Homilies on Second Corinthians

⁶ Will you that I show you this also from the Apostles more obviously to the sense. Consider Paul, whose garments wrought: Peter, whose very shadows were mighty. For had they not borne a King's image and their radiancy been unapproachable, their garments and shadows had not wrought so mightily. For the garments of a king are terrible even to robbers. Would you see this beaming even through the body? “Looking steadfastly,” said he, “upon the face of Stephen, they saw it as it had been the face of an angel.” But this was nothing to the glory flashing within.

For what Moses had upon his countenance, that did these carry about with them on their souls, yea 'rather' even far more. For that of Moses indeed was more obvious to the senses, but this was incorporeal. And like as fire-bright bodies streaming down from the shining bodies upon those which lie near them, impart to them also somewhat of their own splendor, so truly does it also happen with the faithful. Therefore surely they with whom it is thus are set free from earth, and have their dreams of the things in the heavens.

Woe is me! For well is it that we should here even groan bitterly, for that we who enjoy a birth so noble do not so much as know what is said, because we quickly lose the reality, and are dazzled about the objects of sense. For this glory, the unspeakable and awful, remains in us for a day or two, and then we quench it, bringing over it the winter of worldly concerns, and with the thickness of those clouds repelling its rays. For worldly things are a winter, and than winter more lowering.

For not frost is engendered thence nor rain, neither does it produce mire and deep swamps; but, things than all these more grievous, it forms hell and the miseries of hell. And as in severe frost all the limbs are stiffened and are dead, so truly the soul shuddering in the winter of sins also, performs none of its proper functions, stiffened, as it were, by a frost, as to conscience. For what cold is to the body, that an evil conscience is to the soul, whence also comes cowardice.

For nothing is more cowardly than the man that is rivetted to worldly things; for such an one lives the life of Cain, trembling every day. And why do I mention deaths, and losses, and offenses, and flatteries, and services? For even without these he is in fear of ten thousand vicissitudes. And his coffers indeed are full of gold, but his soul is not freed from the fear of poverty. And very reasonably. For he is moored as it were on rotten and swiftly shifting things, and even though in his own case he experienced not the reverse, yet is he undone by seeing it happen in others; and great is his cowardice, great his unmanliness.

For not only is such an one spiritless as to danger, but also as to all other things. And if desire of wealth assail him, he does not like a free man beat off the assault; but like a bought slave, does all [it bids], serving the love of money as it were a severe mistress. If again he have beheld some comely damsel, down he crouches at once made captive, and follows like a raging dog, though it behooves to do the opposite. For when you have beheld a beautiful woman, consider not how you may enjoy your lust, but how be delivered from your lust. 'And how is this possible,' says one? 'for loving is not my own doing.'

Whose then? Tell me. It is from the Devil's malice. You are quite convinced that that which plots against you is a devil; wrestle then and fight with a distemper. But I cannot, he says. Come then, let us first teach you this, that what happens is from your own listlessness, and that thou at the first gavest entrance to the Devil, and now if you have a mind, with much ease may drive him off. They that commit adultery, is it from lust they commit it, or simply from desire of dangers?

Plainly from lust. Do they then therefore obtain forgiveness? Certainly not. Why not? Because the sin is their own. 'But,' says one, 'why, pray, string syllogisms? For my conscience bears me witness that I wish to repel the passion; and cannot, but it keeps close, presses me sore, and afflicts me grievously.' O man, thou dost wish to repel it, but thou dost not the things repellers should do; but it is with you just as with a man in a fever, who drinking of cold streams to the fill, should say, 'How many things I devise with the wish to quench this fever, and I cannot; but they stir up my flame the more.'

Let us see then whether at all thou too dost the things that inflame, yet thinkest you are devising such as quench. 'I do not,' he says. Tell me then, what have you ever essayed to do in order to quench the passion? And what is it, in fine, that will increase the passion? For even supposing we be not all of us obnoxious to these particular charges; (for more may be found who are captivated by the love of money than of beauty;) still the remedy to be proposed will be common to all, both to these and to those.

For both that is an unreasonable passion, and this, is keener and fiercer than that. When then we have proved victorious over the greater, it is very plain that we shall easily subdue the less also. 'And how is it,' says one, 'that if this be keener, all persons are not made captive by the vice, but a greater number are mad after money?' Because in the first place this last desire appears to be unattended with danger: next, although that of beauty be even fiercer, yet it is more speedily extinguished; for were it to continue like that of money, it would wholly destroy its captive.