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Never cease to struggle with the enemy that lives within the
soul
WhatT is that old man that St. Paul bids us crucify, and which
Christ in His own person bound to the Tree of the Cross, to teach
us what it deserves and how we must treat it? It is the flesh or,
in other words, it is everything within us that is opposed to the
spirit of God. This is the meaning of the apostle who, under the
name of the flesh, comprised those vices which have the body for
their object, as well as those which originate in the mind. All
the former pertain to sensuality, the latter to pride or
inordinate self-esteem.
In order to understand the real nature of the war with themselves
to which all Christians are bound, and of their two natures,
spiritual and animal, whose inclinations are so diametrically
opposed to each other and tend to their mutual destruction, we
must go right back to original sin and to the two great wounds it
inflicted on us. Only thus shall we obtain a true conception of
Christian mortification, of its necessity, its extent and
continuity.
When Adam came from the hands of the Creator, his spirit was
humble and subject to God, his body obedient and subject to the
spirit. Everything within was in order, and all he had to do was
to remain in that state. Sin destroyed that order, when Adam
rebelled against God. His revolt arose from a principle of pride,
and in an absurd hope of becoming like God by eating the forbidden
fruit. The rebellion of his flesh was meant to humble his pride by
making him realize that anyone who, abusing his reason, aspires to
equality with God, deserves as a punishment to be reduced to the
level of the beast, and subject like them to the empire of the
senses.
Therefore, the first thing he perceived after his sin was this
rebellion of the flesh. It was the indubitable sign and witness of
his degradation, and, had he not been blinded by sin, that
disorder, which he was ashamed to look upon, would have taught him
how much more disgraceful and odious was the rebellion of his
spirit against God. God had to open his eyes and enable him to
judge of the exceeding disorder of his spirit by the shame which
he felt in consequence of the disorder of his flesh.
We, unhappy children of Adam, are all born with a fatal tendency
to this twofold disorder. The flesh disobeys the spirit, its
appetites and motions forestall the will. The will is only too
ready, first to consent, then to excite the appetites and finally
to become their slave. Reason has the power to regulate the
necessary appetites, such as eating and drinking, and should have
absolute command over the rest. But it is weak enough to give way
to them, and not only gratifies them, frequently beyond necessity
and contrary to the Creator's will, but degrades itself so low as
to seek only the pleasure attached to the satisfaction of the
senses, resting therein as in its final end, using its ingenuity
and powers to procure refined voluptuousness of every kind, even
to the over-stepping of the immutable bounds of nature, and
yielding to excesses which nature itself abhors. It is a most
humiliating state of affairs, which degrades man much lower than
the beasts, and which yet he feels so little that he counts it a
merit and a glory.
The disobedience of the spirit towards God goes, if possible,
further still. We affect an absolute independence. We consider our
liberty to consist in doing whatever we please, without exception,
and we look on this unlimited liberty as a right which cannot be
justly disputed. We are annoyed by the dominion God exercises over
us, necessary, mild and moderate though it be, and favourable to
our present well-being, and having no other end in view than our
eternal happiness. Lawful, reasonable and wise as it is, we are
continually trying to shake off, or at least to weaken, His yoke.
Every law He lays down for us seems a blow aimed at our rights;
every commandment a burden to us, every prohibition a source of
irritation. It only requires for a thing to be forbidden us to
make us want it all the more. This strange disposition, which
every one will find in himself if he will take the trouble to look
deep enough, arises from a collosal pride which recognizes no
master, a mad idea of our own excellence, and an utter blindness
to all that concerns our own good.
These are the disorders that the Gospel would have us recognize,
and teaches us to cure. The whole of the Christian moral law is
nothing else than a remedy for these two fundamental disorders,
and for that purpose proposes for our use two kinds of
mortification, as reasonable as they are indispensable. The aim of
the first is to subjugate the body to the mind; that of the second
to submit the mind to God, and so restore the original order in
which man was created, and repair the evil caused by sin. These
two methods are called respectively exterior and interior.
The first stage in exterior mortification, which is absolutely
binding on all Christians, is to abstain from all pleasures
forbidden by the divine law; to observe moderation in the use of
those that are lawful, using them not as ends in themselves, but
as means, as the Creator intended them to be used, and generally
to observe the precepts of the Church.
The second stage goes further. It refuses all unnecessary
indulgence to the senses. It allows food only to hunger, drink to
thirst, sleep to fatigue, clothes and shelter to necessity,
suffering nothing to gratify taste or encourage effeminacy. All
excessive pampering of the body foments its rebellion against the
spirit, and we know only too well from experience that it is
always ready to abuse anything in the way of excess. A mortified
Christian leads an ordinary life, in no way singular but simple,
sober and even, and strictly according to the rules of temperance
and moderation. He looks upon his body as a bad servant that
grudgingly obeys, and is always endeavouring to throw off the
yoke. That is why he keeps it in strict dependence, and so
subjects it to the spirit that not only does it not hinder but it
actually assists the spirit's operations. Such is the divine law,
as reason alone tells us. The Gospel does no more than urge its
observance and help us to carry it out.
The advantage of this moderate but steady mortification is that it
allows no room for pride, is hardly noticed, and shields us from
the excesses of an indiscreet fervour. Moreover, the flesh is
already sufficiently subdued when it finds itself reduced to the
bare necessities, and deprived of all that is superfluous.
However (and this is the third degree of mortification), God
sometimes inspires pious souls to perform voluntary penances.
These may be necessary, either for the expiation of sin, for the
subduing of pride, or to help in resisting violent temptations.
Nothing of this nature, however, should be undertaken without the
advice of a confessor, and even the confessor should act in such
cases with the utmost discretion.
Because we read in the lives of some saints that they practised
extraordinary austerities, our imagination is forthwith fired, and
we set out to imitate them, thinking that we cannot grow holy
otherwise, and that then we shall infallibly do so. In this we are
doubly mistaken, for unless God asks these austerities of us they
are not necessary to our sanctity; and, indeed, unless inspired
and directed by grace, may take away from instead of adding to it.
We may admire the acts of the saints, humble ourselves because we
have neither their courage nor their love of God, and be ashamed
that we do so little in comparison with them. But to copy them in
this particular respect is unwise in the extreme, unless God makes
known to us (as He did to them) His will concerning it, and until
that will is confirmed by the one who stands in God's place to us.
Mortification of the spirit brings the flesh into subjection much
more efficaciously than any bodily austerity, for obvious reasons.
The rebellion of the flesh against the spirit is, as I said
before, the consequence and punishment of the rebellion of the
spirit against God. Therefore, when we bring all our strength to
bear on subjecting our spirit to God, we immediately attack the
principle of the body's disorder. And God, seeing that the spirit
is in submission to Him, causes the trouble due to its pride to
cease, and Himself reduces the flesh to a state of obedience. The
more humble we are, the less exposed shall we be to rebellion on
the part of the flesh.
That is why interior mortification is incomparably more necessary,
because it goes to the root and source of the trouble. But what
are we to mortify in the soul? Everything, without exception. Sin
has infected with its poison the passions, the mind, the will,
even the very depth of the soul. Such is the war of man against
himself, of grace against nature. And in this war, we may never
lay down our arms, for so long as we live the enemy is never
wholly overcome. Cast down he may be, but the slightest negligence
on our part will cause him to rise up again.
Let us begin with the passions. In themselves, they are not evil:
they are only a quick movement of the soul by which it tends to
seek good and repel evil. Such they were in the beginning, and so
God intended them to be. But since the Fall, the soul does not
know its true good, nor its real evil. It no longer looks on these
things from God's point of view, but from its own. It calls that
good which flatters its pride and self-love, all that procures it
some passing pleasure. And it calls that evil which humiliates and
thwarts it, and disturbs the repose it finds, not in God but in
created things. The passions, now the offspring of a blind will,
and guided by a reason which no longer sees clearly, are thus
mistaken in their object, which they proceed to pursue with
excessive ardour. And because its falsity renders it unsatisfying,
their craving increases in proportion. Always dissatisfied, they
continue to seek an ever elusive happiness. Disappointed in one
object, they turn blindly to another of the same kind, only to
find themselves as starved as before. And so, unless it is
enlightened by the light of grace, the soul continues in its
error, until death puts an end to all deception.
Thus the primary duty of a Christian is to deprive the passions of
all that feeds them, to check their impetuosity, quench their
ardour, and prevent even their first emotions. To this end he must
bring under control the senses which suggest to the passions their
object. He must bridle the imagination which depicts it in
seductive colours and thus kindles desire, and he must keep a curb
on every inordinate inclination. It is not enough to forbid
indulgence in what is manifestly sinful: those things must be cut
off which are dangerous and doubtful or in any way apparently
evil. The passions must even be deprived of things which are
lawful and innocent in themselves, as soon as there is a danger of
one's becoming too attached to them, since all inordinate
attachment is liable to be harmful.
But such a war is not ended in a day. It must be waged
remorselessly. There can be no question of any truce or peace,
where such dangerous enemies are concerned. At times, the passions
will appear to be dead, but they are only lulled. They revive as
soon as our vigilance relaxes, and they rekindle in the heart a
new conflagration, much more difficult to extinguish. Nor must we
confine ourselves to the passions: we must attack also those
affections which are purely natural; inclinations, repugnances,
everything that fet- ters the heart and prevents it from being
utterly free. Much more is involved than we think, once we are
determined to know ourselves thoroughly, and to con- tend against
every single thing within us that opposes the kingdom of grace.
For grace purposes nothing less than the death of the purely
natural spirit, in order that it may be reborn in the supernatural
order. All men must act by reason, but the Christian must go
further and be guided by a supernatural principle. St. Paul even
applied this to our ordinary animal actions. Whatever you do, he
says, whether you eat or drink, do all to the glory of God. [74]
You can judge by this how far we must carry our interior
mortification.
It is not enough to stop at our natural affections. We must not
spare our sensitiveness, that excessive touch- iness which reduces
us to tears at the slightest word or the least contradiction, at
the mere appcarance, I do not say of contempt but of inattention
or indifference or coolness on the part of others. There are very
few Christians who have brought their sensitiveness com- pletely
under control, who in the course of their ordinary day ask for
nothing, take exception to nothing and are indifferent to praise
or blame. Alas! people complain, and not without reason, that
pious folk are actually more sensitive, more difficult to get on
with, take umbrage more quickly, than others. Do not give cause
for this reproach, both for your own sake and for the honour of
religion. Extreme sensitiveness is an unfailing source of
distress. Our peace of mind is destroyed, we become suspicious of
our neighbours, we look upon everything with a jaundiced eye,
charity is lessened, and we run the risk of giving a fatal form to
our feeling of resentment.
And that is not all. Even in the good you have in view, moderate
the vivacity of your impulses, your eagerness, your activity. Try
to keep yourself always in hand, [75] rise superior to your
impatience, do not stop merely at its external signs but stifle
its hidden movements as soon as they arise, and the moment you
perceive them prevent them from gaining the least sway over you.
The complete possession of oneself, which is the work of grace, is
one of the greatest blessings in life; it makes for inward peace,
spiritual joy, and evenness of soul. It edifies and wins over our
neighbour, dries up the source of many faults, and leaves us the
free exercise of all our powers to perceive and perform successive
duties as they present themselves.
So much for the passions. As regards the mind, how many things
there are to be mortified! From the first dawn of reason, the mind
is filled with prejudices contrary to the Gospel in all that
concerns honour, riches, pleasures and the habits of the world.
Who does not regard high birth as something desirable, which
raises one above one's neighbours, and yet what is it in God's
sight? It is nothing. What is it according to the standard of the
Gospel? An obstacle to humility. Until ourmind on this point is
the mind of Christ, [76] we cannot call ourselves His disciples.
Again, who is not ashamed of low birth, and sensitive to the
thoughts and remarks of others on the subject? Reason tells us
that this is folly, but will never convince us. As against these
ideas, the Gospel sets before us Our Lord's own choice. He
appeared on earth in the lowliest of conditions, and though due to
be born of the seed of David, the man after God's own heart,
waited until the royal family had sunk so low that an artisan was
counted for His father. Yet how hard we find it to conform our
mind in this respect to the mind of Christ.
Some, of course, are called to fill high positions in Church and
State, but power of this kind should always be feared rather than
coveted. Yet many hanker after the authority that power brings,
instead of dreading it as the Gospel bids. They are loath to obey
but quick to command, slow to serve but eager to be served. It is
the same with regard to poverty and wealth. The rich esteem
themselves superior to the poor, and yet Our Lord chose poverty
for Himself, and showed a special love for the poor. Indeed, we
are told that He had not where to lay His head. [77] And yet how
quick we are to prefer a life of ease and comfort to one of toil
and suffering.
Was it thus that the early Christians lived? Did they not rather
dwell together as brethren, having but one heart and one mind,
holding their love feasts together, with honour, as St. Paul says,
preferring one another. [78] What an immense forest of
preconceptions must be hewn down before we attain to the literal
practice of the Christian moral law, or can hope to see things in
the same light as Our Lord views them.
But it is not enough merely to demolish these prejudices, we must
strike at the root which is within ourselves. It is there that
mortification must bring its fire and sword! Where will you find
the man who does not esteem himself above his deserts; who does
not presume on his gifts and talents, and rely on his own
judgments? Who is not envious of the success of others professing
the same calling, unwilling that they should be preferred to
himself? Who does not dread the shadow of contempt more than
death, and is not acutely sensitive to the slightest whisper
against his good name?
Is this the mind of Jesus? Did He not in all His teaching and by
His example preach humility, contempt and hatred of oneself? Did
He not will to be despised and rejected of men, to be crushed like
a worm of the earth, to suffer humiliations, scorn and infamy,
even to the shameful death of the Cross? [79] He suffered the
sacrifice of His reputation, and yet, according to our notions,
how necessary it was for Him to preserve it, seeing that He came
to be the Lawgiver, the Example, the Saviour of mankind. But it
was by that sacrifice that man was saved. How then can we think
highly of ourselves, believe in our own worth, strive to raise
ourselves in the good opinion of others, or deceive ourselves so
far as to believe that the preservation of our reputation is
necessary for the glory of God? Shall we never think upon the
truth
that what Our Lord was He was in our stead, to teach us what we
should be?
Now do you begin to perceive the full extent to which interior
mortification must reach, and the series of long and painful
struggles to which we are committed if we would be like our divine
Master? Be not weary of learning your duties, nor terrified at
their number and difficulty; grace is all-powerful and by its aid
you will reach your goal.
It is against the will that the heaviest blows must be dealt. This
is the dominant faculty of the soul and the most corrupt, for in
it sin takes its rise and attains its growth. The understanding is
often enlightened and convinced, while the will resists and
refuses to surrender. Attack it then, and determine on curbing its
intractability. Deal with it so that it may grow yielding and
obedient to God and to man. On no account allow it the freedom of
which it is so jealous, but bend it with all your strength to the
dispositions of Divine Providence, and to the will of others.
Allow it no choice, accustom it to be indifferent, and let its
rule be cheerfully to accept all vicissitudes great or small as
they arise.
The will must die to its own likes and dislikes. It must resist
its inclinations and do violence to its aversions. It must study
to go against itself in all things, and to repress its own
desires. It must be willing to see its hopes disappointed, its
schemes brought to naught, its projects laid on one side or
resisted. It must allow itself no self-interest, and must consider
itself in nothing. It may enjoy divine consolations, but it must
not depend upon them, and must be content to see them withdrawn
without regret. It must receive crosses, and all manner of
crosses, at first uncomplainingly, then submissively, and finally
with joy. It must go so far as to desire never to be separated
from the cross, nor by so much as a single word to take any steps
to be freed from it. It must rest in the hands of God, and of
those who represent Him, as wax receives the figure impressed upon
it, or as water, having no form of its own, assumes that of the
vessel in which it is placed. Its life, its movement, its activity
must exist solely for the glory and good pleasure of God.
O death of the will, how difficult and rare it is! What Christian,
nay what saint, exists who seeks nothing in and for himself? That
is the height of perfection, but few there are who attain it;
indeed, who even profess to desire it.
The value of this death is in proportion to its difficulty and
rarity. What an inestimable advantage it is to be raised above all
the events and happenings of life, above health and sickness,
riches and poverty, esteem and contempt, honours and humiliations,
good report and evil; above natural friendship or aversion, above
all attachment, all inclination, all repugnance: amid all the ups
and downs of the spiritual life, in consolation or trials, to
cling solely to the will of God; loving, trusting and resting in
it alone, and partaking thus of its sanctity and changelessness.
I will say nothing of what I have called the mortification of the
real depths of the soul. This is beyond our scope, and indeed
beyond that of ordinary grace. It is the work of God alone, and is
reserved solely for those whom He proposes to bring through the
terrible trials that lead to this death. Such is the lot of very
few, and those who are not called to it would attempt in vain to
understand its nature.
Have I opened a sufficiently wide field for the Christian combat?
Have I given some idea of the relentless war to be waged against
self? Of the courage, patience and endurance necessary in order to
enter upon it, persevere in it, and arrive at a full and final
victory? Do you now realise what that old man is, on whose fall
the new man is to rise? Have I with good reason shown you that he
is the cause of all our miseries, of all our misfortunes, now and
to come? One thing is certain: whether we undertake this spiritual
combat or no, he will cost us many a tear.
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