Letter 30

UnknownSulpicius Severus|c. 415 AD|paulinus nola
From: Paulinus, bishop of Nola
To: Sulpicius Severus, monk and writer
Date: ~415 AD
Context: Severus asked Paulinus to send painted portraits of himself and Therasia. Paulinus responds with a profound meditation on the image of God, the earthly versus the heavenly body, and the impossibility of painting the soul.

To my holy brother and kindred spirit Severus,

The blessed Apostle was told, "Your great learning is driving you mad" [Acts 26:24]. The madness, of course, belonged to those who said it — men too empty of faith to recognize the wisdom of God that Paul was proclaiming, which seemed foolishness to them because it was Christ himself [1 Corinthians 1:23]. Now, though by Christ's grace I am nothing like those faithless men to whom the great teacher of health appeared insane, still, taking the liberty that our close bond allows — a bond forged in our shared faith — I will borrow the words, if not the spirit, and say: Severus, my dear Severus, your great love has made you nearly delirious, and toward me — a man who is small not in years but in understanding — you are like a grandfather doting on a late-born grandchild. With all due respect to your good judgment, your love has made you foolish.

For what am I supposed to say to that request of yours — ordering me to have portraits of us painted and sent to you? I beg you, by the depths of love itself: what kind of comfort are you looking for in empty images? What kind of likeness do you want me to send? That of the earthly man, or the heavenly one [1 Corinthians 15:49]? I know it is the imperishable form you desire — the one the heavenly King loves in you. For the only image of mine you could truly need is the one in whose likeness you yourself were made: the image in which you love your neighbor as yourself and wish for no superiority over me, so that nothing between us appears unequal. But I — poor and grieving man that I am, still crusted with the filth of the earthly image, resembling the first Adam far more than the second in my carnal senses and earthly conduct — how could I dare to paint myself for you? When the corruption of earth proves that I fall short of the heavenly image? Shame hems me in on both sides: I blush to paint what I am; I dare not paint what I am not. I hate what I am and am not yet what I love.

But what good does it do this wretch to hate wickedness and love virtue if what I hate clings to me and what I love flees from me? I cannot be rid of what I loathe unless I grasp what I desire. And how shall I grasp it? By pleasing God, so that his image may shine in me, and that likeness which is drawn not by the painter's hand but by the Lord's may settle upon my face. Let us speak plainly: which portrait do you really want? If you ask for the image we ought to have — the one formed not by human hands but by the mind of God — then pray for me, that the Lord may be my painter and make his own likeness, which our sins have smeared and shadowed, appear again in us, shining and clear.

You know the image I mean — that form which bears neither the pigment of the painter nor the squalor of the sinner, but gleams with the pure light of simplicity and grace. Look for that Paulinus in these features, and ask the Lord, with the same love that prompted your request, to make your wish come true: to paint in me the face that would make you glad.

For we can no more send you the portrait of the new man than suppress the portrait of the old. Do not demand from me an image I would gladly claim but cannot yet honestly display. Ask instead from the Lord, who can both renew the hidden man and transform the outer one. What point is there in my sending you a portrait on a panel — a surface image of a surface man — when what you really want to see is the likeness of the soul? You want to see me as the Lord sees me; pray then that I become fit to be seen.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

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