Sermons on the Song of Songs

Man is the only mortal who can resist the coercive power of nature, and consequently he alone is free amongst all earthly creatures. Nevertheless, even he becomes subject to coercion when he becomes guilty of sin. But this coercion is not from nature but from his own will, so that not even thus is he deprived of his native liberty: because whatever is voluntary the same is free. And in truth it is owing to sin that “the corruptible body weigheth down the soul,” not by the weight of its mass, but by the force of concupiscence. For the fact that the soul is incapable now of rising of herself from sin, although she was able to fall of herself, is due to the will, which, weakened and prostrated by the depraved and vicious love of a corrupted body, cannot at the same time admit the love of justice. And so, I know not in what wicked yet wonderful way, the will when deteriorated by sin, imposes a constraint on itself: so that on the one hand, such constraint, since it is voluntary, cannot avail to excuse the will; and, on the other hand, the will, “being drawn away and allured,” is unable to resist the constraint. This constraint, I repeat, is in some sense voluntary. It is a pleasant kind of violence which blandishes whilst it coerces and coerces by blandishing. Therefore the human will, when once it has consented to evil, cannot now by its own power either emancipate itself, or in any way excuse itself by reason. Hence that querulous cry of one groaning, as it were, under the burden of this necessity, “Lord, I suffer violence, answer Thou for me.” But immediately recognising that he was unjustly complaining of the Lord, inasmuch as the responsibility lay exclusively with his own will, listen to what he adds, “What shall I say or what shall He answer for me, whereas I myself have done it?” He was oppressed by the yoke, but by no other yoke than that of a voluntary servitude. And while this servitude rendered him unhappy, its voluntariness rendered him inexcusable. For just as it was the will which, when it was free, made itself the slave of sin, by consenting to sin: so is it the will also which now by voluntarily serving keeps itself in bondage to sin.

But some of you may reply to this, “Consider what thou art saying. Dost thou call that voluntary which is now at any rate a manifest necessity? It is true, no doubt, that in the beginning the will enslaved itself voluntarily; but it is not by itself that it is now kept in bondage, it is rather held captive against its will.” I am glad that thou dost grant me this much at least, that it is held captive. But bear clearly in mind that it is the will which thou acknowledgest to be thus held. Dost thou then speak of the will as acting unwillingly? No, the will cannot be held against its will, since the act of the will is always voluntary, never involuntary. But if it is held voluntarily, it is held by itself. What therefore shall it say or what shall it answer to the Lord, since it itself hath done it? And what has it done? It has made itself a slave. Hence it is said in the Gospel, “Whosoever committeth sin, is the servant of sin.” Consequently, the will made itself a slave when it committed sin, and it committed sin when it resolved to obey sin. But it regains its freedom as soon as it ceases from sinning. However, it continues to sin so long as it continues to hold itself freely in the same servitude to sin. For the will cannot be held captive involuntarily for the simple reason that it is the will. Therefore, since it voluntarily continues in thraldom, not only has it once made itself a slave, but it is constantly doing this. Justly then may it cry out in the words of Ezechias, “What shall I say or what shall He answer for me whereas I myself have done it?” And it would be well, my brethren, if this were often recalled to mind.

“For all that,” it may be answered to me, “thou shalt never make me give up my belief in a necessity which I suffer, which I experience in myself, against which I constantly struggle.” But where, let me ask, dost thou feel this necessity? Is it not in thy will? Consequently, not only dost thou will, but thou dost will with great energy, what thou wiliest even from necessity. For surely thou must will that strongly which, however much thou strivest, thou art unable not to will. Now, where there is will, there also is liberty. Yet I am speaking only of natural liberty, not of that spiritual liberty “wherewith,” as the Apostle says, “Christ hath made, us free.” For with regard to this latter liberty the same Apostle tells us that “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.” Thus, my brethren, in a certain evil yet marvellous way, the soul is held captive under this voluntary and sinfully free necessity, at one and the same time bond and free. She is a bond-slave by reason of her servitude; she is free on account of the voluntariness of this servitude. And what is stranger still and still more pitiful, she is guilty because of her freedom, and she is a bond-slave because of her guilt; consequently she is a bond-slave because of her freedom. “Unhappy man that I am, who shall deliver me from the” dishonour of this shameful servitude? I am unhappy, yet I am free. I am free because I am a man; I am unhappy because I am a slave. I am free because of my resemblance to God; I am unhappy because of my opposition to God. “O Keeper of men,” exclaims holy Job, “why dost Thou set me opposite to Thee?” For Thou hast set me opposite to Thee in so far as this, that Thou hast not prevented me from setting myself opposite to Thee. Otherwise it is I that have so set myself, and therefore “I am become burdensome to myself.” And this indeed most justly, so that Thy enemy should become my enemy as well, and that he who opposes Thee should oppose me also. But it is I myself who am set opposite both to Thee and to me; and I find in my members that which is equally at variance with my mind and with Thy law. Oh, who will deliver me out of my own hands! For if “I do not that good which I will,” it is by myself alone I am hindered; and if, on the other hand, “the evil which I hate, that I do,” it is by compulsion from none other than myself. And would to God this hindrance and this compulsion were either so violent as to be involuntary, because then perhaps I might have an excuse for yielding; or else were so voluntary as not to be violent, for thus I certainly should have it in my power to correct myself. Now however there is no escape for me, since the voluntariness of sinning renders me inexcusable, as I have before observed, and its necessity renders me incorrigible. Who will “deliver me out of the hand of the sinner, and out of the the hand of the transgressor of the law and of the unjust?”