哥林多後書講道集 第 7 章 第 2/2 段

and next, even if the love of bodies is keener, yet it is more quickly extinguished;

for if it were to abide, as the love of money does, it would utterly destroy the one it takes captive.

Come then, let us discourse to you concerning this love of bodies, and let us see whence the evil grows;

for so shall we know whether this be our own fault, or not our own;

and if it be our own, let us do everything so as to get the better of it;

but if it be not our own, why do we vainly beat ourselves? And why do we not pardon, but bring charges against those who are taken captive? Whence then is this love engendered? 'From the comeliness of a face,' he says, 'when she that wounds is fair and beautiful.'

You speak these things at random and to no purpose.

For if it belonged to beauty to draw lovers to itself, then such a maiden would have had all men for her lovers;

but if she does not have all, then this comes not from nature, nor from beauty, but from

for when, having looked with idle curiosity, you admire and become enamored, you have received the dart.

'And who,' he says, 'could see a beautiful woman and not praise her whom he beholds?'

If then it be not in our own choice to admire such things, neither, it would seem, is the love within us.

Why do you confound all things together, running about in every direction, and unwilling to see the root of the evil? For I see many who admire and praise, yet do not love.

'And how is it possible to admire and not to love?' Do not make a tumult;

for this is what I am coming to say;

but wait, and you shall hear Moses admiring the son of Jacob, and saying:

'And Joseph was of a beautiful form, and exceedingly fair to look upon.'

Did then he who spoke these words fall in love? By no means.

'Why, he did not even see him,' one says, 'the one whom he praised.'

But even toward beauties that we only hear of, we experience some such thing, not toward those seen only.

But that you may not contend with us in these matters: was not David exceedingly beautiful, and ruddy withal, with beauty of eyes? Which is indeed the most tyrannical part of comeliness, the beauty of the eyes.

Did anyone then fall in love with him? By no means.

It is not, therefore, the case that love arises together with admiration.

For indeed many have had mothers in the very flower and bloom of bodily beauty.

What then? Did their sons fall in love with them? Away with the thought!

Rather, they admire what they see, but do not fall into a shameful love.

'For here again,' one says, 'it is the achievement of nature.'

Of what nature, tell me? 'Because they are mothers,' he says.

Then have you not heard that the Persians, with none compelling them, lie with their own mothers, and that not one nor two, but a whole nation? And apart from this, from that quarter too it is plain that this malady is not of the body's bloom, nor of beauty simply, but of the slothful and wandering soul.

At any rate, many have oftentimes passed by ten thousand comely women, and given themselves up to those more unsightly;

whence it is plain that love is not of beauty;

for otherwise those beauties would have captivated, in preference to these, the men who fell.

What then is the cause? For if love be not of beauty, whence does it have its beginning and its root? he says. 'From an evil demon?' It has its source from thence too;

but this is not what is being inquired into, but rather whether we too are not the cause.

For the plot is not theirs alone, but along with them we ourselves are the first authors of it.

For from no other source is this wicked malady so engendered as from familiarity, and flattering words, and idleness and inactivity, and having nothing to do.

For great, yea great, is the tyranny of habit, and so great that it establishes itself into the necessity of nature.

But if it be habit that engenders it, then it is quite plain that habit also quenches it.

Many, at any rate, who were in love have in this way ceased from it, when the objects of their love were no longer seen.

For a brief while this seems to be bitter, and exceedingly unpleasant; but with time it becomes sweet, and thereafter one cannot revive the passion even if he would.

with time it becomes sweet, and one is no longer able, even if he wishes it, to bring back the passion.

What then, when apart from any familiarity one is captured at the very first sight? Here too the cause is idleness of body, or luxury, and taking no thought for one's proper duties, nor being engaged in necessary affairs.

For such a man, wandering about like a vagabond, is impaled upon every wickedness; and like an unchecked child, whoever wishes may enslave a soul of this sort.

and like an unchecked child, whoever wishes may enslave such a soul.

For since it is habituated to be active, when you make it cease from its activity in good things, since it cannot be idle, it is compelled to give birth to other things.

Just as the earth, when it is neither sown nor planted, brings forth mere weeds; so too the soul, when it has nothing necessary to do, yet altogether desiring to be at work, gives itself over to wicked deeds.

so too the soul, when it has nothing needful to do, yet in every way longing to be active, gives itself over to wicked deeds.

And just as the eye does not cease from seeing, and for this reason will look upon evil things when good ones are not set before it; so too the reasoning faculty, when it withdraws itself from necessary matters, thereafter turns to useless things.

so too the reasoning faculty, when it leads itself away from necessary matters, thereafter turns about among useless things.

For that occupation and thoughtful care can also repel the very first assault, is clear from many considerations.

When, therefore, you see a beautiful woman and are somewhat affected toward her, look no more, and you are set free.

'And how,' he says, 'shall I be able to look no more, when I am dragged along by desire?' Give yourself to other things that draw the soul away—to books, to necessary cares, to protecting and helping those who are wronged;

to prayers, to meditation upon the things to come;

with such things bind fast your soul.

In this way you will not only heal a fresh wound, but even one that has become fixed and chronic you will easily wipe away.

For if insult, according to the proverb, persuades the lover to give up his love, how shall not these spiritual incantations far more prevail over the evil, if only we are willing to withdraw? But if we are ever conversing and consorting with those who shoot such darts at us, both speaking and hearing the things that come from them, we nourish the disease.

How then do you expect the fire to be quenched, while day by day you kindle the flame? And let this suffice for what we have said concerning familiarity, addressed to the young;

since for men, and those who know how to practice self-discipline, greater than all is the fear of God, the remembrance of hell, the longing for the kingdom of heaven;

for these are sufficient to quench the fire.

And along with these consider also this, that the thing seen is nothing else than phlegm and blood and the humor of decomposing food.

'But bright is the bloom of the countenance,' he says.

But nothing is brighter than the flowers that spring from the earth;

yet these too rot and wither away.

Do not therefore, here either, give heed to the bloom;

but pass within by reasoning, and stripping off with your reason that fair skin, examine closely what lies beneath it.

Since the body of those with dropsy also glistens bright, and its surface has nothing amiss; yet, struck by the thought of the humor stored up within, we cannot love such people.

'But the eye is moist and lively, and the brow finely arched, and the lashes dark, and the pupil gentle, and the gaze serene.'

But observe that this very thing again is nothing else than sinews and veins and membranes and arteries.

But do you, I pray, picture to me this beautiful eye when it is diseased, when it grows old, when it is wasted by despondency, when it is swollen with anger—how loathsome it becomes, how quickly it perishes, and vanishes faster than things painted.

From these things transfer your mind to the true beauty.

'But I do not see,' he says, 'the beauty of a soul.'

And just as it is possible, without seeing with the eyes, to admire in the mind those who are beautiful yet absent;

so too is it possible to behold the beauty of a soul apart from the eyes.

Have you not often sketched in imagination a comely form, and been somewhat affected by the fashioning of it? Fashion now also the beauty of a soul, and delight yourself in its comeliness.

'But I do not see,' he says, 'things incorporeal.'

And yet we see these more truly with the mind than we see bodies.

It is for this reason, at any rate, that we admire both angels and archangels, though indeed we do not see them, and the characters of their ways and the virtue of the soul.

And if you see a man who is reasonable and moderate, you will admire him more than that comely countenance;

and if you see one who is insulted, and bears it though wronged, then, together with admiring, love such men, even if they are grown old.

For such is the beauty of the soul, that even in old age it has many lovers, and is never withered, but blooms perpetually.

In order, therefore, that we ourselves also may acquire this, let us hunt after those who possess it, and become lovers of them.

For in this way we ourselves also, having received this comeliness, shall be able to attain the eternal good things;

which may it be that we all partake of, through the grace and lovingkindness, and so forth.