Against Jovinianus

^36. I must in conclusion say a few words to our modern Epicurus wantoning in his gardens with his favourites of both sexes. On your side are the fat and the sleek in their festal attire. If I may mock like Socrates, add if you please, all swine and dogs, and, since you like flesh so well, vultures too, eagles, hawks, and owls. We shall never be afraid of the host of Aristippus. If ever I see a fine fellow, or a man who is no stranger to the curling-irons, with his hair nicely done and his cheeks all aglow, he belongs to your herd, or rather grunts in concert with your pigs. To our flock belong the sad, the pale, the meanly clad, who, like strangers in this world, though their tongues are silent, yet speak by their dress and bearing. “Woe is me,” say they, “that my sojourning is prolonged! That I dwell among the tents of Kedar!” that is to say, in the darkness of this world, for the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. Boast not of having many disciples. The Son of God taught in Judæa, and only twelve apostles followed Him. “I have trodden the wine-press alone,” He says, “and of the peoples there was no man with me.” At the passion He was left alone, and even Peter's fidelity to Him wavered: on the other hand all the people applauded the doctrine of the Pharisees, saying, “Crucify him, crucify him. We have no king but Cæsar,” that is in effect, we follow vice, not virtue; Epicurus, not Christ; Jovinianus, not the Apostle Paul. If many assent to your views, that only indicates voluptuousness; for they do not so much approve your utterances, as favour their own vices. In our crowded thoroughfares a false prophet may be seen any day stick in hand belabouring the fools about him, and knocking out the teeth of those who offend him, and yet he never lacks constant followers. And do you regard it as a mark of great wisdom if you have a following of many pigs, whom you are feeding to make pork for hell? Since you published your views, and set the mark of your approval on baths in which the sexes bathe together, the impatience which once threw over burning lust the semblance of a robe of modesty has been laid bare and exposed. What was once hidden is now open to the gaze of all. You have revealed your disciples, such as they are, not made them. One result of your teaching is that sin is no longer even repented of. Your virgins whom, with a depth of wisdom never found before in speech or writing, you have taught the apostle's maxim that it is better to marry than to burn, have turned secret adulterers into acknowledged husbands. It was not the apostle, the chosen vessel, who gave this advice; it was Virgil's widow:

“She calls it wedlock; thus she veils her fault.”