Homilies on Romans, Homily 13

“For we know that the Law is spiritual: but I am fleshly, sold under sin.” After saying that great evils had occurred, that sin had taken the opportunity offered by the commandment and grown stronger, and that the result was the opposite of the Law’s main purpose, he has left his hearer deeply puzzled. He now goes on to explain why these things happened, first clearing the Law of any suspicion. For someone might hear that sin took its opportunity through the commandment, that sin revived when the commandment came, and that through it sin deceived and killed, and then suppose that the Law was the source of these evils. So he first makes a strong defense of it, not only clearing it of blame but surrounding it with the highest praise. And he presents this not as a concession of his own, but as a judgment everyone accepts. “For we know,” he says, “that the Law is spiritual.” It is as if he said: Everyone accepts this, and it is self-evident, that it “is spiritual”; it is that far from causing sin or being responsible for the evils that have occurred. Notice that he not only clears it of blame but praises it very highly. For by calling it spiritual, he shows that it teaches virtue and opposes vice. Being spiritual means precisely this: leading people away from every kind of sin. And the Law did this by frightening, warning, disciplining, correcting, and recommending every kind of virtue. Where, then, did sin come from, if the teacher was so admirable? From the carelessness of its students. So he went on to say, “but I am fleshly,” now giving us a picture of humanity’s behavior under the Law and before the Law. “Sold under sin.” Because, he means, the whole crowd of passions came in along with death. Once the body became mortal, it necessarily became subject to desire, anger, pain, and all the other passions. These required a great deal of wisdom (φιλοσοφίας) to keep them from flooding us and sinking reason into the depths of sin. For they were not sins in themselves, but their excess, when left unrestrained, produced this result. Thus—to take one of them and examine it as an example—desire is not sin. But when it runs to excess, refusing to stay within the laws of marriage and even pursuing other men’s wives, it becomes adultery, not because of the desire itself, but because of its excess. Notice Paul’s wisdom. After praising the Law, he immediately goes back to the earlier period to show the condition of our race both then and when it received the Law, and to make clear how necessary the presence of grace was. He worked to prove this at every opportunity. For when he says “sold under sin,” he means not only those under the Law but also those who lived before the Law, humanity from the very beginning. Next he describes how they were sold and handed over. Ver. 15. “For what I do, I do not know.” What does “I do not know” mean? That I am ignorant. And when could that ever happen? For no one ever sinned in ignorance. Do you see that unless we understand his words carefully and keep the Apostle’s purpose in view, countless contradictions will follow? For if they sinned through ignorance, they did not deserve punishment. Earlier he said, “for without the Law sin is dead,” not meaning that they did not know they were sinning, but that although they knew, they did not know as clearly. So they were punished, but not as severely. Again, “I would not have known lust” does not mean complete ignorance of it, but refers to the clearest knowledge of it. And when he said that it also “produced in me every kind of desire,” he did not mean that the commandment created the desire, but that sin, through the commandment, introduces a more intense degree of desire. Likewise here, when he says, “For what I do, I do not know,” he does not mean complete ignorance. Otherwise, how could he delight in God’s law in his inner man? What, then, does “I do not know” mean? I become dizzy, he means; I feel swept away; I find myself overpowered; I am tripped up without knowing how. We often say something similar: Someone came and swept me along with him without my knowing how. We do not mean to plead ignorance as an excuse, but to describe a kind of deception, manipulation, and plotting. “For I do not do what I want, but I do what I hate.” How, then, can you be said not to know what you are doing? For wanting good and hating evil require full knowledge. This shows that when he says “what I do not want,” he is neither denying free will nor introducing any irresistible necessity. For if we sinned under compulsion rather than willingly, the punishments inflicted before would not have been justifiable. Just as “I do not know” meant what we have explained, rather than ignorance, so “what I do not want” indicates no necessity, but his disapproval of what was done. If that were not what he meant by “I do what I do not want,” he would instead have continued, “But I do what I am compelled and forced to do.” For that is the opposite of willing and having the power to choose (ἐξουσίᾳ). But he does not say this. Instead he uses the words “what I hate,” so that you may understand that “what I do not want” does not deny the power to choose. What, then, does “what I do not want” mean? It means what I do not praise, what I do not approve, what I do not love. And in contrast to this, he adds what follows: “But I do what I hate.” Ver. 16. “If, then, I do what I do not want, I agree with the Law that it is good.” You see here that the understanding has not yet been corrupted, but preserves its own noble character even during the act. For even if it pursues vice, it still hates it at the same time, which greatly commends either the natural or the written Law. For, he says, the Law’s goodness is clear from the fact that I accuse myself when I disobey the Law and hate what I have done. Yet if the Law were responsible for sin, how could he delight in it while hating what it commands to be done? For he says, “I agree with the Law that it is good.” Ver 17, 18. “Now, then, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that lives in me. For I know that in me, that is, in my flesh, nothing good lives.” Those who condemn the flesh and claim that it was not part of God’s creation attack us with this passage. What should we say, then? Exactly what we said before when discussing the Law: just as there he holds sin responsible for everything, so he does here as well. For he does not say that the flesh does it, but just the opposite: “It is not I who do it, but sin that lives in me.” Even if he does say that “nothing good lives in it,” this is still no accusation against the flesh. For the fact that “nothing good lives in it” does not show that the flesh itself is evil. We admit that the flesh is not as great as the soul and is inferior to it, but not that it is contrary or opposed to it, or evil. Rather, it is under the soul, as a harp is under a harpist and a ship under its pilot. These do not oppose those who guide and use them, but cooperate with them completely, though they do not have the same honor as the skilled user. Someone who says that the skill resides not in the harp or the ship but in the pilot or harpist is not criticizing the instruments, but pointing out the great difference between them and the skilled user. Likewise, when Paul says that “in my flesh nothing good lives,” he is not criticizing the body, but pointing out the soul’s superiority. For the entire responsibility for steering and playing has been placed in its hands. Paul makes this clear here by giving the soul the governing power. After dividing the human being into these two things, soul and body, he says that the flesh has less reason, lacks judgment, and belongs among the things that are led, rather than those that lead. But the soul has greater wisdom and can see what should and should not be done, yet cannot rein in the horse as it wishes. And this would be an accusation not only against the flesh but also against the soul, which knows what it ought to do but still does not put into practice what seems best to it. “For the will is present with me,” he says, “but I do not find how to carry out what is good.” Here again, “I do not find” does not refer to ignorance or uncertainty, but to a kind of obstruction and cunning attack by sin, which he therefore makes clearer in the next words. Ver. 19, 20. “For I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that lives in me.” Do you see how he clears the essential nature of both the soul and the flesh of blame, and places it entirely on sinful actions? For if the soul does not want evil, it is cleared; and if he does not do it himself, the body is also cleared, and all the blame can be placed on the evil moral choice. Now the essential nature of the soul and body is not the same as that of the choice. The first two are God’s works; the other is a movement originating in us toward whatever we choose to direct it to. For the ability to will is natural (ἕμφυτον) and comes from God, but willing in this particular way is our own act and comes from our own mind. Ver. 21. “I find, then, a law: when I want to do good, evil is present with me.” What he says is not very clear. What, then, does he mean? In my conscience, he says, I praise the law, and I find that it argues on my behalf insofar as I want to do what is right, and strengthens this wish. For just as I delight in it, it praises my decision. Do you see how he shows that knowing what is good and what is not is an original and fundamental part of our nature, and that the Law of Moses praises it and is praised by it? For earlier he did not even say, “I am taught by the Law,” but “I agree with the Law”; nor does he say later, “I am instructed by it,” but “I delight in” it. What does “I delight” mean? I agree that it is right, just as it agrees with me when I want to do good. So wanting good and not wanting evil were made fundamental parts of us from the beginning. But when the Law came, it became both a stronger accuser of what was bad and a greater praiser of what was good. Do you notice that everywhere he testifies that it provides a kind of added force and benefit, but nothing beyond that? For although it praises, and I delight in it and want good, “evil is” still “present with me,” and its activity has not been abolished. So for someone determined to do something good, the Law helps only to the extent that it shares his wish. Then, since he had put it unclearly, he goes on to explain it more clearly, showing how evil is present and how the Law is a law only to someone who intends to do good. Ver. 22. “For I delight,” he says, “in the law of God in my inner man.” He means: I already knew what was good, but when I find it written down, I praise it. Ver. 23. “But I see another law waging war against the law of my mind.” Here again he calls sin a law waging war against the other law, not because of its good order, but because of the strict obedience of those who follow it. Just as Scripture gives Mammon the name of master (κύριον Matt. vi. 24; Luke xvi. 13), and the belly the name of god (Phil. iii. 19), not because they deserve these names in themselves, but because of their subjects’ extreme servility, so here he calls sin a law because of those who are so servile toward it and fear abandoning it, just as those who have received the Law dread abandoning the Law. This, then, he means, opposes the law of nature, for that is what “the law of my mind” means. He next depicts troops drawn up for battle, and relates the whole struggle to the law of nature. For the law of Moses was added afterward, over and above it. Still, neither law—the one teaching and the other praising what was right—achieved much in this battle. Sin’s enslaving power was so great that it overcame them and gained the upper hand. Paul sets this out and shows its decisive (κατὰ κράτος) victory when he says, “I see another law waging war against the law of my mind and taking me captive.” He does not merely say conquering, but “taking me captive to the law of sin.” He does not say the inclination of the flesh or the nature of the flesh, but “the law of sin,” meaning its slavery, its power. In what sense, then, does he say, “which is in my members”? What does this mean? Surely it does not make the members sin, but distinguishes them from sin as sharply as possible. For what is in something is different from what contains it. Just as the commandment is not evil because sin took its opportunity through it, neither is the nature of the flesh evil, even if sin subdues us through it. For by that reasoning the soul would be evil, and much more so, since it has authority over our actions. But this is not so, certainly not. If a tyrant and a robber took possession of a splendid mansion and a royal court, that would be no disgrace to the house, since all the blame would fall on those who planned such an act. But along with their impiety, the enemies of the truth also fall unwittingly into great irrationality. For they accuse not only the flesh but also disparage the Law. Yet if the flesh were evil, the Law would be good, since the flesh wages war against the Law and opposes it. If, however, the Law is not good, then the flesh is good, since even by their own account it fights and wages war against the Law. How, then, can they assert that both belong to the devil, presenting us with things opposed to one another? Do you see how great their irrationality is, along with their impiety? But these doctrines are not the Church’s. She condemns sin alone, and says that both Laws God has given, the law of nature and the law of Moses, oppose sin, not the flesh. For she denies that the flesh is sin, since it is God’s work, and is also very useful for virtue if we live with self-control. Ver. 24. “What a wretched man I am! Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” Do you notice how great vice’s enslaving power is, since it overcomes even a mind that delights in the Law? For, he means, no one can reply that I hate and detest the Law, and that this is why sin overcomes me. For “I delight in it and agree with it” and run to it for refuge, yet it still lacked the power to save someone who had taken refuge in it. But Christ saved even someone who ran away from Him. See how great an advantage grace has! Yet the Apostle has not stated it this way. Instead, with only a sigh and a great lament, as though he had no one to help him, he reveals Christ’s power through his own helplessness, saying, “What a wretched man I am! Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” The Law has been unable to do it; conscience has proved unequal to it, although it praised what was good, and not only praised it but even fought against its opposite. For the very words “wages war against” show that he, for his part, was drawn up for battle against it. From where, then, can anyone hope for salvation? Ver. 25. “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Notice how he shows the necessity of grace’s presence with us, and that the good accomplished here belongs equally to the Father and the Son. For although it is the Father Whom he thanks, the Son is the reason for this thanksgiving. But when you hear him say, “Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” do not suppose he is accusing the flesh. For he does not say “body of sin,” but “body of death,” meaning the mortal body, the body overcome by death, not the body that produced death. This is no proof that the flesh is evil, but of the harm (ἐπηρείας, thwarting) it has suffered. Someone taken captive by savages might be said to belong to the savages, not because he is a savage, but because they hold him prisoner. Likewise, the body is said to belong to death because death holds it down, not because it produces death. So he does not wish to be delivered from the body itself, but from the mortal body. As I have often said, he hints that by becoming subject to suffering, it also became easy prey for sin. Why, then, someone may ask, were people punished for sinning before the age of grace, when sin’s enslaving power was so great? Because they were given commands that could be carried out even under sin’s dominion. For He did not call them to the highest way of life, but allowed them to enjoy wealth, did not forbid them to have several wives, and allowed them to satisfy their anger in a just cause and enjoy luxury within limits. (Matt. v. 38.) This accommodation was so great that the written Law required even less than the law of nature. For the law of nature commanded one man to remain with one woman throughout life. Christ shows this when He says, “He Who made them at the beginning made them male and female.” (ib. xix. 4.) But the Law of Moses neither forbade divorcing one woman and marrying another nor prohibited having two at once! (ib. v. 31.) Besides this, there are many other ordinances of the Law that we can see people fully observing before its time, instructed by the law of nature. Those who lived under the old dispensation were therefore treated fairly in having such a moderate system of laws imposed on them. If they could not gain the upper hand even on these terms, their own carelessness was to blame. So Paul gives thanks because Christ, without dealing strictly with them over these things, not only demanded no account even of this moderate requirement, but also made us capable of running a greater race. That is why he says, “I thank my God through Jesus Christ.” Passing over the salvation everyone agreed on, he moves from the points he has already established to a further point: we were not only freed from our former sins, but also made invincible for the future. For, he says, “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh.” Yet he did not say this until he had first recalled our former condition again with the words, “So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but the law of sin with my flesh.” Chap. viii. ver. 1. “There is therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Then, because the fact that many fall into sin even after baptism presented a difficulty (ἀντέπιπτεν), he hurried to address it. He says not merely “for those who are in Christ Jesus,” but adds, “who do not walk according to the flesh,” showing that everything that goes wrong afterward comes from our carelessness. For now we have the power not to walk according to the flesh, but then it was difficult. He then gives another proof in what follows, saying, Ver. 2. “For the law of the Spirit of life has set me free.” Here he is calling the Spirit the law of the Spirit. Just as he calls sin the law of sin, so here he calls the Spirit the law of the Spirit. Yet he also described the law of Moses in these terms when he said, “For we know that the Law is spiritual.” What, then, is the difference? It is vast and boundless. For that was spiritual, but this is a law of the Spirit. What distinguishes the two? The other was merely given by the Spirit, but this also supplies those who receive it with the Spirit in abundance. That is why he called it the law of life, contrasting it with the law of sin, not the law of Moses. For when he says, “It freed me from the law of sin and death,” he is not speaking here of the law of Moses, since he never calls it the law of sin. How could he, when he has so often called it “just and holy,” and destructive of sin as well? Rather, he means the law that wages war against the law of the mind. The grace of the Spirit ended this terrible war by killing sin, making the contest easy for us, crowning us at the outset, and then leading us into the struggle with abundant help. Next, as he always does, he turns from the Spirit to the Son and the Father, and regards our whole condition as dependent on the Trinity. He does the same here. After saying, “Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” he pointed to the Father as doing this through the Son, and then again to the Holy Spirit together with the Son. “For the law of the Spirit of Life in Christ Jesus has set me free,” he says. Then again he points to the Father and the Son; Ver. 3. “For what the Law could not do,” he says, “because it was weak through the flesh, God accomplished: sending His own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, He condemned sin in the flesh.” Again, he seems to be disparaging the Law. But anyone who pays close attention will see that he actually praises it highly, showing that it agrees with Christ and favors the same things. For he does not speak of the Law’s badness, but of “what it could not do”; and again, “because it was weak,” not “because it was harmful or scheming.” He does not even attribute the weakness to the Law, but to the flesh, saying, “because it was weak through the flesh.” Here again he uses “flesh” not for its actual essence and existence, but as a name for the more fleshly kind of mind. In this way he clears both the body and the Law of any accusation. And not only in this way, but also through what follows. For if the Law were on the opposing side, how could Christ have come to its aid, fulfilled its requirements, and given it a helping hand by condemning sin in the flesh? This was what was missing, since the Lord had condemned sin in the soul long before. What, then? Did the Law accomplish the greater thing, and the Only-Begotten the lesser? Certainly not. For God was the chief agent in that as well, since He gave us the law of nature and added the written Law to it. Again, the greater thing would have been useless if the lesser had not been supplied. For what good is knowing what should be done if a person does not carry it out? None; it would only bring greater condemnation. So the One Who saved the soul is also the One Who made the flesh easy to bridle. For teaching is easy; the marvel is also showing a way to do these things easily. This is why the Only-Begotten came, and He did not leave before freeing us from this difficulty. But what is greater still is the way the victory was won. For He took no other flesh, but this very flesh beset with troubles. It is as if someone saw a vile woman of the lowest class being beaten in the street and claimed to be her son, although he was the king’s son, and so freed her from those mistreating her. This is what He actually did: He declared Himself the Son of Man, stood by it (i.e. the flesh), and condemned sin. Yet He could not bear to strike it as well; or rather, He struck it with the blow of His death, but in that very act it was not the stricken flesh that was condemned and destroyed, but the sin that had been striking it. This is the greatest possible marvel. For if the victory had not taken place in the flesh, it would not be so astonishing, since the Law also accomplished that. The wonder is that His trophy of victory was raised with the flesh (μετὰ σαρκὸς), and that what sin had overthrown countless times itself won a glorious victory over sin. Look at the extraordinary things that happened! First, sin did not conquer the flesh. Second, sin was conquered, and conquered by the flesh itself. For avoiding defeat is not the same as conquering what had continually overthrown us. Third, the flesh not only conquered sin but even punished it. By not sinning, it avoided defeat; but by also dying, He overcame and condemned sin, making the flesh, which sin had previously mocked so easily, an unmistakable object of fear to it. In this way He both broke sin’s power and abolished the death it had introduced. For as long as sin took hold of sinners, it justly kept driving things to their end. But when it found a sinless body and handed it over to death, it was condemned for acting unjustly. Do you see how many proofs of victory there are? The flesh was not conquered by sin; It even conquered and condemned sin; and It did not merely condemn it, but condemned it for having sinned. For after convicting it of injustice, he proceeds to condemn it, not merely by power and might, but by the rules of justice as well. This is what he means by “for sin, condemned sin in the flesh.” It is as if he had said that He convicted sin of a great sin, and then condemned it. So you see that everywhere it is sin that is condemned, not the flesh. The flesh is even crowned with honor and passes sentence against sin. But if he says that He sent the Son “in the likeness” of flesh, do not therefore suppose that His flesh was of a different kind. He added “likeness” because he had called it “sinful.” For Christ did not have sinful flesh, but flesh like our sinful flesh, yet sinless and of the same nature as ours. So even this makes clear that the flesh was not evil by nature. For Christ did not enable it to regain victory by taking a different flesh in place of the former one, or by changing this same flesh in substance. He let it remain in its own nature, yet made it put on the crown of victory over sin, and then, after the victory, raised it up and made it immortal. What, then, someone may ask, does it matter to me whether these things happened in this flesh? It matters very much to you. That is why he continues: Ver. 4. “So that the righteousness of the Law might be fulfilled in us, who do not walk according to the flesh.” What does the word righteousness mean? The goal, the aim, the right conduct. For what was the Law’s purpose, and what did it command? To be without sin. This, then, has now been accomplished for us (κατώρθωται ἡμἵν) through Christ. Standing firm against sin and overcoming it came from Him, but the victory is ours to enjoy. Will we never sin again, then? Never, unless we become extremely lax and careless. That is why he added, “for those who do not walk according to the flesh.” For after hearing that Christ has freed you from the war against sin, and that the requirement (δικαίωμα) of the Law is fulfilled in you through sin’s having been “condemned in the flesh,” you might dismantle all your defenses. That is why there too, after saying, “there is therefore no condemnation,” he added, “for those who do not walk according to the flesh.” And here also, after saying, “so that the requirement of the Law might be fulfilled in us,” he continues with exactly the same words—or rather, not only those words, but something much stronger. For after saying, “so that the righteousness of the Law might be fulfilled in us who do not walk according to the flesh,” he continues, “but according to the Spirit.” This shows that we are obligated not only to keep ourselves from evil deeds, but also to adorn ourselves (κομᾅν) with good ones. Giving you the crown is His part; holding on to it once it is given is yours. For Christ has accomplished for you the righteousness of the Law, so that you should not fall under its curse. Do not betray so great a gift, then, but keep guarding this beautiful treasure. In this passage he shows that the Font will not be enough to save us unless, after leaving it, we display a life worthy of the Gift. So again, what he says defends the Law. For once we have become obedient to Christ, we must use every means and make every effort to ensure that its righteousness, which Christ fulfilled, remains in us and does not come to nothing. Ver. 5. “For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh.” Even this does not disparage the flesh. As long as it keeps its proper place, nothing goes wrong. But when we let it have its own way in everything, and it crosses its proper boundaries and rises against the soul, it destroys and corrupts everything. This happens not because of its nature, but because it has exceeded its proper measure and caused disorder. “But those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit.” Ver. 6. “For to have a fleshly mind is death.” He is not speaking of the nature of the flesh or the essence of the body, but of having a fleshly “mind,” which can be corrected and done away with. In saying this, he does not attribute any reasoning power of its own to the flesh. Far from it. Rather, he is describing the mind’s coarser impulses and naming them after the inferior part, just as he often calls the whole human being, including the soul, flesh. “But to have a spiritual mind.” Here again he speaks of the spiritual mind, just as he says later, “But He Who searches hearts knows the mind of the spirit” (ver. 27). He points out that many blessings result from this, both in the present life and in the life to come. For the blessings a spiritual mind provides far outnumber the evils a fleshly mind introduces. He expresses this in the words “life and peace.” The first contrasts with what came before, for he says that having a fleshly mind is death. The second contrasts with what follows. For after mentioning peace, he continues, Ver. 7. “Because the fleshly mind is hostility toward God,” and this is worse than death. Then, to show how it is both death and hostility, he says, “for it does not submit to the Law of God, and indeed cannot.” But do not be troubled when you hear “and indeed cannot.” This difficulty is easily resolved. What he calls “fleshly mindedness” here is the reasoning (or “way of thinking,” λογισμὸν) that is earthly, coarse, and passionately eager for the things of this life and its wicked practices. It is this that he says “cannot” even “submit” to God. And what hope of salvation remains if it is impossible for a bad person to become good? That is not what he says. Otherwise, how could Paul have become the man he was? How could the (penitent) thief, or Manasseh, or the Ninevites, or how could David have recovered after his fall? How could Peter have risen again after his denial? (1 Cor. v. 5.) How could the man who had lived in sexual immorality have been admitted to Christ’s flock? (2 Cor. ii. 6–11.) How could the Galatians who had “fallen from grace” (Gal. v. 4) have regained their former dignity? What he says, then, is not that a wicked person cannot become good, but that someone who remains wicked cannot submit to God. Yet it is easy for a person to change, become good, and submit to Him. For he does not say that a human being cannot submit to God, but that wicked conduct cannot be good. It is as if he had said that sexual immorality cannot be chastity, or vice virtue. The Gospel says this too: “A corrupt tree cannot produce good fruit” (Matt. vii. 18), not to rule out a change from virtue to vice, but to say that continuing in vice cannot produce good fruit. For He does not say that an evil tree cannot become good, but that it cannot produce good fruit while it remains evil. He shows that it can change both in this passage and in another parable, where He presents the weeds as becoming wheat, and for that reason forbids uprooting them: “Otherwise,” He says, “you may uproot the wheat with them” (ib. xiii. 29), meaning what will spring (γίνεσθαι, 4 mss. τίκτεσθαι) from them. So by fleshly mindedness he means vice, and by spiritual mindedness the grace given and its activity as seen in the mind’s right resolve. Nowhere in this passage is he discussing a substance or an entity, but virtue and vice. For, he means, what you had no power to do under the Law you will now be able to do: continue uprightly without falling along the way, if you take hold of the Spirit’s help. For it is not enough to avoid walking according to the flesh; we must also follow the Spirit. Turning away from evil will not secure our salvation; we must also do good. This will happen if we give our souls over to the Spirit and persuade our flesh to recognize its proper position. In this way we will make the flesh spiritual too, just as carelessness will make our soul fleshly. For no necessity of nature put the gift within us; freedom of choice placed it in our hands. So from now on it rests with you whether one thing or the other happens. For He, on His part, has done everything. Sin no longer wages war against the law of our mind or leads us away captive as before. That whole condition has ended and been broken up, and the passions cower in fear and trembling before the grace of the Spirit. But if you put out the light, throw out the One holding the reins, and drive away the helmsman, then blame yourself for being tossed about afterward. Since virtue has now been made easier—and for that reason our obligations to live devoutly are much stricter—consider people’s condition when the Law prevailed, and their condition now that grace has shone out. Things that once seemed impossible for anyone—virginity, contempt for death and for other, more severe sufferings—now flourish throughout the world. And not only among us, but among the Scythians, Thracians, Indians, Persians, and several other barbarian nations, there are companies of virgins, bands of martyrs, and communities of monks, now even more numerous than married people, along with strict fasting and the fullest renunciation of property. With one or two exceptions, people living under the Law never even dreamed of these things. Since, then, you see the actual state of things proclaiming itself more piercingly than any trumpet, do not grow lax and betray so great a grace. For even after coming to faith, a careless person cannot be saved! The wrestling has been made easy so that you may struggle and conquer, not so that you may sleep or abuse the greatness of grace by making it an excuse for carelessness and wallowing again in your former mire. So he goes on to say, Ver. 8. “So then, those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” What, then? someone will say. Must we cut our bodies to pieces to please God and escape the flesh? Would you have us become murderers, and lead us to virtue that way? You see what contradictions arise from taking the words literally. For “the flesh” in this passage does not mean the body or its essence, but the fleshly, worldly life that indulges fully in pleasure and extravagance, making the whole person flesh. Just as those who have the wings of the Spirit make the body spiritual too, so those who leap away from this and become slaves to the belly and to pleasure make the soul flesh too. They do not change its essence, but degrade its noble birth. This way of speaking also appears in many parts of the Old Testament, where flesh signifies the coarse, earthly life entangled in improper pleasures. For He says to Noah, “My Spirit will not always make its home in these men, because they are flesh.” (Gen. vi. 3 as the LXX. give it.) Yet Noah himself was also clothed in flesh. But being clothed in flesh is not the complaint, since that is natural; the complaint is choosing a fleshly life. That is why Paul also says, “But those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” Then he continues: Ver. 9. “But you are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit.” Here again he does not mean flesh in itself, but this particular kind of flesh, caught in the turmoil and slavery of the passions. Why, then, someone may ask, does he not say so and make the distinction? To stir the hearer and show that someone who lives rightly is not even in the body. For since it was more or less clear to everyone that the spiritual person was not in sin, he states the greater truth: the spiritual person is not merely outside sin, but is no longer even in the flesh. From that very moment he has become an Angel, ascended into heaven, and now merely carries his body around. If your reason for disparaging the flesh is that he uses its name for the fleshly life, by the same reasoning you must also disparage the world, since wickedness is often named after it. Christ said to His disciples, “You are not of this world,” and again He says to His brothers, “The world cannot hate you, but it hates Me.” (John xv. 19. ib. vii. 7.) And Paul must also be calling the soul estranged from God later, since he calls those who live in error men of the soul (1 Cor. ii. 14, ψυχικὸς A.V. natural). But this is not so, certainly not. We must not look at the bare words, but always at the speaker’s meaning, and so arrive at a completely clear understanding of what is said. For some things are good, some bad, and some morally indifferent. The soul and the flesh belong among morally indifferent things, since each can become either good or bad. But the spirit belongs among good things and never becomes anything else. Again, the mind of the flesh, that is, wrongdoing, belongs among things that are always bad. “For it does not submit to the law of God.” If, then, you surrender your soul and body to the better, you will come to belong to it. If, on the other hand, you surrender them to the worse, you share in its ruin, not because of the nature of the soul and flesh, but because of the judgment that has the power to choose either. To show that this is so and that the words do not disparage the flesh, let us take up the phrase again and examine it more thoroughly. “But you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit,” he says. What, then? Were they not in the flesh? Did they go around without bodies? What sense would that make? You see that he means the fleshly life. And why did he not say, “But you are not in sin”? So that you may know that Christ has not only extinguished sin’s tyranny, but has even made the flesh weigh us down less and become more spiritual, by giving it wings rather than changing its nature. For when fire joins with iron, the iron also becomes fire while still retaining its own nature. Likewise, in those who believe and have the Spirit, the flesh now takes on that way of working and becomes wholly spiritual, crucified in every part and flying with the same wings as the soul. Such was the body of the man speaking here. That is why he scorned all self-indulgence and pleasure and found his pleasure in hunger, beatings, and prisons, without even feeling pain as he endured them. (2 Cor. xi.) To show this, he said, “For our light affliction, which is only for a moment,” etc. (ib. iv. 17.) So well had he trained even the flesh to harmonize with the spirit. “If indeed the Spirit of God lives in you” (εἴπερ.) He often uses “if indeed” without expressing any doubt, even when he is completely convinced of something, in place of “since.” For example, he says, “If it is a righteous thing,” meaning “since it is a righteous thing with God to repay those who trouble you with trouble.” (2 Thess. i. 6.) Again, “Have you suffered so many things in vain, if indeed it is in vain?” (Gal. iii. 4.) “Now if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ.” He does not say, “if you do not have,” but introduces the distressing statement as applying to other people. “He does not belong to Him,” he says. Ver. 10. “And if Christ is in you.” Again, he applies what is good to them, while the distressing part was brief and parenthetical. What is desirable stands on either side of it and is also expressed at length, overshadowing the other. He says this not to assert that the Spirit is Christ—far from it—but to show that someone who has the Spirit is not only called Christ’s, but even has Christ Himself. For wherever the Spirit is, Christ must also be there. Wherever one Person of the Trinity is, the whole Trinity is present. For It is undivided in Itself and is completely One. What, then, someone may ask, will happen if Christ is in us? “The body is dead because of sin; but the Spirit is life because of righteousness.” You see the great evils that come from not having the Holy Spirit: death, hostility toward God, inability to fulfill His laws, failure to belong to Christ as we should, and the absence of His indwelling. Now consider the great blessings that come from having the Spirit: belonging to Christ, having Christ Himself, rivaling the Angels (for that is what putting the flesh to death means), living an immortal life, already holding the pledges of the Resurrection, and running the race of virtue with ease. For he does not merely say that the body is now inactive toward sin, but that it is even dead, emphasizing how easy the race is. Such a person wins the crown without trouble and labor. Then, for this reason, he also adds “to sin,” so that you may see that it is the wickedness, not the body’s essence, that He has abolished at once. For if He had abolished the latter, many things beneficial to the soul would also have been abolished. But that is not what he says. He maintains that while the body is still alive and remains in existence, it is dead. For this is the sign that we have the Son and that the Spirit is in us: our bodies should be no different from those lying on a funeral bier as far as the activity of sin is concerned (so the mss. Sav. “of the body.” The preceding words are slightly corrupt.) But do not be frightened when you hear of putting to death. In it you have true life, with no death to follow it; such is the life of the Spirit. It no longer yields to death, but wears death out and consumes it, and keeps immortal what it receives. That is why, after saying “the body is dead,” he does not say “but the Spirit ‘lives,’” but “is life,” to show that He (the Spirit) has the power to give this to others as well. Then, to strengthen his hearer again, he tells him the cause and proof of this Life. This is righteousness. For where there is no sin, death is not seen either; and where death is not seen, life cannot be dissolved. Ver. 11. “But if the Spirit of Him Who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you, He Who raised our Lord will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit Who lives in you.” Again he touches on the Resurrection, since this hope most encouraged the hearer, and he gives him assurance from what happened to Christ. Do not be afraid because you are clothed in a dead body. Let it have the Spirit, and it will certainly rise again. What, then? Will bodies that do not have the Spirit not rise? How, then, must “all stand before the judgment seat of Christ”? (Rom. xiv. 10) Or how can the account of hell be trustworthy? For if those who do not have the Spirit do not rise, there will be no hell at all. What, then, does he mean? All will rise, but not all to life: some to punishment and some to life. (John v. 29.) That is why he did not say “will raise,” but “will give life.” (Dan. xii. 2.) This is greater than resurrection and is given only to the righteous. He adds the reason for this honor in the words, “through His Spirit Who lives in you.” So if you drive away the grace of the Spirit while you are here and do not depart with it still intact, you will certainly perish, though you rise again. For if He sees His Spirit shining in you then, He will not bear to hand you over to punishment; likewise, if He sees It extinguished, He will not allow them to bring you into the bridal chamber, just as He did not admit those virgins. (Matt. xxv. 12.) Do not let your body live in this world, then, so that it may live then! Put it to death so that it may not die. For if it keeps living, it will not live; but if it dies, then it will live. This is also true of resurrection in general. The body must first die and be buried, and then become immortal. But this has happened in the Font. It has therefore already undergone crucifixion and burial, and then been raised. This also happened with the Lord’s Body. For it too was crucified and buried (7 mss. died) and rose again. Let us do this too: let us continually put the body to death in its actions. I do not mean in its substance—far be it from me—but in its inclinations toward evil deeds. For this too is life, or rather, this alone is life: suffering none of the things common to humanity and being no slave to pleasures. For someone who has placed himself under their rule cannot even live through the despondency, fears, dangers, and countless host of evils that arise from them. If death is expected, he has already died of fear before death arrives. If he dreads disease, insult, poverty, or any other unpredictable evil, he is ruined and has perished. What could be more miserable than a life like this? But someone who lives for the Spirit is very different. He rises at once above fears, grief, dangers, and every kind of change, not because he experiences none of these things, but, what is much greater, because he scorns them when they attack him. How can this happen? It will happen if the Spirit lives in us continually. For he is not speaking of a brief visit, but of continual indwelling. So he does not say “the Spirit Who” lived, but “Who lives in us,” pointing to a continual presence. The person who is dead to this life is therefore most truly alive. That is why he says, “The Spirit is life because of righteousness.” To make this clearer, let me put two men before you: one given over to extravagance, pleasures, and the deceitfulness of this life, and the other dead to all these. Let us see which is more truly alive. Let one of the two be very rich and highly respected, supporting hangers-on and flatterers. Let us suppose he spends his entire day this way, carousing and getting drunk. Let the other live in poverty, fasting, a meager diet, and strict discipline (φιλοσοφίᾳ), eating only the food he needs in the evening; or, if you like, let him even go two or three days without food. Which of these two do we think (3 mss. you) is more truly alive? I know that people in general will say the first, the man who enjoys himself (Sav. σκιρτὥντα, mss. τρυφὥντα) and squanders his possessions. But we say it is the man who enjoys modest meals. Since this is still disputed and contested, let us go into both their houses, precisely when you judge the rich man to be living in the truest sense, at the very height of his self-indulgence. Once inside, let us look and see each man’s actual condition. For their actions reveal which is alive and which is dead. Will we not find one among his books, or praying and fasting, or attending to some other necessary duty, awake, sober, and talking with God? But we will see the other stupefied by drunkenness, in no better condition than a dead man. If we wait until evening, we will see this death overcoming him more and more, followed again by sleep; but we will see the other abstaining from wine and sleep even at night. Which, then, will we declare more alive: the man lying unconscious, an open laughingstock to everyone, or the man who is active and talking with God? If you approach the first and tell him something he ought to know, you will not hear a word from him, any more than from a dead man. But whether you choose to spend time with the other at night or by day, you will see an angel rather than a man and hear him speak wisely about the things of Heaven. Do you see how one is more alive than anyone living, while the other is in a more pitiable state than even the dead? And even if he wants to move, he sees one thing in place of another and is like someone insane—or rather, in a worse condition even than that. For if anyone harmed an insane person, we would immediately pity the victim and rebuke the wrongdoer. But if we saw someone trample on this man, we would not only be unwilling to pity him, but would even judge against him now that he had fallen. And will you tell me that this is life, rather than a fate harsher than countless deaths? So you see that the self-indulgent man is not only dead, but worse than dead, and more miserable than a man possessed. For one is pitied, the other hated. One has allowances made for him, while the other is punished for his madness. But if he is so ridiculous outwardly, with his saliva fouled and his breath stinking of wine, consider the likely condition of his wretched soul, buried as though in a grave within such a body. We may regard this as much the same as allowing a lovely, chaste, freeborn young woman, beautiful and from a good family, to be trampled on and insulted in every way by a savage, disgusting, impure servant woman. Drunkenness is something like this. And who in his right mind would not choose to die a thousand deaths rather than live a single day this way? Even if he gets up at daylight and seems sober after his revelry (or absurd show, κωμῳδίας, 1 ms. κώμου), he still does not enjoy the clear brightness of temperance, since the cloud from the storm of drunkenness still hangs before his eyes. Even if we grant him the clarity of sobriety, how is he any better off? This sobriety would serve only to let him see his accusers. While he is in the middle of his disgraceful behavior, he at least benefits from not noticing those laughing at him. But when day comes he loses even this comfort. His servants grumble, his wife is ashamed, his friends accuse him, his enemies mock him—and he knows it. What could be more miserable than such a life: being laughed at by everyone all day, and then repeating the same disgraceful behavior in the evening? But what if you let me put the greedy man before you? This is another, even worse intoxication. And if it is intoxication, it must be a much worse death than the former, since the intoxication is more severe. Indeed, being drunk with wine is not as dreadful as being drunk with greed. In the former case, the penalty ends with the sufferings (several ms. “sufferer,”) and results in insensibility and the drunkard’s own ruin. But in this case the harm spreads to thousands of souls and ignites wars of various kinds on every side. Come, then, let us set this beside the other and see what they have in common and how this one is worse. Today let us compare drunkards. For they should not be compared at all with that blessed man who lives for the Spirit, but measured only against one another. Again, let us bring before you the money table, loaded with blood as it is. What do they have in common, and how are they alike? In the very nature of the disease. For the kind of drunkenness differs—one comes from wine, the other from money—but its effect on them is similar: both are possessed by an excessive desire. The man drunk with wine longs for more with every glass he empties; and the man in love with money, the more he acquires, the more he fans the flame of desire and makes his thirst more insistent. In this they resemble each other. But in another respect the greedy man has the advantage (in a bad sense). What is it? The other man’s condition has a natural cause. Wine is hot and adds to one’s natural thirst, making drunkards thirsty. But what makes the other man keep wanting more? How is it that the richer he grows, the more utterly poor he becomes? This disease, then, is puzzling and more paradoxical. But if you like, we can also look at them after their drunkenness. Or rather, there is no such thing as seeing the greedy man after his drunkenness: his intoxication is so continual! Let us therefore examine both while drunk, get a clear idea of which is more ridiculous, and again picture them accurately. We will see the man stupefied by wine in the evening, his eyes open but seeing no one, moving aimlessly, stumbling into those in his path, vomiting, convulsing, and exposing his nakedness indecently. (See Habak. ii. 16.) If his wife, daughter, servant woman, or anyone else is there, they will laugh heartily at him. Now let us bring the greedy man before you. What happens here deserves not only laughter, but a curse, tremendous anger, and countless thunderbolts. For the moment, however, let us look at what is ridiculous. Like the other man, he recognizes no one, friend or enemy. Like him too, his eyes are open but he is blind. As the first takes everything he sees for wine, this man takes everything for money. His vomiting is even more disgusting. For he vomits not food, but words of abuse, arrogance, war, and death, drawing countless lightning bolts from above onto his own head. As the drunkard’s body is discolored and wasting away, so is the other man’s soul. Or rather, even his body is not free of this disorder, but suffers still worse: worry eats it away more than wine does (as do anger and lack of sleep), gradually exhausting it entirely. The man made sick by wine may become sober after the night is over. But this man is always drunk, day and night, awake or asleep, and so pays a harsher penalty than any prisoner, anyone working in the mines, or anyone suffering a punishment more severe than that, if there is one. Tell me, is this life rather than death? Or rather, is it not a fate more wretched than any death? Death gives the body rest and frees it from ridicule, disgrace, and sins. But these drunken fits plunge it into all of them, stopping its ears, dimming its sight, and holding its understanding in deep darkness. For it will tolerate hearing of nothing except interest, interest on interest, shameful profits, hateful dealings, and transactions unworthy of a free person and fit for a slave. He barks like a dog at everyone, hates everyone, turns away from everyone, and is at war with everyone for no reason. He attacks the poor, envies the rich, and is civil to no one. If he has a wife, children, or friends, and cannot use them all to make a profit, they are greater enemies to him than his natural enemies. What could be worse or more wretched than such madness? A man prepares rocks, shoals, cliffs, chasms, and countless pits for himself on every side, though he has only one body and serves only one belly. If someone forces you into public office, you will run away for fear of the expense. Yet you burden yourself with countless expenses far more distressing than those, enlisting yourself in services to mammon that are not only more costly but more dangerous. You pay this tyrant not only money, bodily labor, torment of soul, and grief, but even your own blood, so that you may add something to your property—miserable, grief-stricken man!—through this barbarous slavery. Do you not see those carried to the grave every day, how they are brought to their tombs naked and stripped of everything, unable to take anything from their houses with them, carrying the clothes they wear to the worm? Consider them every day, and perhaps the disease will ease—unless even this occasion makes you more frantic over the cost of the funeral rites, for the disease is relentless and terrible! That is why we speak to you about this at every gathering and continually apply this treatment to your hearing, so that at least some good may come from your growing accustomed to these thoughts. But do not argue, for this many-sided disease brings various punishments even before the Day to come. If I were to tell you of those who spend their days in chains, or someone pinned down by a lingering disease, or someone struggling with starvation, or anything else at all, I could point to no one who suffers as much as those who love money. For what worse evil can happen to anyone than being hated by everyone, hating everyone, feeling kindness toward no one, never being satisfied, being continually thirsty, struggling with a perpetual hunger more distressing than the hunger everyone recognizes as such, suffering pain every day, never being sober, and being continually worried and harassed? Those who are greedy shoulder all these things and more. Even while gaining, they feel no pleasure, though they scrape together something from everyone, because they want more. But if they lose even a single obol, they think they have suffered terribly and been thrown out of life itself. What words can convey these evils to you? And if this is their fate here, consider what comes after this life: exclusion from the kingdom, the pain of hell, perpetual chains, outer darkness, the venomous worm, gnashing of teeth, affliction, severe distress, rivers of fire, and furnaces that never go out. Gather all these together and weigh them against the pleasure of money, and uproot this disease completely now. Then, receiving true riches and being freed from this terrible poverty, you may obtain the blessings of the present and of the life to come, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, with Whom to the Father be glory, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, forever and ever. Amen.