Excerpt
from
"The Essential Erasmus",
translated
New American Library,
New York, 1964
The Handbook
of
The Militant
Christian
(Enchiridion
militis
christiani)
1503
Non faciat
ad disputationem
theologicam,
modo faciat
ad vitam
theologicam.
"Let this book
lead to
a theological life
rather than
theological disputation."
Letter to
Abbot Voltz,
August, 1518
You have requested,
my dearly beloved
in Christ,
that I compose you
a kind of compendium,
or guide
for spiritual living,
so that
being instructed by it
you may attain
those
virtues of mind
that
should characterize him
who
is truly Christian.
In this request
you have also indicated
that your preoccupation
with mundane affairs
has forced you
to perceive the need
you have
of abandoning
worldly pursuits,
and
turning your efforts
rather
to the attainment
of virtue.
Our own close friendship
only adds to the joy
with which
I undertake this proposal,
and
I sincerely hope
that He
who is solely responsible
for your decision
will aid me
in this endeavor.
So that
what I have to write
will not
in the end
prove fruitless,
let us begin
by calling upon
the kindly spirit of Jesus
so that He
will fill my mind
with words of salvation,
and
that what I write
will be
for you
a source of strength
and determination.
ONE
In this life
it is necessary
that
we be
on our guard.
To begin with
we must be
constantly aware
of the fact
that
life here below
is best described
as being
a type
of continual warfare.
This is a fact
that Job,
that undefeated soldier
of vast experience,
tells us so plainly.
Yet in this matter
the great majority
of mankind
is often deceived,
for the world,
like
some deceitful magician,
captivates
their minds
with
seductive blandishments,
and
as a result
most individuals
behave
as if
there had been
a cessation of hostilities.
They celebrate
as if
they were assured
of victory
when,
as a matter of fact,
genuine peace
could never be
further away.
It is amazing to see
in what
false security
these people live
and
in what
a complacent manner
they
close their minds
to reality.
In the meantime
the vices,
our armored enemies,
attack us
unceasingly;
we are entrapped
by
their espionage
and assaulted
by
their endless deceptions.
If you but look around,
you will see that
regardless of where you go
they
are observing you.
They
are prepared to attack us
with a thousand stratagems
and,
evil demons that they are,
they concentrate
on wounding our minds
with
inflammable
and
poisonous weapons.
Unless we ward them off
with the impenetrable shield
of faith,
they will prove
to wield weapons
of certain death.
Nor is there
any slackening
in the manner
of their attack,
as it comes
from all sides.
This is that world
that St. John
describes so well
as being constituted
entirely
of vice.
It is a world
that is
both
contrary
and
hateful
to Christ.
It must be pointed out
that the type of warfare
it wages
is anything but
simple
and
straightforward.
From time to time,
especially
in adverse circumstances,
this raging world
shakes the very walls
of the mind.
At other times
it incites the mind
to betrayal
with vain promises.
Or again,
whenever it finds us unaware,
in idle and false security,
it unexpectedly
and
with
secret contrivances
captures the mind.
Most important of all,
that slimy snake,
the first betrayer
of our peace
and
the father
of restlessness,
never ceases
to watch
and lie
in wait
beneath
the heel
of woman,
whom he once poisoned.
By "woman"
we mean,
of course,
the carnal
or
sensual part
of man.
For this is our Eve,
through whom
the crafty serpent
entices and lures
our minds
to deadly pleasures.
And yet,
as if it were
not enough
that
he threatens us
from
all directions
on
the outside,
he also
penetrates
into the inner
recesses
of our minds.
This is
the
ancient
and
earthly
Adam,
more intimate
than
our closest companions
and
more zealous
than our deadliest enemy,
since
he cannot be contained
by entrenchment
or
expelled
with an army.
He must be watched, then,
with a hundred eyes,
lest he expose God's fortress
to demons.
Since
it is quite plain
that all of us
are engaged
in a major
and difficult effort
against an enemy
who
is numerically superior,
better armed
and
more experienced
than we are,
are we
not insane
if we
fail to take up arms
against him?
Are we not
extremely foolish
if we do not
stand continually on our guard
and
hold all things suspect?
The fact of the matter
is, however,
that we slumber
complacently
through the whole siege.
Indulgence in pleasure
rather than hard work
seems to be the norm.
The self-interest
we display
would convince one
that we are living
in peaceful times.
It seems that life
is a drinking bout
rather than a war.
We clothe ourselves
with boudoir trappings
rather than armor.
Ease and self-indulgence
are everywhere preferred
to the rigors
of military preparedness.
We practice
on the peaceful harp
rather than on
the weapons of warfare,
unaware
that this sort of peace
is
the most terrible of all wars.
Anyone who concludes a treaty
with vice
violates the agreement made
with God in baptism.
You foolishly cry,
"peace, peace,"
and
at the same time
treat as an enemy
God,
who alone is peace
and
the author of peace.
He Himself
has made it quite plain
through His prophet:
"There is no peace
for the wicked."
The condition
that He lays down
for peace
is that
we fight
in the garrison of the body
against
all of our vices.
If we compromise,
if we consort with vice,
we will make a foe of Him
who alone,
as a friend,
is able to bless us,
but
who
as an enemy
will surely damn us.
He will be our enemy
for two reasons.
First of all
we will be siding
with those vices
that are
diametrically opposed
to the divine,
for
how can light and darkness
be in agreement?
In the second place,
in so doing
we ungratefully
fail
to abide by the pledge
that we have made
to Him,
violating
what we have
solemnized
with sacred ceremonies.
Perhaps you are not aware,
O Christian soldier,
that
when you were initiated
into the mysteries
of life-giving Baptism,
you gave yourself
by name
to Christ
as your leader.
That is the reason
you are
doubly indebted
to Him.
He not only gave you life
in the first place
but He also
restored it.
You owe Him
more
than you could
ever owe
to yourself.
If you break this contract,
does it not occur to you
that
you are violating
a pledge
to
such a kindly leader?
Does it become quite plain
to you
that you have dedicated yourself
in this sacrament
to His most noble cause?
Why did He see to it
that you
were signed
on the brow
with
the sign of the cross
unless He intended
that you fight
under His banner
during this life?
For what purpose
were you anointed
with sacred oils
except
to take up arms
in this struggle
against vice?
What could be more
shameful,
more
degrading,
than to separate yourself
from this princely leader?
Is there any reason
why you should hold
Christ the King
in derision?
Are you
not moved
by the love of Him
who
for your sake
became man?
Has no one
ever warned you
of the promise
you
once laid
before Him?
Will you actually betray Him
who once
redeemed you
with the price of His blood?
Certainly
you show
the greatest impudence
if you dare raise
a hostile standard
against a King
who gave His life
for your sake.
He Himself
has told us clearly
that
he who does not stand for Him
stands against Him,
and
he who does not
gather with Him,
scatters.
Not only do you fight
under a disgraceful banner,
but
consider for a moment
what your reward will be.
St. Paul,
the standard-bearer
of Christian warfare,
tells us
"the wages of sin
is death."
Would anyone
engage in warfare
if death
were the only reward?
Death of the soul
is hardly a reward.
Look at
the actual condition
of misery
that accompanies
human warfare.
What motivates
the soldiers
to endure
such hardships
and deprivation?
Is it not
the promise of booty,
the dread of loss,
and
the fear of being accused
of cowardice?
If all they get
is
the praise
of their officers
or
the hope
of a little more pay,
that
is not much
of a reward.
The same Person
witnesses our struggle
who will
one day
reward us.
Our reward is that
which
"neither eye has seen,
nor ear heard,
nor has entered
into the heart of man."
I think this in itself
ought to be
of great consolation
as
we carry on the battle,
for
it is eternal happiness
that will be ours.
In all earthly engagements
a reputation for bravery
is the goal,
and
even the material rewards
are handed out
by lot.
With us
in our struggle
against vice
the case
is not quite
the same.
We do not fight
for praise
but
for Life itself.
And the very highest reward
will go to him
who perseveres,
just as
the most severe punishment
will be meted out
to him who deserts.
Heaven itself
is the promise we seek,
and
certainly
the very hope of such a prize
ought to encourage our efforts,
especially when it
is promised by Him
who can
neither deceive
nor
be deceived.
Then, too,
our struggle takes place
before
the all-seeing eye of God
and
is witnessed
by
the entire populace of heaven.
The shame of defeat
in the presence
of such an audience
ought at least
to help
inspire us
to bravery.
He
will praise our effort
whose
mere approval alone
is the equivalent
of the greatest happiness.
If the tepid mind
is not aroused
by the prospect of reward,
it must be admitted
that fear of punishment
can awaken
even the most indolent.
In ancient times
it was customary
in war
to violate the corpses
of the enemy.
It was considered
a great calamity
if the body
were separated
by the sword
from the soul.
This enemy of ours
is not only
determined
to destroy the body
but
he intends
to cast both
the body and the soul
into hell.
For this is
actually
what occurs
when life,
which is
God Himself,
is taken away
from the soul.
We know well enough
that it is
the nature of the body
eventually to perish
because,
even though no one attempts
to kill it,
it cannot live on
forever.
But for the soul to die
is another matter,
one of extreme misfortune.
I do not have to
point out to you
the great care and solicitude
we exercise
in caring for the wounds
of the body;
we doctor them
with the greatest of concern.
And yet
at the same time
we woefully neglect
the wounds of the soul.
All of us
are horrified
at the sight
of a dying body
because
we are able to witness it
with our bodily eyes.
Yet,
since the death of the soul
is something
we cannot witness,
there are very few
who believe in it
and even fewer
who are
actually frightened
at the thought of it.
I might point out
that
the death of the soul
is certainly more frightful
than the death of the body.
This is evident enough
from the fact
that the soul
is something far greater
than the body,
and God,
whose loss it entails,
is greater than the soul.
Let me give you
some signs,
some evidence,
whereby
you can determine
whether or not
your soul
is diseased
or
perhaps even dead.
If you are troubled
with indigestion,
if it is difficult
to retain food,
it is quite apparent
that
there is something
physically wrong
with your body.
Now
the Word of God
has been referred to
as
the food of the soul.
If it is unpalatable,
if it nauseates you,
there can be little doubt
that
the palate of your soul
is infected
with diseases.
If food is
not retained,
if it does not
proceed
along the digestive tract,
it is pretty clear
that
your soul
is sick.
When your knees totter
and
it is only with difficulty
that you
drag your ailing limbs about,
it is quite evident
that you
have an ailing body.
Now you must
certainly
have a disease of the soul
when
the performance
of an act of piety
is done
with great reluctance
and hesitancy,
when
you have no strength
to bear up
under
a slight rebuke,
or
when
the loss
of a few pennies
makes you
troubled and angry.
There can be no doubt
that
after the sight leaves the body,
when the ears fail to hear
and
the whole body
loses its sensitivity,
then
the soul
has departed.
When the eyes
of the heart
are so obscured
that you cannot perceive
the brightest light
(that is, truth),
when
you are
no longer aware
with your inner ears
of the divine voice,
do you think
your soul
is really alive?
You see
your brother
suffering indignities.
Provided
your own affairs
are
not endangered,
your mind
is
not in the least
moved.
Why
at this point
does your soul
feel
absolutely nothing?
It certainly must be
because
it is dead.
Why dead?
Because God,
its very life,
is not present.
Where
God
is,
there is
charity,
for God
is charity.
Otherwise,
if you
are
a living member,
how
can any part of the body
be in pain
without your feeling
anything?
Let me give you
another sign
that is
even more certain.
Supposing that you
have
deceived a friend,
or
that you have
committed adultery;
in other words,
you should have received
a major wound,
and yet
not only
are you unaware
of any pain,
but
you actually
take pleasure
in
recalling
your wickedness.
Can there be
any doubt
that your soul
is dead?
We generally assume
that
the body is
not alive
if it
is insensible
to
the prick of a pin.
Can a soul
be considered
alive
if it is
unfeeling
in this matter?
Let us
take
another example.
You happen to be
in the company
of someone
who is
using filthy language,
who is
raging in anger
against his neighbor.
If you think
that his soul
is alive,
you
are
deceiving yourself.
It is more like
a stinking corpse
whose foulness
infects all
who come near it.
Christ
referred
to the Pharisees
as
whitened sepulchers.
Why?
Because
they carried
their dead souls
about
within themselves.
The bodies
of holy people
are temples
of
the Holy Spirit.
The bodies
of evil men
are sepulchers
of dead corpses.
No cadaver
is so dead
as
that soul
that has
been abandoned
by God.
And certainly
no corpse
offends the nostrils of men
to the extent
that
the evil odor
of the buried soul
offends the sensibility
of
the heavenly court.
When dying words
proceed
from the heart,
we can assume
that a dead soul
lies within.
For,
according to the saying
of the Gospel,
"the mouth speaks
from
the abundance of the heart,"
and
if God,
the life of the soul,
is present,
the soul
will speak divine words.
If we read the Gospel,
we find
hat the disciples
once asked our Lord,
"Whither shall we go?
You
have
the words of life."
Why
"words
of life"?
The only answer
to be found
is the fact
that these words
flowed from a soul
that was
never for a moment
separated
from
the divinity
and
that
alone restores us
to
everlasting life.
It is not
a rare thing
that
pious men
have recalled
a dead body
to life.
But
we must never forget
that God
does not
revive a dead soul
except
by an extraordinary
and
gratuitous power,
and
certainly
He does not
resuscitate it
if it is
already dead
when it leaves the body.
I think that we can agree
that
the sensation of death
in the body
is very slight
or, at least,
very brief.
The sensation of death
in the case
of the soul
is
entirely different;
it is
more than death itself,
because
it is everlasting.
With these remarks
in mind
need I point out further
the tremendous powers
of our adversary?
It would be
sheer stupidity
not to be aroused
to this fearful danger
and
to take
the necessary precautions
against it.
On the other hand
you must
avoid the pitfalls
of losing courage
or
feeling unable to cope
with the situation.
For we must never forget
that
regardless of the strength
of the enemy
we have
an ever-present
and
an all-powerful auxiliary.
"If God
is for us,
who
is against us?"
If He
sustains us,
what
can be lacking?
We must be
ever inflamed
with the hope
and
conviction
of final victory.
Let us not forget
that
our encounter
is not with
an undefeated enemy
but
with one
who was
once broken
and
who
many years ago
was overthrown,
despoiled,
and led captive
by
Christ our Head.
This same Christ
will
unquestionably subdue him
again
in us.
If we
but remember
to whose Body
we belong,
we will triumph
in
the strength
of our Head.
No man
is strong
in
his own strength.
In Him alone
will we
find our real worth.
This is the reason
why
I reiterate
that
the outcome of this war
is not
in the least
to be doubted.
Victory
is not something
that
depends upon chance;
it is
entirely
in the hands of God
and,
through Him,
also in our hands.
Anyone
who has failed
in this struggle
was
simply lacking in
a will to conquer.
The kindness
of our Leader
has never
failed
anyone.
If you
but listen
to His call
and
do your part,
you will be assured
of victory,
for
not only will He
fight alongside you,
but
His very liberality
will be
imputed to you
as merit.
At the same time
you must
thank Him
alone
for the victory.
He alone
is
immune from sin
and
He alone
first
oppressed
its tyranny.
Yet
this victory
will not come
without
your own effort
and diligence,
for
He who said,
"Have confidence,
I have conquered
the world,"
does not want
your confidence
to be
a matter of complacency.
Profiting by
His example,
we will fight
as He fought.
We must
steer a middle course
between
Scylla and Charybdis,
neither
acting
too presumptuously
because
we rely too much
on divine grace,
nor
surrendering in despair
because
we are disheartened
by
the difficulties
of the war.
+++
from
"The Essential Erasmus",
translated
by
John P. Dolan,New American Library,
New York, 1964
The Handbook
of
The Militant
Christian
(Enchiridion
militis
christiani)
1503
Non faciat
ad disputationem
theologicam,
modo faciat
ad vitam
theologicam.
"Let this book
lead to
a theological life
rather than
theological disputation."
Letter to
Abbot Voltz,
August, 1518
You have requested,
my dearly beloved
in Christ,
that I compose you
a kind of compendium,
or guide
for spiritual living,
so that
being instructed by it
you may attain
those
virtues of mind
that
should characterize him
who
is truly Christian.
In this request
you have also indicated
that your preoccupation
with mundane affairs
has forced you
to perceive the need
you have
of abandoning
worldly pursuits,
and
turning your efforts
rather
to the attainment
of virtue.
Our own close friendship
only adds to the joy
with which
I undertake this proposal,
and
I sincerely hope
that He
who is solely responsible
for your decision
will aid me
in this endeavor.
So that
what I have to write
will not
in the end
prove fruitless,
let us begin
by calling upon
the kindly spirit of Jesus
so that He
will fill my mind
with words of salvation,
and
that what I write
will be
for you
a source of strength
and determination.
ONE
In this life
it is necessary
that
we be
on our guard.
To begin with
we must be
constantly aware
of the fact
that
life here below
is best described
as being
a type
of continual warfare.
This is a fact
that Job,
that undefeated soldier
of vast experience,
tells us so plainly.
Yet in this matter
the great majority
of mankind
is often deceived,
for the world,
like
some deceitful magician,
captivates
their minds
with
seductive blandishments,
and
as a result
most individuals
behave
as if
there had been
a cessation of hostilities.
They celebrate
as if
they were assured
of victory
when,
as a matter of fact,
genuine peace
could never be
further away.
It is amazing to see
in what
false security
these people live
and
in what
a complacent manner
they
close their minds
to reality.
In the meantime
the vices,
our armored enemies,
attack us
unceasingly;
we are entrapped
by
their espionage
and assaulted
by
their endless deceptions.
If you but look around,
you will see that
regardless of where you go
they
are observing you.
They
are prepared to attack us
with a thousand stratagems
and,
evil demons that they are,
they concentrate
on wounding our minds
with
inflammable
and
poisonous weapons.
Unless we ward them off
with the impenetrable shield
of faith,
they will prove
to wield weapons
of certain death.
Nor is there
any slackening
in the manner
of their attack,
as it comes
from all sides.
This is that world
that St. John
describes so well
as being constituted
entirely
of vice.
It is a world
that is
both
contrary
and
hateful
to Christ.
It must be pointed out
that the type of warfare
it wages
is anything but
simple
and
straightforward.
From time to time,
especially
in adverse circumstances,
this raging world
shakes the very walls
of the mind.
At other times
it incites the mind
to betrayal
with vain promises.
Or again,
whenever it finds us unaware,
in idle and false security,
it unexpectedly
and
with
secret contrivances
captures the mind.
Most important of all,
that slimy snake,
the first betrayer
of our peace
and
the father
of restlessness,
never ceases
to watch
and lie
in wait
beneath
the heel
of woman,
whom he once poisoned.
By "woman"
we mean,
of course,
the carnal
or
sensual part
of man.
For this is our Eve,
through whom
the crafty serpent
entices and lures
our minds
to deadly pleasures.
And yet,
as if it were
not enough
that
he threatens us
from
all directions
on
the outside,
he also
penetrates
into the inner
recesses
of our minds.
This is
the
ancient
and
earthly
Adam,
more intimate
than
our closest companions
and
more zealous
than our deadliest enemy,
since
he cannot be contained
by entrenchment
or
expelled
with an army.
He must be watched, then,
with a hundred eyes,
lest he expose God's fortress
to demons.
Since
it is quite plain
that all of us
are engaged
in a major
and difficult effort
against an enemy
who
is numerically superior,
better armed
and
more experienced
than we are,
are we
not insane
if we
fail to take up arms
against him?
Are we not
extremely foolish
if we do not
stand continually on our guard
and
hold all things suspect?
The fact of the matter
is, however,
that we slumber
complacently
through the whole siege.
Indulgence in pleasure
rather than hard work
seems to be the norm.
The self-interest
we display
would convince one
that we are living
in peaceful times.
It seems that life
is a drinking bout
rather than a war.
We clothe ourselves
with boudoir trappings
rather than armor.
Ease and self-indulgence
are everywhere preferred
to the rigors
of military preparedness.
We practice
on the peaceful harp
rather than on
the weapons of warfare,
unaware
that this sort of peace
is
the most terrible of all wars.
Anyone who concludes a treaty
with vice
violates the agreement made
with God in baptism.
You foolishly cry,
"peace, peace,"
and
at the same time
treat as an enemy
God,
who alone is peace
and
the author of peace.
He Himself
has made it quite plain
through His prophet:
"There is no peace
for the wicked."
The condition
that He lays down
for peace
is that
we fight
in the garrison of the body
against
all of our vices.
If we compromise,
if we consort with vice,
we will make a foe of Him
who alone,
as a friend,
is able to bless us,
but
who
as an enemy
will surely damn us.
He will be our enemy
for two reasons.
First of all
we will be siding
with those vices
that are
diametrically opposed
to the divine,
for
how can light and darkness
be in agreement?
In the second place,
in so doing
we ungratefully
fail
to abide by the pledge
that we have made
to Him,
violating
what we have
solemnized
with sacred ceremonies.
Perhaps you are not aware,
O Christian soldier,
that
when you were initiated
into the mysteries
of life-giving Baptism,
you gave yourself
by name
to Christ
as your leader.
That is the reason
you are
doubly indebted
to Him.
He not only gave you life
in the first place
but He also
restored it.
You owe Him
more
than you could
ever owe
to yourself.
If you break this contract,
does it not occur to you
that
you are violating
a pledge
to
such a kindly leader?
Does it become quite plain
to you
that you have dedicated yourself
in this sacrament
to His most noble cause?
Why did He see to it
that you
were signed
on the brow
with
the sign of the cross
unless He intended
that you fight
under His banner
during this life?
For what purpose
were you anointed
with sacred oils
except
to take up arms
in this struggle
against vice?
What could be more
shameful,
more
degrading,
than to separate yourself
from this princely leader?
Is there any reason
why you should hold
Christ the King
in derision?
Are you
not moved
by the love of Him
who
for your sake
became man?
Has no one
ever warned you
of the promise
you
once laid
before Him?
Will you actually betray Him
who once
redeemed you
with the price of His blood?
Certainly
you show
the greatest impudence
if you dare raise
a hostile standard
against a King
who gave His life
for your sake.
He Himself
has told us clearly
that
he who does not stand for Him
stands against Him,
and
he who does not
gather with Him,
scatters.
Not only do you fight
under a disgraceful banner,
but
consider for a moment
what your reward will be.
St. Paul,
the standard-bearer
of Christian warfare,
tells us
"the wages of sin
is death."
Would anyone
engage in warfare
if death
were the only reward?
Death of the soul
is hardly a reward.
Look at
the actual condition
of misery
that accompanies
human warfare.
What motivates
the soldiers
to endure
such hardships
and deprivation?
Is it not
the promise of booty,
the dread of loss,
and
the fear of being accused
of cowardice?
If all they get
is
the praise
of their officers
or
the hope
of a little more pay,
that
is not much
of a reward.
The same Person
witnesses our struggle
who will
one day
reward us.
Our reward is that
which
"neither eye has seen,
nor ear heard,
nor has entered
into the heart of man."
I think this in itself
ought to be
of great consolation
as
we carry on the battle,
for
it is eternal happiness
that will be ours.
In all earthly engagements
a reputation for bravery
is the goal,
and
even the material rewards
are handed out
by lot.
With us
in our struggle
against vice
the case
is not quite
the same.
We do not fight
for praise
but
for Life itself.
And the very highest reward
will go to him
who perseveres,
just as
the most severe punishment
will be meted out
to him who deserts.
Heaven itself
is the promise we seek,
and
certainly
the very hope of such a prize
ought to encourage our efforts,
especially when it
is promised by Him
who can
neither deceive
nor
be deceived.
Then, too,
our struggle takes place
before
the all-seeing eye of God
and
is witnessed
by
the entire populace of heaven.
The shame of defeat
in the presence
of such an audience
ought at least
to help
inspire us
to bravery.
He
will praise our effort
whose
mere approval alone
is the equivalent
of the greatest happiness.
If the tepid mind
is not aroused
by the prospect of reward,
it must be admitted
that fear of punishment
can awaken
even the most indolent.
In ancient times
it was customary
in war
to violate the corpses
of the enemy.
It was considered
a great calamity
if the body
were separated
by the sword
from the soul.
This enemy of ours
is not only
determined
to destroy the body
but
he intends
to cast both
the body and the soul
into hell.
For this is
actually
what occurs
when life,
which is
God Himself,
is taken away
from the soul.
We know well enough
that it is
the nature of the body
eventually to perish
because,
even though no one attempts
to kill it,
it cannot live on
forever.
But for the soul to die
is another matter,
one of extreme misfortune.
I do not have to
point out to you
the great care and solicitude
we exercise
in caring for the wounds
of the body;
we doctor them
with the greatest of concern.
And yet
at the same time
we woefully neglect
the wounds of the soul.
All of us
are horrified
at the sight
of a dying body
because
we are able to witness it
with our bodily eyes.
Yet,
since the death of the soul
is something
we cannot witness,
there are very few
who believe in it
and even fewer
who are
actually frightened
at the thought of it.
I might point out
that
the death of the soul
is certainly more frightful
than the death of the body.
This is evident enough
from the fact
that the soul
is something far greater
than the body,
and God,
whose loss it entails,
is greater than the soul.
Let me give you
some signs,
some evidence,
whereby
you can determine
whether or not
your soul
is diseased
or
perhaps even dead.
If you are troubled
with indigestion,
if it is difficult
to retain food,
it is quite apparent
that
there is something
physically wrong
with your body.
Now
the Word of God
has been referred to
as
the food of the soul.
If it is unpalatable,
if it nauseates you,
there can be little doubt
that
the palate of your soul
is infected
with diseases.
If food is
not retained,
if it does not
proceed
along the digestive tract,
it is pretty clear
that
your soul
is sick.
When your knees totter
and
it is only with difficulty
that you
drag your ailing limbs about,
it is quite evident
that you
have an ailing body.
Now you must
certainly
have a disease of the soul
when
the performance
of an act of piety
is done
with great reluctance
and hesitancy,
when
you have no strength
to bear up
under
a slight rebuke,
or
when
the loss
of a few pennies
makes you
troubled and angry.
There can be no doubt
that
after the sight leaves the body,
when the ears fail to hear
and
the whole body
loses its sensitivity,
then
the soul
has departed.
When the eyes
of the heart
are so obscured
that you cannot perceive
the brightest light
(that is, truth),
when
you are
no longer aware
with your inner ears
of the divine voice,
do you think
your soul
is really alive?
You see
your brother
suffering indignities.
Provided
your own affairs
are
not endangered,
your mind
is
not in the least
moved.
Why
at this point
does your soul
feel
absolutely nothing?
It certainly must be
because
it is dead.
Why dead?
Because God,
its very life,
is not present.
Where
God
is,
there is
charity,
for God
is charity.
Otherwise,
if you
are
a living member,
how
can any part of the body
be in pain
without your feeling
anything?
Let me give you
another sign
that is
even more certain.
Supposing that you
have
deceived a friend,
or
that you have
committed adultery;
in other words,
you should have received
a major wound,
and yet
not only
are you unaware
of any pain,
but
you actually
take pleasure
in
recalling
your wickedness.
Can there be
any doubt
that your soul
is dead?
We generally assume
that
the body is
not alive
if it
is insensible
to
the prick of a pin.
Can a soul
be considered
alive
if it is
unfeeling
in this matter?
Let us
take
another example.
You happen to be
in the company
of someone
who is
using filthy language,
who is
raging in anger
against his neighbor.
If you think
that his soul
is alive,
you
are
deceiving yourself.
It is more like
a stinking corpse
whose foulness
infects all
who come near it.
Christ
referred
to the Pharisees
as
whitened sepulchers.
Why?
Because
they carried
their dead souls
about
within themselves.
The bodies
of holy people
are temples
of
the Holy Spirit.
The bodies
of evil men
are sepulchers
of dead corpses.
No cadaver
is so dead
as
that soul
that has
been abandoned
by God.
And certainly
no corpse
offends the nostrils of men
to the extent
that
the evil odor
of the buried soul
offends the sensibility
of
the heavenly court.
When dying words
proceed
from the heart,
we can assume
that a dead soul
lies within.
For,
according to the saying
of the Gospel,
"the mouth speaks
from
the abundance of the heart,"
and
if God,
the life of the soul,
is present,
the soul
will speak divine words.
If we read the Gospel,
we find
hat the disciples
once asked our Lord,
"Whither shall we go?
You
have
the words of life."
Why
"words
of life"?
The only answer
to be found
is the fact
that these words
flowed from a soul
that was
never for a moment
separated
from
the divinity
and
that
alone restores us
to
everlasting life.
It is not
a rare thing
that
pious men
have recalled
a dead body
to life.
But
we must never forget
that God
does not
revive a dead soul
except
by an extraordinary
and
gratuitous power,
and
certainly
He does not
resuscitate it
if it is
already dead
when it leaves the body.
I think that we can agree
that
the sensation of death
in the body
is very slight
or, at least,
very brief.
The sensation of death
in the case
of the soul
is
entirely different;
it is
more than death itself,
because
it is everlasting.
With these remarks
in mind
need I point out further
the tremendous powers
of our adversary?
It would be
sheer stupidity
not to be aroused
to this fearful danger
and
to take
the necessary precautions
against it.
On the other hand
you must
avoid the pitfalls
of losing courage
or
feeling unable to cope
with the situation.
For we must never forget
that
regardless of the strength
of the enemy
we have
an ever-present
and
an all-powerful auxiliary.
"If God
is for us,
who
is against us?"
If He
sustains us,
what
can be lacking?
We must be
ever inflamed
with the hope
and
conviction
of final victory.
Let us not forget
that
our encounter
is not with
an undefeated enemy
but
with one
who was
once broken
and
who
many years ago
was overthrown,
despoiled,
and led captive
by
Christ our Head.
This same Christ
will
unquestionably subdue him
again
in us.
If we
but remember
to whose Body
we belong,
we will triumph
in
the strength
of our Head.
No man
is strong
in
his own strength.
In Him alone
will we
find our real worth.
This is the reason
why
I reiterate
that
the outcome of this war
is not
in the least
to be doubted.
Victory
is not something
that
depends upon chance;
it is
entirely
in the hands of God
and,
through Him,
also in our hands.
Anyone
who has failed
in this struggle
was
simply lacking in
a will to conquer.
The kindness
of our Leader
has never
failed
anyone.
If you
but listen
to His call
and
do your part,
you will be assured
of victory,
for
not only will He
fight alongside you,
but
His very liberality
will be
imputed to you
as merit.
At the same time
you must
thank Him
alone
for the victory.
He alone
is
immune from sin
and
He alone
first
oppressed
its tyranny.
Yet
this victory
will not come
without
your own effort
and diligence,
for
He who said,
"Have confidence,
I have conquered
the world,"
does not want
your confidence
to be
a matter of complacency.
Profiting by
His example,
we will fight
as He fought.
We must
steer a middle course
between
Scylla and Charybdis,
neither
acting
too presumptuously
because
we rely too much
on divine grace,
nor
surrendering in despair
because
we are disheartened
by
the difficulties
of the war.
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