, then, if it is impossible for someone who is bad to become good? But that is not what he says. Otherwise how would Paul have become what he was? How would the repentant thief, or Manasseh, or the Ninevites have recovered themselves — or how would David, after his fall?

How would Peter have raised himself up after his denial? How could the man who had lived in sexual immorality have been counted again among Christ’s flock (First Corinthians 5, verse 5; Second Corinthians 2, verses 6 to 11)? How could the Galatians, who had “fallen from grace” (Galatians 5, verse 4), have regained their former standing? So what he is saying is not that it is impossible for a wicked man to become good, but that it is impossible for one who stays wicked to be subject to God. For a man to change, and so become good and subject to him, is easy. He does not say that a man cannot be subject to God, but that wicked doing cannot be good — as if he had said that sexual immorality cannot be chastity, or vice virtue. [t]

The Gospel says the same: “A corrupt tree cannot produce good fruit” (Matthew 7, verse 18). This is not to bar the change from vice to virtue, but to say how incapable remaining in vice is of producing good fruit. He does not say that a bad tree cannot become a good one, but that it cannot bear good fruit while it remains bad. That it can be changed he shows from this passage, and from another parable, where he brings in the weeds as turning into wheat. That is also why he forbids pulling them up:

“Or else,” he says, “you will pull up the wheat along with them” (Matthew 13, verse 29) — meaning the wheat that will spring from them. [w]

By the fleshly mind, then, he means vice, and by the spiritual mind the grace that has been given and its working, which shows itself in a mind rightly resolved. Nowhere in this passage is he discussing a substance or a being, but virtue and vice. What you had no power to do under the law, he means, you will now be able to do: to go on uprightly, with no fall in between, if you take hold of the Spirit’s help. It is not enough not to walk according to the flesh; we must also walk according to the Spirit, since turning away from what is evil will not secure our salvation. We must also do what is good.

And this will come about if we give our souls up to the Spirit and persuade our flesh to learn its proper place. In this way we will make the flesh spiritual too; just as, if we are slack, we will make our soul fleshly. For it was no necessity of nature that placed the gift in us; freedom of choice put it in our hands. So from now on it rests with you whether it will be this way or the other. He, for his part, has done everything. Sin no longer wars against the law of our mind, nor does it lead us away captive as before. That whole state of things has been ended and broken up, and the passions cower in fear and trembling before the grace of the Spirit. But if you put out the light, and throw out the driver who holds the reins, and chase the helmsman away, then from now on blame the tossing on yourself.

Virtue has now been made easier — which is why we are also under far stricter obligations to live godly lives. So consider how things stood for people when the law was in force, and how they stand now that grace has shone out.

Things that once seemed impossible to anyone — virginity, and contempt of death and of other, harsher sufferings — are now flourishing in every part of the world. And not only among us, but among the Scythians and Thracians, the Indians and Persians, and many other barbarian nations, there are companies of virgins and bands of martyrs and communities of monks — these have now grown even more numerous than the married — along with strict fasting and the most complete giving up of property. These are things that those who lived under the law, with one or two exceptions, never imagined even in a dream.

So since you see the real state of things proclaimed louder than any trumpet, do not grow soft, and do not betray so great a grace. Not even after coming to faith can a slack person be saved! The wrestling bouts have been made easy so that you may strive and win — not so that you may sleep, or abuse the greatness of the grace by making it an excuse for slackness, and so wallow again in the old mire. That is why he goes on to say, in verse 8: “So then those who are in the flesh cannot please God.”

Someone will say: “What then? Are we to cut our bodies to pieces to please God, and make our escape from the flesh? Would you have us become killers, and lead us to virtue that way?” You see what absurdities come from taking the words literally. By “the flesh” in this passage he does not mean the body, or the essence of the body, but the life that is fleshly and worldly, that indulges itself and lives extravagantly to the full, and so makes the whole person flesh. Those who have the wings of the Spirit make the body spiritual too; in the same way, those who break away from the Spirit and are slaves of the belly and of pleasure make the soul flesh as well — not by changing its essence, but by spoiling its noble birth. [x]

This way of speaking is found in many places in the Old Testament too, using “flesh” for the coarse and earthly life, tangled up in unfitting pleasures. So God says to Noah, “My Spirit will not always make its home in these men, because they are flesh” (Genesis 6, verse 3). And yet Noah himself was clothed in flesh too. But the complaint is not about being clothed in flesh — that is so by nature — but about having chosen a fleshly life. That is why Paul says, “But those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” Then he goes on:

Verse 9: “But you are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit.” [y]

Here again he does not mean flesh in the plain sense, but flesh of a certain kind: flesh caught up in the whirl and slavery of the passions. Someone may say: “Then why does he not say so, and draw the distinction?” It is to rouse the hearer, and to show that the one who lives rightly is not even in the body. It was fairly clear to everyone that the spiritual man was not in sin; so he states the greater truth: not only was the spiritual man not in sin, but from then on he was not even in the flesh. From that very moment he had become an angel and gone up into heaven, and from then on he merely carries the body about.

Now if this is your reason for disparaging the flesh — that Paul calls the fleshly life by its name — then by the same reasoning you will disparage the world too, since wickedness is often called by its name. So Christ said to his disciples, “You are not of this world,” and again he says to his brothers, “The world cannot hate you, but it hates me” (John 15, verse 19; John 7, verse 7). And Paul would have to be calling the soul estranged from God too, since he gives those who live in error the name “men of the soul” (First Corinthians 2, verse 14). But this is not so — indeed it is not. We must not look at the bare words, but always at the intention of the speaker, and so come to a perfectly clear knowledge of what is said. Some things are good, some bad, and some indifferent. The soul and the flesh belong among the indifferent things, since each can become either the one or the other.

But the spirit belongs among the good things, and never becomes anything else. The mind of the flesh, on the other hand — that is, wrongdoing — belongs among the things that are always bad, “for it is not subject to the law of God.” So if you give your soul and body over to the better, you will have become part of it. If on the other hand you give them over to the worse, you are made a sharer in the ruin that is there — not because of the nature of the soul and the flesh, but because of the judgment that has the power to choose either. And to show that this is so, and that the words do not disparage the flesh, let us take up the phrase itself again and sift it more thoroughly. [z]

“But you are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit,” he says. What then? Were they not in the flesh? Did they go about without bodies? What sense would that make? You see that it is the fleshly life he is pointing to.

And why did he not say, “But you are not in sin”? So that you may learn that Christ has not only put an end to the tyranny of sin, but has even made the flesh weigh us down less and be more spiritual — not by changing its nature, but rather by giving it wings. When fire comes together with iron, the iron too becomes fire, though it still remains in its own nature. So it is with those who believe and have the Spirit: from then on the flesh passes over into that way of working and becomes wholly spiritual, crucified in every part and flying on the same wings as the soul. Such was the body of the man who speaks here. That is why he scorned all self-indulgence and pleasure, and found his indulgence in hunger and beatings and prisons, and did not even feel pain in going through them (Second Corinthians 11). And it was to show this that he said, “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment,” and what follows (Second Corinthians 4, verse 17). So well had he trained even the flesh to be in harmony with the spirit.

“If indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you.” He often uses this “if indeed,” not to express any doubt, but even when he is fully convinced of the thing, and in place of “since.” So he says, “if indeed it is a righteous thing,” meaning, “seeing that it is a righteous thing with God to repay with distress those who distress you” (Second Thessalonians 1, verse 6). And again: “Have you suffered so many things in vain — if indeed it was in vain?” (Galatians 3, verse 4).

“Now if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ…” He does not say, “if you do not have it,” but brings in the distressing word as applying to other people. “He does not belong to him,” he says. [ab]

Verse 10: “And if Christ is in you.”

Again he applies what is good to them, and the distressing part was short and put in by the way. What is to be desired stands on either side of it, and at length too, so as to throw the other into the shade. He says this not to assert that the Spirit is Christ — far from it — but to show that whoever has the Spirit is not only called Christ’s, but even has Christ himself. For it cannot be otherwise: where the Spirit is, there Christ is also. Wherever one Person of the Trinity is, the whole Trinity is present, for it is undivided in itself and has the most complete oneness.

Someone may say: “What, then, will happen if Christ is in us?” “The body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness.” You see the great evils that come from not having the Holy Spirit: death, hostility toward God, being unable to satisfy his laws, not belonging to Christ as we should, the lack of his dwelling in us. Now consider also what great blessings come from having the Spirit: belonging to Christ, having Christ himself, rivaling the angels (for this is what putting the flesh to death means), living an immortal life, holding from now on the pledges of the resurrection, running the race of virtue with ease.

For he does not say anything so small as that the body is from now on inactive toward sin; he says it is even dead, so magnifying the ease of the race. Such a person wins the crown without toils and labors. Then afterward, for this reason, he also adds “to sin,” so that you may see that it is the body’s wickedness, not its essence, that he has abolished at once. If the essence had been abolished, many things that are actually of benefit to the soul would have been abolished too. But this is not what he says. While the body is still alive and remains, he insists, it is dead. For this is the sign of our having the Son, and of the Spirit’s being in us: that our bodies should be no different, as far as the working of sin is concerned, from the bodies that lie on the bier.

But do not be alarmed when you hear of this putting to death. In it you have what is truly life, with no death to follow it — and such is the life of the Spirit. That life no longer gives way to death; it wears death down and consumes it, and whatever it receives it keeps immortal. That is why, after saying, “the body is dead,” he does not go on, “but the Spirit lives,” but says, “is life,” to show that the Spirit had the power to give this life to others as well. Then, to brace his hearer again, he tells him the cause of this life and the proof of it: righteousness. For where there is no sin, death is not to be seen either; and where death is not to be seen, life cannot be destroyed. [ad]

Verse 11: “But if the Spirit of him who raised up Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised up our Lord will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you.”

Again he touches on the resurrection, since this was the most encouraging hope for his hearer, and what had happened to Christ gave him a guarantee of it. So do not be afraid because you are wrapped in a dead body. Let it have the Spirit, and it will certainly rise again. What, then? Will the bodies that do not have the Spirit not rise? Then how must “all stand before the judgment seat of Christ” (Romans 14, verse 10)? And how will what we are told of hell be trustworthy? For if those who do not have the Spirit do not rise, there will be no hell at all. [ae]

What, then, does the saying mean? All will rise, but not all to life: some to punishment and some to life (John 5, verse 29). That is why he did not say “will raise up,” but “will give life to” (Daniel 12, verse 2). And this is a greater thing than resurrection, and it is given to the righteous alone. He adds the cause of this honor in the words, “through his Spirit who dwells in you.” So if, while you are here, you drive away the grace of the Spirit and do not leave this life with it still safe, you will certainly perish, even though you rise again. For just as he will not bear to hand you over to punishment then, if he sees his Spirit shining in you, so if he sees it quenched, he will not let them bring you into the bridal chamber — just as he did not admit those virgins (Matthew 25, verse 12).

So do not let your body live in this world, so that it may live then! Make it die, so that it may not die. For if it goes on living, it will not live; but if it dies, then it will live. And this is how it is with resurrection in general: the body must first die and be buried, and then become immortal. But this has already been done in the font. There it has had first its crucifixion and burial, and then it has been raised. This is also what happened with the Lord’s body: it too was crucified and buried, and rose again. So let us keep doing this ourselves: let us keep putting the body to death in its works. I do not mean in its substance — far from it! — but in its leanings toward evil deeds.

For this too is a life — or rather, this alone is life: to undergo nothing of what is common to human beings, and not to be a slave to pleasures. The man who has put himself under their rule has no power even to live, because of the gloom, the fears, the dangers, and the countless throng of ills that rise from them. If death is to be expected, he has died of fear before he dies. And if it is disease he dreads, or insult, or poverty, or any of the other ills no one can foresee, he is ruined; he has perished. What, then, could be more miserable than a life like this? But the man who lives for the Spirit is far otherwise. He stands at once above fears and grief and dangers and every kind of change — and that not by never meeting with any of these things, but, what is much greater, by scorning them when they come at him.

And how is this to come about? It will, if the Spirit dwells in us continually. For he is not speaking of a short stay, but of a continual indwelling. That is why he does not say the Spirit “who dwelt,” but “who dwells in us,” pointing to a continual abiding. So the man who is dead to this life is the one most truly alive. That is why he says, “The Spirit is life because of righteousness.” [ag]

To make the thing clearer, let me set two men before you. One is given over to extravagance and pleasures and the deceitfulness of this life; the other has been made dead to all these. Let us see which of them is more truly the living one. Let one of the two be very rich and much looked up to, keeping hangers-on and flatterers, and let us suppose he spends the whole day on this, in reveling and drunkenness. Let the other live in poverty and fasting, on hard fare and strict discipline, and in the evening take only the food he needs — or, if you like, let him even go two or three days without food.

Which of these two, then, do we think is more truly alive? Most people, I know, will count the first one so — the man who takes his pleasure and squanders his goods. But we count the man who enjoys the moderate fare. Now, since the question is still disputed and contested, let us go into the houses of both, and at the very time when, in your judgment, the rich man is most truly living — in the very season of his self-indulgence. Once we are inside, let us look and see the real condition of each of these men, for it is from their actions that it becomes clear which is alive and which is dead. Will we not find the one among his books, or at prayer and fasting, or at some other necessary duty, awake and sober and talking with God? And the other we will see stupefied with drink, in no better condition than a dead man. If we wait until evening, we will see this death coming over him more and more, and then sleep following on after it; but the other we will see keeping away from wine and sleep even at night.

Which, then, shall we declare more alive: the man who lies senseless, an open laughingstock to everyone, or the man who is active and talking with God? Go up to the first and tell him something he ought to know, and you will not hear a word out of him, any more than out of a dead man. But the second — whether you choose to be with him by night or by day — you will see to be an angel rather than a man, and you will hear him speak wisdom about the things in heaven. Do you see how one of them is alive beyond all the living, and the other in a more pitiable state even than the dead? And even if he has a mind to stir himself, he sees one thing in place of another and is like people who are mad — or rather, he is in a worse state even than they are. For if anyone were to do them some harm, we would at once feel pity for the sufferer and rebuke the one who did the wrong.

But this man — if we saw someone trample on him, we would not only feel no inclination to pity him, we would even pass sentence against him, fallen as he is. And will you tell me that this is life, and not a harder lot than countless deaths? So you see that the self-indulgent man is not only dead, but worse than dead, and more miserable than a man possessed. The one is pitied, the other hated; the one is excused, the other is punished for his madness. [ah]

And if outwardly he is so ridiculous, with his spittle tainted and his breath stinking of wine, just think what state his wretched soul is likely to be in, buried, as it were, in a grave, in a body like this. It is much the same as if someone were to let a young woman — lovely, chaste, freeborn, of good family and handsome — be trampled on and insulted in every way by a serving woman who was savage, disgusting and impure. Drunkenness is something like that. Who in his right mind would not choose to die a thousand deaths rather than live a single day like this?

For even if at daybreak he gets up and seems to be sober after that reveling of his, even then it is not the clear brightness of self-control that he enjoys, since the cloud from the storm of drunkenness still hangs before his eyes. And even if we were to grant him the clear head of sobriety, what better off would he be? This sobriety would do him no good, except to let him see his accusers. While he is in the middle of his disgraceful deeds, he at least gains this much: he does not notice the people laughing at him. But when day comes he loses even this comfort. His servants are muttering, his wife is ashamed, his friends accuse him, his enemies make sport of him — and he knows it too. What could be more miserable than a life like this: to be laughed at all day by everyone, and when evening comes, to do the same disgraceful things all over again?

But what if you let me set the greedy man before you? For this is another drunkenness, and an even worse one. And if it is a drunkenness, then it must be a far worse death than the other, since this drunkenness is the more grievous.

Indeed, it is not so sad to be drunk with wine as with greed. In the first case the penalty ends with the sufferings and comes down to senselessness and the drunkard’s own ruin. But in this case the harm passes on to thousands of souls and kindles wars of every kind on every side. Come, then, let us put this one beside the other, and see what they have in common, and again in what respect this one is worse; let us compare the two kinds of drunkards today. With that blessed man who lives for the Spirit let them not be compared at all; let them only be tested against each other. And again, let us set before you the moneylender’s table, laden as it is with blood.

What, then, do they have in common, and how are they like each other? It is in the very nature of the disease. The kind of drunkenness differs — one comes from wine, the other from money — but the way it affects them is alike, since both are equally possessed by a desire that knows no limit. The man drunk with wine longs for more the more cups he has emptied; and the man in love with money, the more he gets hold of, the more he kindles the flame of his desire, and the more insistent he makes his thirst.

In this, then, they are alike. But in another point the greedy man outdoes the other — in the worse direction. What is it? That the drunkard’s craving is a natural one. Wine is hot; it adds to the body’s natural dryness, and so it makes drunkards thirsty. But what is there to make the other man always keep wanting more? How does it happen that when he has grown rich, then he is in the direst poverty? This disease, then, is a baffling one, and has more of the paradox about it. [ai]

But if you like, let us look at them after the drunkenness too. Or rather, there is no such thing as ever seeing the greedy man after his drunkenness, so constant is his intoxication. Let us look at them both in the state of drunkenness, then, and get a clear idea which of them is more ridiculous; let us again draw ourselves an accurate sketch of them. We will see the man who is besotted with his wine in the evening, his eyes open but seeing no one, moving about just as chance takes him, stumbling against whoever gets in his way, vomiting, convulsed, and shamefully exposing his nakedness (see Habakkuk 2, verse 16). If his wife is there, or his daughter, or his maidservant, or anyone else, they will laugh at him heartily.

Now let us bring the greedy man before you. What happens here deserves not laughter only, but a curse as well, and great anger, and thunderbolts without number. For now, though, let us look at the ridiculous side, for this man, like the other, knows no one, whether friend or foe.

Like him, too, he is blind though his eyes are open. And as the drunkard takes everything he sees for wine, so this man takes everything for money. His vomiting is even more disgusting, for it is not food he throws up, but words of abuse, of insult, of war, of death — words that bring down on his own head lightning bolts without number from above. And as the drunkard’s body is livid and falling apart, so is the other man’s soul. Or rather, even his body is not free of this disorder; it suffers worse, since worry eats it away worse than wine does — as anger does too, and sleeplessness — and little by little wears it out entirely. The man who has fallen ill from wine may be sober again once the night is over. But this man is always drunk, day and night, waking or sleeping, and so he pays a heavier penalty than any prisoner, or anyone laboring in the mines, or anyone suffering a punishment more grievous than these, if there is one.

Is this life, then, I ask you, and not death? Or rather, is it not a fate more wretched than any death? Death gives the body rest and frees it from ridicule, and from disgrace and sins as well; but these fits of drunkenness plunge it into all of them, stopping up the ears, dimming the eyes, and holding the understanding down in deep darkness. He will not bear to hear of anything but interest, and interest on interest, and shameful gains, and hateful trading, and dealings unworthy of a free man and fit only for slaves. He barks like a dog at everyone; he hates everyone, turns away from everyone, is at war with everyone, without any reason for it; he rises up against the poor, envies the rich, and is courteous to no one. And if he has a wife or children or friends, and he cannot use them all to get gain, they are more his enemies than his real enemies are. What could be worse than madness like this, and what more wretched? The man is laying rocks all around himself on every side, and reefs, and cliffs, and chasms, and pits without number — and he has only one body, and is the slave of one belly.

If someone forces you into a public office, you run away for fear of the expense. Yet you are piling up for yourself countless burdens far more distressing than those, enlisting yourself for services not only more costly but more dangerous too, done for mammon. And you pay this tyrant not only money, nor only bodily labor, torment of soul and grief, but even your very blood, so that you may gain some addition to your property out of this barbarous slavery — miserable, sorrow-stricken man that you are! [ak]

Do you not see those who are carried to the grave day after day — how they are borne to their tombs naked and stripped of everything, unable to take with them anything that is in the house, carrying only the clothes they have on them to the worm? Think about them day after day, and perhaps the disease will ease — unless even such an occasion only makes you madder still over the cost of the funeral! For the disease is stubborn; the sickness is terrible. This is why we speak to you on this subject at every gathering and keep bathing your hearing with warm compresses, so that at least, as you grow used to such thoughts, some good may come of it.

But do not argue the point. It is not only on the day to come, but even before it, that this many-sided disease brings punishments of every kind. If I were to tell you of those who spend their days in chains, or of someone nailed to a lingering illness, or of someone struggling with famine, or of anything else whatever, I could point to no one who suffers as much as those who love money. For what worse evil can befall anyone than to be hated by everyone, to hate everyone, to feel kindly toward no one, never to be satisfied, to be continually thirsty, to struggle with a hunger that never ends — and one more distressing than what everyone calls hunger — to have pains day after day, never to be sober, to be continually in worries and troubles? All these things, and more than these, the greedy take on their shoulders. In the very midst of their gains they feel no pleasure, though they scrape together from everyone, because they desire more. But if they suffer a loss, even of a penny, they think they have suffered the most terrible harm and been thrown out of life itself. What words, then, could set these evils before you?

And if their lot here is like this, think too of what comes after this life: being cast out of the kingdom, the pain of hell, the everlasting chains, the outer darkness, the venomous worm, the gnashing of teeth, the affliction, the terrible anguish, the rivers of fire, the furnaces that are never quenched. Gather all these together and weigh them against the pleasure of money, and tear up this disease now, root and branch, so that, receiving the true riches and set free from this grievous poverty, you may obtain both the blessings of this present life and those to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom be glory to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen. [am]