Why the Teacher Took Flesh

Now let us consider whether a teacher sent from heaven could possibly be anything less than perfect. I am not yet speaking of the one they deny came from God. Suppose someone were sent down from heaven to train human life in the first principles of virtue and to shape people to righteousness. No one could doubt that this teacher, since he is sent from heaven, would be as complete in the knowledge of everything as he is in virtue — otherwise there would be no difference between a heavenly teacher and an earthly one. For in a man’s case, his learning can never be his own, drawn out of himself. The mind is shut inside earthly organs and hampered by a wasting body, and on its own it can neither take in the truth nor grasp it, unless it is taught from some other source. And even if it had that power to the highest degree, it would still be unable to reach the highest virtue and stand against every vice, since the raw material of the vices is stored in our own bodily organs. That is why an earthly teacher cannot be perfect. [a]

But a teacher from heaven, whose divine nature gives him knowledge and whose immortality gives him virtue, must of necessity be perfect and complete in his teaching, as in everything else. And that cannot happen at all unless he takes a mortal body to himself. The reason it cannot is plain. If he came to people as God — leaving aside that mortal eyes cannot look at the glory of his majesty in its own person and endure it — then God will simply not be able to teach virtue. Having no body, he will not practice what he teaches, and because of that his teaching will not be perfect. Look at it from the other side. If the greatest virtue is to endure pain patiently for the sake of righteousness and duty; if it is virtue not to fear death when it is threatened, and to go through it bravely when it is inflicted — then the perfect teacher ought both to teach these things by rule and to prove them by practice.

For anyone who lays down rules for living ought to shut off every road of excuse, so that he lays on people the necessity of obeying — not by force, but by shame — and yet leaves them free, so that a reward can be set for those who obey, since it was in their power not to obey if they wanted, and a punishment for those who do not, since it was in their power to obey if they wanted. And how can excuse be shut off unless the teacher practices what he teaches, and goes on ahead, so to speak, holding out his hand to the man who is to follow? But how can he practice what he teaches unless he is like the man he is teaching?

Suppose he is subject to no passion. Then a man can answer him, his teacher, like this: “It is my wish not to sin, but I am overpowered. I am clothed in frail, weak flesh, and it is the flesh that craves, that grows angry, that fears pain and death. So I am dragged along against my will, and I sin — not because I wish to, but because I am compelled. I see for myself that I am sinning; but the necessity of my own frailty drives me, and I cannot resist it.” What will that teacher of righteousness say in reply? How will he refute a man who pleads the frailty of the flesh as an excuse for his faults, and convict him of it, unless he too is clothed in flesh, so that he can show that even flesh is capable of virtue? Stubbornness can only be refuted by example. What you teach can carry no weight unless you are the first to practice it, because human nature leans toward faults and wants to sin not only with indulgence but with a good case on its side.

It is fitting that a master and teacher of virtue should be as like a man as he can possibly be, so that by overpowering sin he may teach a man that sin can be overpowered by him. But if he is immortal, he can hold out no example to a man at all. For someone will stand up, sticking to his own opinion, and say: “You, of course, do not sin, because you are free of this body. You do not crave anything, because an immortal has need of nothing; but I need a great many things to keep this life going. You do not fear death, because it can have no power against you. You think nothing of pain, because no violence can touch you. But I am mortal, and I fear them both, because they bring the worst tortures upon me, and the weakness of the flesh cannot endure them.” So a teacher of virtue ought to have taken this excuse away from people, so that no one may put his sinning down to necessity rather than to his own fault.

For a teacher to be perfect, then, the one being taught must be left with no objection to bring forward. If he happens to say, “You are commanding what cannot be done,” the teacher can answer, “Look — I do them myself.” “But I am clothed in flesh, and it is the property of flesh to sin.” “I bear the same flesh, and yet sin does not rule in me.” “It is hard for me to think nothing of riches, because otherwise I cannot live in this body.” “Look — I have a body too, and still I fight against every desire.” “I am not able to bear pain or death for the sake of righteousness, because I am frail.” “Look — pain and death have power over me as well, and I overcome the very things you fear, so that I may make you victorious over pain and death. I go on ahead of you through the things you say cannot be endured. If you are not able to follow me while I give you directions, follow me while I walk in front of you.” In this way every excuse is taken away, and you must admit that a man is unrighteous by his own fault, since he does not follow a teacher of virtue who is at the same time a guide.

You see, then, how much more perfect a teacher is who is mortal, because he can be a guide to someone who is mortal, than one who is immortal, since a man who is not subject to passions is unable to teach patient endurance. This does not go so far, however, that I set a man above God. My point is to show that a man cannot be a perfect teacher unless he is also God, so that by his heavenly authority he may lay on people the necessity of obeying; and that God cannot be one unless he is clothed in a mortal body, so that by carrying his own rules through into deeds he may bind others to obey. It plainly appears, then, that the one who is a guide for living and a teacher of righteousness must have a body; that his teaching cannot otherwise be full and perfect, since it needs a root and a foundation and must stay firm and fixed among people; and that he himself must undergo the weakness of flesh and body, and take into himself the virtue he teaches, so that he may teach it by words and deeds at once. He must also be subject to death and to every kind of suffering, since the work of virtue is taken up with enduring suffering and undergoing death — all of which, as I have said, a perfect teacher ought to endure, so that he may teach that they can be endured.

So let people learn and understand why the Most High God, when he sent his ambassador and messenger to teach mortals the rules of his righteousness, willed that he should be clothed in mortal flesh, afflicted with torture, and sentenced to death. Since there was no righteousness on earth, he sent a teacher — a living law, so to speak — to found a new name and a new temple, so that by his words and his example he might spread a true and holy worship through the earth. But so that it would be certain he had been sent by God, it was fitting that he should not be born the way a man is born, put together out of a mortal on both sides. Rather, so that it might be clear he was heavenly even in the form of a man, he was born without a father’s part in it. For his Father was spiritual — God; and just as God was the Father of his spirit without a mother, so a virgin was the mother of his body without a father. He was therefore both God and man, set in the middle between God and man. That is why the Greeks call him Mesites. He could then lead a man to God — that is, to immortality. For if he had been God only, as I have said before, he would not have been able to offer people examples of goodness; and if he had been man only, he would not have been able to compel people to righteousness, unless an authority and a power greater than a man’s had been added. [l]

For a man is put together out of flesh and spirit, and the spirit has to earn immortality by works of righteousness; but the flesh, being earthly and therefore mortal, drags the spirit that is bound to it along with itself, and leads it from immortality down to death. So the spirit, apart from the flesh, could never be a guide to immortality for a man, since it is the flesh that keeps the spirit from following God. For the flesh is frail and liable to sin, and sin is the food and fodder of death. This, then, is why a mediator came — that is, God in the flesh — so that the flesh might be able to follow him, and so that he might rescue man from death, which has dominion over the flesh. He clothed himself in flesh, so that once the desires of the flesh were subdued he might teach that sinning is not the result of necessity but of a person’s own purpose and will. For we have one great and principal struggle to keep up with the flesh: its boundless desires press upon the soul and do not let it hold command, but make it the slave of pleasures and sweet enticements, and visit it with everlasting death. And so that we might be able to overcome them, God has opened up and shown us the way to overcome the flesh. This virtue, perfect and complete in every part, gives those who conquer the crown and the reward of immortality.