Following the sequence of what we have examined, we have been led to this interpretation of the passage. But let us return to the question before us. The divine voice itself testifies that Moses saw God clearly in so many appearances of God. Scripture says that God spoke with him “face to face, as someone speaks with his own friend.” How, then, after all this, does Moses ask God to appear to him? He asks as though he had not yet received what Scripture itself says he had received—as though the One who was always appearing had not yet been seen.
The voice from above grants Moses’ request and does not refuse him this further gift of grace. Yet it also gives him reason to despair by declaring that what he seeks cannot be attained in human life. God says that there is a place beside Him, and in that place a rock, and in the rock an opening where Moses is to stand. God then places His hand over the mouth of the opening, passes by, and calls Moses. When Moses is called and comes out from the opening, he sees the back of the One who called him. In this way he seems to see the One he was seeking, and the promise of the divine voice proves true.
If someone looks at these things only according to the letter, the meaning is not merely unclear to those who seek it. The interpretation also leads to an absurd idea about God. Only things that have bodily shape have a front and a back, and every shape is the boundary of a body. Anyone who imagines a shape in God will therefore think of Him as bodily. But every body is necessarily made up of parts, and whatever is made up of different parts can be broken apart. What can be broken apart cannot be beyond decay, because decay is the breaking apart of what has been put together.
So if someone understands the “back” of God literally, the argument will necessarily lead him into this absurdity. Front and back belong to a shape, shape belongs to a body, and a body made from parts can be broken apart. Anything made from parts can be dissolved, and what can be dissolved is subject to decay. Someone who insists on the literal wording would therefore end up attributing decay to God. But God is not subject to decay and has no body.
What meaning, then, fits the words beyond the obvious literal sense? If this one part of the passage forces us to seek another meaning, we should surely think the same about the whole passage. What is true of the part must also be true of the whole, since a whole is made up of its parts. The same applies to every element in the passage: the place beside God, the rock in that place, the opening in the rock, Moses’ entrance into it, God’s hand covering the opening, His passing by, His call, and finally the sight of what is behind Him. All are better understood through the higher meaning of the passage.
What, then, does the image mean? Think of a heavy object moving downhill. Once it starts down a slope, it keeps moving by itself even if no one continues to push it. Its speed increases as long as the ground keeps descending and nothing stands in its way. In the opposite way, when the soul is freed from attachment to earthly things, it becomes light and eager to move upward, rising from what is below toward what is above.
Nothing above stops this upward movement, because the Good itself draws toward itself those who look to it. The soul therefore always becomes higher than itself. Desiring heavenly things, it keeps stretching forward to what lies ahead, as the Apostle says, and its flight is always toward something higher.
Because it longs not to abandon the height still above what it has already reached, the soul never stops moving upward. Everything it has already accomplished renews its energy for the next stage of the flight. For the practice of virtue alone makes strength grow through effort: the work does not weaken its energy but increases it.
For this reason we say that the great Moses, always becoming greater, never stops in his ascent and never sets a limit to his upward movement. Once he has stepped onto the ladder on which God stood, as Jacob says, he is always climbing to the step above. He never stops rising, because every height he reaches reveals another step still higher.
He rejects the false claim that he belongs to the Egyptian queen’s family. He takes vengeance for the Hebrew. He moves to the desert, away from the disturbances of human society. Within himself he shepherds a flock of gentle animals. He sees the radiance of the light. By removing his sandals he makes his ascent toward the light unburdened. He leads his own kindred into freedom. He sees the enemy sink beneath the waves.
He camps beneath the cloud. He satisfies his thirst from the rock and gathers bread from heaven. By stretching out his hands he defeats the foreign enemy. He hears the trumpet and enters the darkness. He slips into the hidden sanctuary of the tabernacle not made by hands and learns the mysteries of the divine priesthood. He destroys the idol, appeases God, and restores the law that had been shattered by the wrongdoing of the Jews.
He shines with glory. Yet after being raised through so many heights, he still longs for more without ever being satisfied. He still thirsts for what he had always been able to receive freely. As though he had never shared in it, he asks to receive it and begs God to appear to him—not merely as far as Moses is able to share in God, but as God truly is.