Homily 7 — Second Corinthians 3, verses 7 to 18

“But if the ministry of death, written and engraved on stones, came with glory, so that the children of Israel could not look steadily at the face of Moses because of the glory of his face — a glory that was passing away — how will the ministry of the Spirit not come with glory all the more?” [a]

He had said that the tablets of Moses were of stone, and written with letters besides, while these tablets were of flesh — I mean the hearts of the apostles — and had been written on by the Spirit; and that the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life. One further point, and no trifling one, was still missing from this comparison: the glory of Moses. Nothing like it was seen with bodily eyes in the case of the new covenant. And for this very reason the old covenant seemed a great thing, because its glory was perceived by the senses — it was seen by bodily eyes, even though no one could come near it — while the glory of the new covenant is perceived by the understanding. The weaker sort do not readily grasp a superiority of that kind; the other glory impressed them more and drew them to itself.

So, having come to this comparison and being bent on showing the superiority, which was extremely hard because his hearers were so slow, see what he does and how methodically he goes about it. First he sets the difference before them by arguments, and he builds these out of what he had said before. If that ministry was of death and this one of life, then surely, he says, the later glory is also greater than the earlier. Since he could not show it to bodily eyes, he established its superiority by this logical inference, saying:

Verse 8: “But if the ministry of death came with glory, how will the ministry of the Spirit not come with glory all the more?”

By “the ministry of death” he means the law. And notice how carefully he makes the comparison, so as to give the heretics no handle. He did not say “which causes death,” but “the ministry of death.” The law served death; it was not the parent of death. What caused death was sin. The law brought in the punishment and showed the sin; it did not cause it. It revealed the evil more distinctly and punished it; it did not drive anyone to the evil. It did not serve to bring sin or death into being, but to make the sinner suffer his punishment. So in this way it even destroyed sin, for what shows sin to be so fearful plainly makes it something to be avoided as well. [b]

Think of the man who takes the sword in his hands and cuts down the condemned man. He serves the judge who passes sentence, and it is not he who destroys the man, even though he is the one who cuts him down. No, it is not even the judge who passes sentence and condemns him, but the wickedness of the man being punished. In just the same way, here too it is not the law that destroys, but sin. Sin both destroyed and condemned; but the law, by punishing, undermined sin’s strength, holding it back by the fear of the punishment.

But he was not content with this one consideration to establish the superiority; he adds yet another, saying, “written and engraved on stones.” See how he again cuts at the root of the arrogance of the Jews. The law was nothing but letters. No help was found leaping out of the letters to breathe strength into those in the struggle, as happens in baptism; there were only stone pillars and inscriptions bringing death to those who broke what was written. Do you see how, in correcting the contentiousness of the Jews, he lessens the law’s standing by his very choice of words, speaking of stone and letters and a ministry of death, and adding that it was engraved? By this he declares nothing else than that the law was fixed in one place, and was not present everywhere, as the Spirit is, breathing great strength into everyone. Or else he means that the letters breathe out a great deal of threatening — and threatening that cannot be wiped out, but remains forever, because it is engraved in stone.

Then, even while he seems to praise the old things, he again mixes in an accusation against the Jews. Having said, “written and engraved on stones, came with glory,” he added, “so that the children of Israel could not look steadily at the face of Moses” — and that was a mark of their great weakness and their low, earthbound spirit. Again, he does not say “because of the glory of the tablets,” but “because of the glory of his face, a glory that was passing away.” He shows that it is the man who carries the tablets who is made glorious, not the tablets. He did not say, “because they could not look steadily at the tablets,” but “at the face of Moses”; and again, not “because of the glory of the tablets,” but “because of the glory of his face.” Then, after exalting it, see how he lowers it again, saying, “which was passing away.” This is not said as an accusation, but as a lessening. He did not say, “which was corrupt, which was evil,” but “which ceases and has an end.”

“How will the ministry of the Spirit not come with glory all the more?” From here on he exalts the things of the new covenant with confidence, as beyond dispute. And notice what he does. He set “stone” against “heart,” and “letter” against “spirit.” Then, when he came to what each produces, he did not set them down in matching terms. He set down the work of the letter, death and condemnation; but for the Spirit he did not set down its work, life and righteousness. He set down the Spirit himself, and that added greatness to the argument. For the new covenant not only gave life; it also supplied the Spirit who gives the life, which is a far greater thing than the life. That is why he said, “the ministry of the Spirit.” Then he comes back to the same point again, saying:

Verse 9: “For if the ministry of condemnation is glory.”

Here he also explains more clearly the meaning of the words “The letter kills,” declaring it to be what we said above: that the law showed sin, but did not cause it.

“Much more does the ministry of righteousness exceed in glory.” Those tablets showed up the sinners and punished them; but this ministry not only did not punish the sinners, it even made them righteous. That is what baptism gave.

Verse 10: “For indeed what has been made glorious has not been made glorious in this respect, because of the glory that surpasses it.”

In what went before, he showed that this ministry too comes with glory — and not simply with glory, but exceeding in it. For he did not say, “How will the ministry of the Spirit not come with glory all the more?” but “exceed in glory,” drawing the proof from the arguments already given. Here he also shows how great the superiority is, saying in effect: “If I compare this with that, the glory of the old covenant is no glory at all.” He is not laying down absolutely that there was no glory, but speaking with a view to the comparison. That is why he added “in this respect,” that is, in respect of the comparison. This does not disparage the old covenant; on the contrary, it praises it highly, for comparisons are usually made between things of the same kind.

Next he sets yet another argument in motion, to prove the superiority on fresh grounds as well. What is this argument? The one from how long each lasts. He says:

Verse 11: “For if what was passing away came with glory, much more is what remains in glory.”

For the one ceased, but the other remains forever. [c]

Verse 12: “Having therefore such a hope, we use great boldness of speech.”

When the hearer had heard so many great things about the new covenant, he would want to see this glory displayed before his eyes. So notice where Paul flings him: to the world to come. That is why he brought in the “hope,” saying, “Having therefore such a hope.” Such? Of what kind? That we have been counted worthy of greater things than Moses — not only we apostles, but all the faithful. “We use great boldness of speech.” Toward whom? Tell me. Toward God, or toward the disciples? Toward you who are being taught, he says. That is, we speak everywhere with freedom, hiding nothing, holding nothing back, mistrusting nothing, but speaking openly; and we have not been afraid of wounding your eyesight, as Moses was afraid of wounding the eyesight of the Jews.

That he is alluding to this, listen to what follows and you will see. Or rather, we must first tell the story, since he himself keeps dwelling on it. What is the story? When Moses came down, having received the tablets a second time, a glory flashing from his face shone so brightly that the Jews could not come near him and speak with him until he put a veil over his face. This is how it is written in Exodus (Exodus 34, verses 29 and 34): “When Moses came down from the mountain, the two tablets were in his hands. And Moses did not know that the skin of his face had been made glorious to look at. And they were afraid to come near him. And Moses called them and spoke to them. And when Moses had finished speaking with them, he put a veil over his face. But whenever he went in before the Lord to speak with him, he took the veil off until he came out.”

Reminding them of this story, then, he says: [d]

Verse 13: “And not like Moses, who put a veil over his face, so that the children of Israel would not look steadily at the end of what was passing away.”

What he means is something like this. We have no need to cover ourselves as Moses did, for you are able to look at this glory that surrounds us, although it is far greater and brighter than the other. Do you see the progress? The man who said in the former letter, “I fed you with milk, not with solid food,” says here, “We use great boldness of speech.” And he brings Moses before them, carrying the discourse forward by comparison, and so leading his hearer upward. For the present he sets them above the Jews, saying that we have no need of a veil, as Moses had with the people he led. But in what comes afterward he raises them even to the very rank of the Lawgiver, or rather to one much greater.

For the time being, though, let us hear what comes next. [e]

Verse 14: “But their minds were hardened; for until this day the same veil remains at the reading of the old covenant, it not being revealed to them that it is done away in Christ.”

See what he establishes by this. What happened once, back then, in the case of Moses happens continually in the case of the law. So what is said is no accusation against the law, just as it was no accusation against Moses that he veiled himself then; it accuses only the senseless Jews. The law has its own glory, but they were unable to see it. “Why, then, are you perplexed,” he says, “if they cannot see this glory of grace, when they did not see even that lesser glory of Moses, and could not look steadily at his face? And why are you troubled that the Jews do not believe Christ, when they do not believe even the law? The reason they did not know grace is that they did not know even the old covenant, or the glory that was in it. For the glory of the law is to turn people to Christ.”

Do you see how on this ground too he deflates the pride of the Jews? From the very thing in which they thought they had the advantage — that Moses’ face shone — he proves how coarse and earthbound they were. So they should not pride themselves on it; for what was it to Jews who did not enjoy it? That is why he keeps dwelling on it. At one point he says, “The same veil remains at the reading of the old covenant, it not being revealed that it is done away in Christ.” At another, “To this day, whenever Moses is read” (verse 15), the same “veil lies over their heart” — showing that the veil lies both over the reading and over their heart. And above: “so that the children of Israel could not look steadily at the face of Moses because of the glory of his face, a glory that was passing away” (verse 7). What could show less worth in them than this? Even a glory that is to be done away — or rather, one that by comparison is no glory at all — they are unable to look at; it is covered from them, “so that they could not look steadily at the end of what was passing away,” that is, of the law, because it has an end.

“But their minds were hardened.” [f]

“And what does this have to do with the veil back then?” This: it prefigured what was going to be. Not only did they fail to see then; they do not see the law even now. And the fault lies with themselves, for the hardness is that of a judgment that will take no impression, a perverse judgment. So it is we who know the law as well, while for them not only grace but the law too is covered in shadow. “For until this day,” he says, “the same veil remains at the reading of the old covenant, it not being revealed that it is done away in Christ.”

What he means is this. They cannot see this very thing, that the law is brought to an end, because they do not believe Christ. If it is brought to an end by Christ — as in truth it is, and as the law itself said in advance — how will those who do not receive Christ, who has done away with the law, be able to see that the law is done away? And since they cannot see this, they plainly do not know the power or the full glory even of the law itself, which declared these things.

“And where did it say that it is done away in Christ?” It did not merely say it; it also showed it by what took place. First, it shut up its sacrifices and its whole worship in one place, the temple, and afterward destroyed the temple. If he had not meant to bring these things to an end, and the whole law concerning them, he would have done one of two things: either not destroyed the temple, or, having destroyed it, not forbidden sacrifice elsewhere. As it is, he made the whole world, and even Jerusalem itself, forbidden ground for such rites, allowing and appointing the temple alone for them. Then, by destroying the temple itself afterward, he showed completely, even by what was done, that the things of the law are brought to an end by Christ. For it was Christ who destroyed the temple too.

But if you want to see in words as well how the law is done away in Christ, listen to the Lawgiver himself speaking this way: “The Lord will raise up for you a prophet from among your brothers, like me. You shall listen to him in everything he commands you. And it will be that every soul that will not listen to that prophet will be utterly destroyed” (Deuteronomy 18, verses 15 and 19; Acts 3, verses 22 and 23). Do you see how the law showed that it is done away in Christ? For this prophet — that is, Christ according to the flesh — whom Moses commanded them to listen to, put an end to the sabbath and circumcision and all the rest.

And David too, showing the very same thing, said of Christ, “You are a priest after the order of Melchizedek” (Psalm 110, verse 4) — not after the order of Aaron. That is why Paul, interpreting this plainly, says, “When the priesthood is changed, there is of necessity a change of the law as well” (Hebrews 7, verse 12). And in another place again he says, “Sacrifice and offering you did not want; in whole burnt offerings and sacrifices for sin you took no pleasure. Then I said, ‘Look, I have come’” (Hebrews 10, verses 5 and 7). And far more testimonies than these could be brought from the Old Testament to show how the law is done away by Christ. So when you have left the law behind, then you will see the law clearly; but as long as you hold on to it and do not believe Christ, you do not know even the law itself. That is why he added, to establish this very point more clearly:

Verse 15: “But even to this day, whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their heart.”

He had said that the veil remains at the reading of the old covenant. So that no one would think this came from the obscurity of the law, he had already shown his meaning by other words — for by saying, “their minds were hardened,” he shows that the fault was their own — and he shows it here again. He did not say, “The veil remains on the writing,” but “at the reading” — and reading is the act of those who read — and again, “whenever Moses is read.” But he showed it more clearly still in the words that come next, saying without reserve, “a veil lies over their heart.” For even when it lay over the face of Moses, that was not because of Moses, but because of the dullness and fleshly thinking of these people.

Having rebuked them as they deserved, he also points out the way they may be set right. And what is it?

Verse 16: “Nevertheless, when one turns to the Lord” — that is, leaves the law behind — “the veil is taken away.”

Do you see that the veil was not over the face of Moses, but over the eyesight of the Jews? It was done not so that the glory of Moses might be hidden, but so that the Jews would not see; for they were not able to. So the lack was in them. The veil left him ignorant of nothing; it was they who were left ignorant. And he did not say, “when you let go of the law,” but he implied it, in saying, “when you turn to the Lord, the veil is taken away.” To the very last he kept to the story. When Moses talked with the Jews, he kept his face covered; but when he turned to God, it was uncovered. This was a type of what was to come: when we have turned to the Lord, then we will see the glory of the law, and the face of the Lawgiver bare. Or rather, not only this: we will then stand in the same rank as Moses. [i]

Do you see how he invites the Jew to the faith, by showing that by coming to grace he can not only see Moses, but also stand in the very same rank as the Lawgiver? “For not only will you look on the glory that you did not see then,” he says, “but you will yourself be taken into the same glory — or rather into a greater glory, so great that the other will not seem to be glory at all beside it.” How, and in what way? “Because when you have turned to the Lord and been taken into grace, you will enjoy that glory beside which the glory of Moses is so much less that it is no glory at all. Yet small as that glory is, and far below the other, as long as you remain a Jew you will not be granted even this; but once you have become a believer, you will be granted to see even what is far greater than it.”

When he was speaking to believers, he said that “what was made glorious had no glory”; but here he does not speak that way. How, then? “When one turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away.” He leads the Jew up little by little, first setting him in Moses’ rank, and then giving him a share in the greater things. For when you have seen Moses in glory, you will afterward also turn to God and enjoy this greater glory.

See, then, how many things he has laid down from the beginning to mark the difference between the new covenant and the old, and to show its superiority — not its hostility or its contradiction. That covenant, he says, is letter, and stone, and a ministry of death, and it is done away; and yet the Jews were not granted even this glory. This tablet is of flesh; it is spirit, and righteousness, and it remains; and it is granted to all of us, not to one man only, as the lesser glory was granted then to Moses. “For we all,” he says (verse 18), “with unveiled face, reflecting as in a mirror the glory of the Lord” — not the glory of Moses. [j]

But some maintain that the words “when one turns to the Lord” are spoken of the Son, against what everyone acknowledges. So let us examine the point more carefully, first stating the ground on which they think they can establish it. What is it? “Just as it is said, ‘God is spirit’ (John 4, verse 24), so here too: ‘The Lord is spirit.’” But he did not say, “The Lord is spirit,” but “The Spirit is the Lord.” And there is a great difference between this way of putting it and that. When he wants to speak the way you say, he does not attach the article to the predicate.

Besides, let us go back over his whole discourse from the start. Whom has he been speaking of? When he said, for instance, “The letter kills, but the Spirit gives life” (verse 6), and again, “written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God” (verse 3), was he speaking of God, or of the Spirit? It is quite plain that he was speaking of the Spirit, for it was to the Spirit that he was calling them away from the letter. Someone, hearing of the Spirit, might reflect that Moses turned to the Lord while he himself turned only to the Spirit, and think he had the worse of it. To correct a suspicion like this, he says:

Verse 17: “Now the Spirit is the Lord.”

The Spirit too is Lord, he says. And so that you may know he is speaking of the Comforter, he added: “And where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” For surely you will not claim that he means, “And where the Lord of the Lord is.” [m]

He said “freedom” with the former slavery in view. Then, so that you would not think he was speaking of a time still to come, he says in verse 18: “But we all, with unveiled face, reflecting as in a mirror the glory of the Lord.” Not the glory that is brought to an end, but the glory that remains. “Are transformed into the same image, from glory to glory, just as from the Lord, the Spirit.”

Do you see how once again he places the Spirit in the rank of God, and raises them up to the rank of the apostles? Earlier he said, “You are the letter of Christ,” and here, “But we all, with unveiled face.” Yet the apostles came, like Moses, bringing a law. But just as we needed no veil, he says, neither do you who received it. And yet this glory is far greater, for it is not the glory of our face, but of the Spirit; and nevertheless you are able, as well as we, to look steadily at it. The Jews could not look even through a mediator; but you, even without a mediator, can look steadily at a greater glory. They were not able to look at the glory of Moses; you can look even at the glory of the Spirit. Now if the Spirit were in any way inferior, he would not have set these things down as greater than those.

But what does “we, reflecting as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are transformed into the same image” mean? This was shown more clearly when the gifts of miracles were at work; yet even now it is not hard to see, for anyone who has the eyes of faith. As soon as we are baptized, the soul, cleansed by the Spirit, shines brighter even than the sun; and we not only behold the glory of God, but also receive a kind of splendor from it. If pure silver is turned toward the sun’s rays, it will shoot out rays of its own, not from its own nature alone, but also from the brightness of the sun. In the same way the soul, cleansed and made brighter than silver, receives a ray from the glory of the Spirit and sends it back. That is why he says, “Reflecting as in a mirror, we are transformed into the same image, from glory” — the glory of the Spirit — “to glory” — our own, the glory that is produced in us — and such glory as one might expect from the Lord, the Spirit.

See how here too he calls the Spirit Lord. And in other places too one can see that lordship of his. “As they were serving the Lord and fasting,” it says, “the Spirit said, ‘Set apart for me Paul and Barnabas’” (Acts 13, verse 2). It says “as they were serving the Lord,” and then “set apart for me,” precisely to show that the Spirit is equal in honor. And again Christ says, “The servant does not know what his lord is doing”; but just as a man knows his own things, so the Spirit knows the things of God — and not by being taught them, for then the comparison would not hold. And his working as he wills shows his authority and lordship. It is the Spirit who transforms us; the Spirit does not let us be conformed to this world, for such is the creation of which he is the author. For as Paul says, “Created in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2, verse 10), so it is said, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit in my inward parts” (Psalm 51, verse 10, in the Greek Old Testament).

Do you want me to show you this from the apostles too, in a way plainer to the senses? Think of Paul, whose clothes worked wonders, and of Peter, whose very shadow had power (Acts 19, verse 12, and 5, verse 15). If they had not borne the image of a King, and if their radiance had not been beyond approach, their clothes and shadows would not have worked so mightily. For a king’s garments strike terror even into robbers. Would you like to see this glory shining out even through the body? “Looking steadily at the face of Stephen,” he says, “they saw it as though it were the face of an angel” (Acts 6, verse 15). But this was nothing compared with the glory flashing within. What Moses had on his face, these men carried about on their souls — or rather, something far greater. The glory of Moses was more open to the senses, but this glory is bodiless. And just as bright bodies, pouring their light down on the things that lie near them, give those things some share of their own splendor, so it truly happens with the faithful. That is why those in whom this is so are set free from the earth, and dream of the things in the heavens. [q]

How wretched I am! We would do well to groan bitterly here, because we who enjoy so noble a birth do not even know what is being said. We quickly lose the reality and are dazzled by the things of the senses. This glory, beyond words and awesome, stays in us for a day or two, and then we put it out, bringing over it the winter of worldly cares and driving back its rays with the thickness of those clouds. For the things of this world are a winter, and gloomier than winter. It is not frost that comes from them, or rain, and they do not produce mud and deep swamps; they produce things more grievous than all of these: hell, and the miseries of hell. And as in a hard frost all the limbs are stiffened and dead, so the soul, shivering in the winter of sins, does none of the work proper to it, stiffened in its conscience as though by frost. For what cold is to the body, an evil conscience is to the soul; and from it comes cowardice as well.

Nothing is more cowardly than the man who is nailed to the things of this world. Such a man lives the life of Cain, trembling every day. And why do I speak of deaths and losses, of insults and flatteries and the attendance he must pay on others? Even without these he is afraid of ten thousand changes of fortune. His strongboxes are full of gold, but his soul is not free from the fear of poverty. And no wonder. He is moored, as it were, to rotten things that shift quickly; and even if he never suffers the reverse himself, he is undone by seeing it happen to others. Great is his cowardice, great his unmanliness. Such a man has no spirit, not only in the face of danger but in everything else too. If the desire for wealth attacks him, he does not beat off the attack like a free man; like a bought slave he does all it bids, serving the love of money as though it were a harsh mistress. If he catches sight of a good-looking young woman, down he crouches at once, taken captive, and follows her like a mad dog — when he ought to do the very opposite. When you have seen a beautiful woman, do not think how you might satisfy your craving, but how you might be set free from it.

“And how is that possible? Falling in love is not something I do.” Whose doing is it, then? Tell me. “It comes from the devil’s malice.” So you are fully convinced that what plots against you is a demon. Then wrestle, and fight against the disease. “But I cannot,” he says. Come, then, let us first teach you this: that what happens comes from your own listlessness; that you were the one who first let the devil in; and that now, if you have a mind to, you can drive him off with great ease. Those who commit adultery — do they commit it out of desire, or simply out of a love of danger? Plainly out of desire. Do they then obtain forgiveness on that account? Certainly not. Why not? Because the sin is their own.

“But why, please, string together these syllogisms? My conscience bears me witness that I want to drive the passion away, and I cannot. It clings to me, presses me hard, and torments me terribly.” My friend, you do want to drive it away, but you do not do the things that those who drive it away must do. You are just like a man with a fever who drinks his fill of cold water and then says, “How many things I think up in my wish to put out this fever, and I cannot! They only stir up my flame all the more.” So let us see whether you too are doing the things that inflame it, while you think you are finding ways to put it out. “I am not,” he says. Then tell me, what have you ever tried to do to put the passion out? And what, after all, is it that will make the passion grow? Even supposing we are not all of us open to these particular charges (for more people can be found who are captured by the love of money than by the love of beauty), still the remedy we are going to propose will be common to all, to these and to those alike. For that passion is unreasonable too, and this one is keener and fiercer than that. So when we have won the victory over the greater, it is quite plain that we will easily master the lesser as well.

“Then how is it, if this one is keener, that not everyone is taken captive by this vice, while a greater number are mad for money?” First, because the desire for money seems to carry no danger with it. Next, although the desire for beauty is fiercer, it is also put out more quickly. If it lasted the way the love of money does, it would utterly destroy the one it had captured.

Come, then, let us talk to you about this, the love of beauty, and see what makes the harm grow; for that way we will know whether the fault is ours or not. If it is ours, let us do everything to get the better of it. But if it is not ours, why do we torment ourselves for nothing? And why do we not pardon those who are taken captive by it, instead of finding fault with them? Where, then, does this love come from? “From good looks,” someone says, “when the woman who wounds a man is beautiful and has a lovely face.” That is idle and empty talk. If it were beauty that drew lovers, then a young woman who has it would have every man for her lover. But if she does not have every man, this does not come from nature or from beauty, but from unchaste eyes. It was when you looked too closely, admired her, and fell in love that you took the arrow. [t]

“And who,” someone says, “when he sees a beautiful woman, can keep from praising what he sees? If admiring such things does not come from deliberate choice, it follows that love does not depend on us.” Stop, my friend! Why do you jumble everything together, running round and round in every direction, and refuse to see the root of the evil? I see numbers of people who admire and praise, and yet do not fall in love. “And how is it possible to admire and not fall in love?” Don’t shout — I am coming to that. Wait, and you will hear Moses admiring the son of Jacob and saying, “And Joseph was handsome in form, and exceedingly good-looking” (Genesis 39, verse 6, in the Greek Old Testament).

Was the one who says this in love with him? Not at all. “No, because he never even saw the man he praised.” Still, we are affected in much the same way by beauty that is described to us, and not only by beauty we see. But so that you will not quibble with us on this point: was not David exceedingly handsome, ruddy, and with beautiful eyes (see First Samuel 16, verse 12, and 17, verse 42, in the Greek Old Testament)? And this beauty of the eyes is, of all the parts of beauty, the one with the most tyrannical power. Did anyone, then, fall in love with him? Not at all. So falling in love does not necessarily come with admiring. Many, too, have had mothers in the full bloom of beauty. What then? Did their children fall in love with them? Far from it! They admire what they see, but they do not fall into a shameful love. [u]

“No — because here again it is nature that provides this safeguard.” How is it nature? Tell me. “Because they are their mothers,” he says. Then have you not heard that the Persians, without any compulsion at all, have relations with their own mothers — and not one or two individuals, but a whole nation? But apart from them, it is plain from this as well that this disease does not come from the bloom of the body or from beauty alone, but from a listless and wandering soul: many people, certainly, have often passed over thousands of good-looking women and given themselves to plainer ones. From this it is evident that love does not depend on beauty. Otherwise the beautiful women would surely have caught those who fell into it, before the plainer ones did. What, then, is its cause? “If it is not beauty that causes love,” he says, “where does it get its beginning and its root? From a wicked demon?” Yes, it has it from there too. But that is not what we are asking; we are asking whether we ourselves are not also the cause. The plot is not the demons’ alone; along with them, and first of all, it is our own as well. For this wicked disease is bred from no other source so much as from habit, flattering words, leisure, idleness, and having nothing to do. Great, great is the tyranny of habit — so great that it is molded into something like a necessity of nature. Now if it is habit that breeds this love, it is quite plain that habit can also put it out. Certainly many have stopped being in love in just this way, by not seeing the people they loved. For a little while this seems bitter and very unpleasant; but in time it becomes pleasant, and afterward, even if they wanted to, they could not take up the passion again.

How, then, does it happen when someone is taken captive at first sight, without any habit? Here too the cause is laziness of body, or soft living, and not attending to one’s duties or being busy with necessary work. Such a person, wandering about like some vagrant, is pierced by any wickedness at all; and like a child let loose, such a soul is made a slave by anyone who likes. It is the soul’s nature to be at work; so when you stop its working at what is good, since it cannot be idle, it is forced to produce the opposite. Just as the earth, when it is neither sown nor planted, simply sends up weeds, so the soul, when it has nothing necessary to do, eager at all costs to be doing something, gives itself to wicked deeds. And as the eye never stops seeing, and so will see wicked things when good things are not set before it, so the mind too, when it withdraws from necessary things, busies itself from then on with useless ones. [v]

That occupation and thought can beat off even the first assault is clear from many things. When you have looked at a beautiful woman and have been stirred toward her, look no more, and you are free. “And how will I be able to look no more,” he says, “when that desire draws me?” Give yourself to other things that can draw the soul away: to books, to necessary cares, to protecting others, to helping those who are wronged, to prayers, to the wisdom that thinks on the things to come. Bind your soul down with things like these. By these means you will not only heal a fresh wound, but easily wear away one that is settled and of long standing. If, as the proverb says, an insult is enough to make a lover give up his love, how much more will these spiritual charms overcome the evil, if only we are willing to keep our distance! But if we are always talking and spending time with those who shoot such arrows at us, chatting with them and listening to what they say, we feed the disease. How then do you expect the fire to be put out, when day after day you stir up the flame?

Let what we have said about habit be our word to the young. For those who are grown men and taught in the heavenly wisdom, stronger than everything else are the fear of God, the remembrance of hell, and the desire for the kingdom of heaven; these are able to put out the fire. And along with these, take this thought too: what you see is nothing but phlegm and blood and the juices of digested food. “Yet the bloom of a face is a delightful thing,” someone says. But nothing is more delightful than the flowers of the earth, and they too rot and wither. So do not pay attention to the bloom here either, but go further inward in your thoughts. Strip off that lovely skin in your mind, and look closely at what lies beneath it. The bodies of people with dropsy shine brightly too, and their surface has nothing offensive about it; but still, shocked at the thought of the fluid stored inside, we cannot love such people. [w]

“But the eye is melting and quick with glances, the brow beautifully arched, the lashes dark, the eyeball soft, and the look serene.” But see how even this is nothing but sinews and veins and membranes and arteries. Think too, I beg you, of this beautiful eye when it is diseased and old, wasting with despair, swollen with anger: how hateful it is to look at, how quickly it perishes, how it is wiped out even faster than a painted one. Let your mind pass from these things to the true beauty. “But I do not see beauty of soul,” he says. If you choose to, you will see it. Just as a beautiful person who is absent can be admired with the mind, though unseen by the eyes, so it is possible to see beauty of soul without eyes. Have you not often sketched a lovely figure and been moved by the drawing? Now picture beauty of soul too, and delight in that loveliness. “But I do not see bodiless things,” he says. And yet it is these, rather than bodily things, that we see with the mind. That is why, for instance, we admire angels and archangels, though we do not see them, and traits of character, and the virtue of the soul. If you see a man who is considerate and moderate, you will admire him more than that beautiful face. And if you see someone insulted and bearing it, wronged and giving way, admire and love such people, even if they are advanced in years. For such is the beauty of the soul: even in old age it has many lovers, and it never fades, but blooms forever.

So that we too may gain this beauty, let us go looking for those who have it, and fall in love with them. For in this way we too, when we have gained this beauty, will be able to obtain the eternal good things. May we all share in them, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father, with the Holy Spirit, be glory and might, forever and ever. Amen.