nature; it supposes his nature. Christianity would be of no
account independent of human nature. Christianity finds us men,
and leaves us men; gentle, not cowardly; child-like, not
childish; amiable, not effeminate; zealous, not fanatical;
earnest, not narrow-minded; pious, not weak; humble, not abject;
full of faith, and yet rational; obedient, not slavish;
mortified, not mutilated; for Christ died to save man, and not to
transmute man into something else. Christianity demands for its
fullest manifestation the most complete nature. The more we are
men, the greater our capacity for Christianity.
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This being so, how strange it is to find men who modestly assume
the character of Christian philosophers; and yet when the word
self-denial, mortification, or asceticism is pronounced in their
presence, they startle like one who is about to be exorcised! An
ascetic, in their courteous language, is "a miserable victim of a
falsely interpreted religion, starved and withered in delusion."
Miserable victim indeed, if the highest purposes of life are, to
gratify our animal instincts and give one's self up to ease and
self-indulgence! Deluded certainly, if it were our belief, as it
was that the heathen, that the grossest indulgence of sensual
passions is a part of religious worship! On such a theory, an
ascetic is unquestionably a miserable victim! But do these men
really fancy that all that lies beyond their mental conceptions
is delusion, like the Chinese, who look upon all that come from
beyond the limits of their country as barbarians?
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Can they never learn the simple truth, that the practice of
self-denial and kindred virtues, will always correspond in degree
to one's conception of the dignity of the human soul, and the
greatness of its destiny. Or are they cognizant of this truth,
but pusillanimous like the Jews, who conjured up to their
imaginations, "monsters of the sons of Enac, of the giant kind,"
being too cowardly to face the dangers and conquer the enemies
which stood between them and the possession of "the land flowing
with milk and honey"?
Strange indeed it is, that these self-called liberal Christians
are not liberal enough to allow men, who have higher aims than
the indulgence of sensual propensity and appetite, to live the
life they like! If a man abstains from eating meat, why not let
him, if he likes, eat fish? If another is bent on practising
entire abstinence, why not allow him to fast? If another fancies
he will improve by scourging himself, why not let him whip his
body? If another takes the notion to shave his crown and walk
with uncovered feet, wherein is he to be blamed? If another seeks
the desert, or ensconces himself in a cave, what commandment does
he break? What is there criminal in these actions, that there
should be displayed so much spleen against those who live in this
way?
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Christ was born in a stable, he fasted forty days and forty
nights in the desert, and often had not a stone to rest his weary
head upon. Daniel fed upon pulse, and gained both wisdom and
health. The Baptist fed upon honey and locusts, and "_there has
not risen among those that are born of women a greater than John
the Baptist_."
These men were in pursuit of a great object. You perhaps don't
perceive it! It is because the object which they aimed at does
not lie within your range of vision, but above it. They were
hungering and thirsting after the beauty of holiness. This was
the great aim of their lives, and they followed it up like men in
earnest.
"Life was to them a battle-field,
Their hearts a holy land."
Be true to thyself, O friend; and learn to "_let every one
abound in his own sense_," and in thy liberality, "_let all
the spirits praise the Lord_."
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Meanwhile the practice of these virtues richly repays the soul.
They restore to the soul her true and perfect liberty. Is this
not a great boon? Suppose that a queen was torn from her throne
by a band of ruffians, and being stripped of her royal robes, was
clothed in rags, and thrown into a dark and loathsome prison.
Abuse and contempt are heaped upon her, putrid meat and filthy
water are given to her for food and drink. Her cries are
unheeded, and often she meditates an escape, but the sight of the
cold and massive walls around her shake and overpower her
resolutions. Enfeebled and exhausted, she finally relapses into
indifference and despair. Now a slight but strange noise reaches
her ears. It grows louder and louder. She listens attentively,
and to her quick ears the sounds seems to come like blows struck
upon her prison walls. They come nearer and grow louder; the iron
bars of her cell give way under them; friends enter and her
chains are broken. She steps forth free, breathes once more the
fresh air, sees the fair world around her, and she is replaced
with increased splendor and dignity upon her throne. Can you not
easily imagine that every stroke she heard given against her
prison walls, must have sent a thrill of joy through her whole
frame?
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What language can express the gratitude which filled her heart
toward her deliverers? And this is simply the picture of a soul
which has been subject to the demands of its lower appetites and
passions, and has been freed by the practice of self-denial. For
what prison walls are so strong as the tyranny of passion over
the soul? What degradation is equal to that of a Christian
enslaved by vice? What food is so loathsome to the body as lust
and sensuality must be to a soul made for wisdom and virtue? What
comparison is there between the relief felt at escaping from a
material prison to the liberation of the soul from the fetters of
sin, free to breathe the pure air of angels, and feed on
celestial joys. Oh! blessed virtue of Penance which emancipates
the soul, and restores that image of God which is stamped upon
it, to its original beauty and splendor!
Besides, penance renders a man invincible against his spiritual
foes. The mortified man is like a horse in the open fields. You
may approach him with a halter in hand, and almost lay your hands
upon him, but he easily escapes your grasp.
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So the devil may approach a man who has gained mastery over his
appetites and inordinate affections, with his temptations, and
the opportunity of committing sin ready at hand, but he has no
power to capture or bind him. But the self-indulgent man has not
the moral life to resist, nor the strength to escape; he is
easily led into sin and made the slave of the devil. The
mortified man is like a flower which draws nothing but its
necessary nourishment from the earth, and that through a slender
stem, while it opens wide its bosom to the light and air of
heaven; so he, by self-denial, has narrowed all those avenues of
his soul which lie earthward, while his whole mind is open to the
contemplation of God, and his heart is filled with the taste of
His sweetness.
Moreover, it renders the practice of prayer easy. All the
irregular movements of our lower nature being subdued, the soul
thus disengaged is able to think steadfastly on God, and attend
to his inspiration, according to those words of the divine Spouse
in Scripture: "_I will lead her into the solitude, and will
speak to her heart, and she shall sing there as in the days of
her youth_." [Footnote 151]
[Footnote 151: Osee ii., 14.]
[Transcriber's note: Osee refers to Hosea.]
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According to the experience of all spiritual men, the spirit of
prayer can only spring from, mortification. "Give more study to
mortification," says Lewis da Ponte, "than to contemplation, for
an unmortified person seeks after the spirit of prayer and cannot
find it, whilst prayer itself seeks the man who is truly
mortified, and knows how to find him." Saint Ignatius once heard
one say in the praise of a great servant of God: "He is a great
man of prayer." The saint replied, "No, he is a man of great
mortification." And on another occasion he remarked, that "a
quarter of an hour spent in prayer is sufficient to unite a
mortified man closely to God; whereas an unmortified man would
not obtain this in two hours." "He who does not live according to
the corruption of the senses," says St. John of the Cross, "has
the consolation to see all the operations of the powers of his
soul tend to the contemplation of God as to their centre."
Finally, it fills the soul with spiritual consolations, according
to the words of Holy Scripture. "_Who is this that cometh up
from the desert flowing with delights, leaning upon her
beloved?_" [Footnote 152]
[Footnote 152: Cant. viii., 5.]
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While the heart is disturbed with irregular affections and filled
with inordinate love for created things, divine love cannot enter
it. The desert of which Solomon speaks in the passage just
quoted, is produced in the soul by the renunciation and
mortification of the irregular movements of the sensual
appetites, and the soul then goes forth to meet the celestial
spouse; and as all obstacles to his love are removed, she is
filled with his divine consolation. And thus supported by her
Beloved, the practice of every virtue becomes easy. "Whilst my
heart was dilated with thy consolations, I ran in the way of thy
commandments." [Footnote 153] Oh, blessed penance, which recovers
for the soul its supreme good, and gives it here a foretaste of
Paradise!
[Footnote 153: Psalm cxviii.]
[Transcriber's note: This appears to be a paraphrase of Psalm
cxix., 1.]
Let us, then, enter upon the duties of Lent with the conviction
of their necessity and their high importance. Let us manfully
conquer all our repugnances to the works of penance enjoined by
Holy Church; for every act of self-denial and mortification of
sensuality will open avenues of true spiritual joy to the soul.
{345}
Let us pass through this holy season with sincerity and
confidence, practising all its requirements, that it may be said
of us also, "_Who is this that cometh up from the desert,
flowing with delights, leaning on her beloved?_" For only
those who take part in the penances of Lent can share in the joys
of Easter.