As I was browsing through some old files, I came across some essays that I wrote during my time in the seminary. While reading these essays, I marvelled at what a God-fearing man I once was. I dedicate the following essay to fellow liveleaker Yogsoggoth - and of course: to my beautiful Syrian darling. One of the most anguished moments in your life arrives when you realise that you fall way too short of your ideals. According to the existentialists, we are overtaken be anguish precisely because we fail to live up to our ideals. And the fact that you do feel this anguish, is a firm indication that inside you there is an ardent desire for excellence. Because if you do not feel this anguish, you are at peace with your shortcomings; you are happy being a mediocrity. It would be wrong to assume that this anguish is a modern phenomenon or a concoction of the existentialist philosophers. Even the mystics speak of anguish. Consider the following words of Johannes Tauler: "Of all those who do not let themselves be caught by this pursuit and this anguish , none ever turns out well , they remain what they are , they do not enter into themselves, and consequently they know nothing of what is taking place in them ." There are two kinds of anguish: (i) The anguish of acedia which often terminates in the "shipwreck euphoria" of which Julius Evola speaks, and (ii) the anguish of purgation. (i) Acedia is a much misunderstood vice. According to our contemporaries, acedia denotes laziness. Consequently, since laziness is a vice, activism must be a virtue. This is of course a gross simplification, which ends up perverting matters. According to the scholastics, acedia is a kind of sourness or apathy we experience in the face of the effort required in attaining a spiritual good. The acquisition of wisdom requires concentration and a total employment of both your intellect an will. Men who fail in this regard seek multiple diversions, from the pursuit of which activism naturally follows. Hence activism is not a virtue which is the contrary of acedia. Rather, activism is a vice which is consequent upon acedia. And this activism is destined to have its terminus in misery, because all activity which loses sight of the highest end leads to hell. Such mindless activism, say the scholastics, inevitably results in a malicious hatred of anything spiritual, and an insane and despairing joy in the things of this world. (ii) The anguish of purgation is something very different from the anguish of acedia. This is the anguish of losing a lesser good for the sake of a higher good. If we do not feel the pain of losing that lesser good, there cannot at all be a question of loss. When St. Paul states that for Christ he "has suffered the loss of all things," he readily admits that giving up the things of this world for the sake of the Lord caused him a great deal of anguish. According to Aristotle, men who are keen of intellect, are also more susceptible of feeling pain. And this is confirmed by the scriptures, in which it is stated, "in wisdom there is much grief: for he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow." Yet why would man be willing to undergo such painful trials for the sake of a spiritual reality, the existence of which is questioned by everyone around us? The medieval man who yearned for the abode of the Gods had no difficulty in finding other men who felt the way he did. In the contemporary world this is no longer the case. Speak of the unitive way, speak of merging with the deity to the contemporary man, and expect to have your very sanity questioned. Yet even among the enemies of God, there is a subconscious desire for a kind of excellence which transcends the human condition. When Nietzsche says that "man is something that must be overcome," we bear witness to this subconscious desire for deification. Coming from Nietzsche, this may be no more than an expression of artistic flair and pomposity. But still. Likewise, Evola adopts the following expression of Simmel: "mehr als Leben." For some men mere existence is not enough. For them death is preferable to mere existence. According to the scholastics, the natural desire cannot be in vain, and because the desire for the highest good is natural, the acquistition of such a good is possible. Therefore, it is not in vain to wish for that which transcends the human condition. St. Athanasius, refers to that very same end as Nietzsche and Evola when he states that "He deified men by Himself becoming man". "Being God, He has taken to Him the flesh, and being in the flesh deifies the flesh." "The Word became flesh in order that we, participating in His Spirit, might be deified." But of course, this deification must be merited. And few are they who will be willing "to suffer the loss of all things" for the sake of this highest of all goods. In the Imitation of Christ it is stated there are very few true contemplatives in this world, and St. Bernard states that there are but few men of desire in this world. They are speaking of the kind of man who - to paraphrase a literary character - against all human longing and loving is willing to do what his own natural heart dares not dream of doing. This is the abandonment of the will to Divine Providence. With Christ, such a man should say, "think not that I have come to do my own will, but that of my Father in Heaven." Of course, "to say" is one thing, whereas "to do" is something very different. When a famous preacher of the Renaissance exhorted in words ("to say") that a moral regeneration is necessary, the Florentines flocked around him and applauded his every gesture. But when he set out to realise his dream of a theocracy ("to do") the Florentines ran away in terror, and had him burnt at the stake. The Florentines realised that their preacher was a dangerous man precisely because he did as he said. And that is a rare breed indeed. The true contemplatives or the men of desire are difficult souls. Their internal battles are far more heartfelt than that of those who settle for mediocrity. The mediocre man is, in the words of Evola, is "a natural joiner." He is everything to everyone, and therefore he comes to nothing. The difficult soul, on the other hand, treats of everything, however trivial it may be, with a seriousness befitting the hour of our death. We meet with this man in the world of literature, and on a rare occasion we will bump into him in our real life. According to Arisotle, "men with soft flesh, are well endowed intellectually." This is to say that a man of a keen intellect is necessarily also more impression- able . This does by no means entail any weakness of character. All knowledge begins with sense perception, and those whose sense faculties are more receptive to the impressions of the senses are also more inclined to better understand what is taking place around them. Hence a scholastic commenting the aforementioned words of Aristotle states that, "a good disposition of the human body makes one able to understand well, for, as a result of this, the aforementioned powers are in a better condition." Those who have made an attempt to lead an ascetic life will readily concede the truth of these propositions. Consider someone who leads a celibate life, accompanied by vigils, fasting, and prayer. Such a man stores up an immense amount of energy. Very little of this stored up energy is allotted to physical activities. Instead, all this energy is placed at the disposal of the spirit and intellect. This inevitably intensifies the activity of our spirit. There is no mystery here at all, because we are not discussing grace but human nature. This is exactly what happens in all cases, and anyone who is willing to undergo this ordeal, will experience this firsthand. Consider here a man who has had four of his five senses impaired. The impediment to his four senses will be to the advantage of his remaining sense which is fully intact. Someone who is both mute and blind hears much better than the rest of us, because much more of his energy is put at the disposal of his auditory faculty. He who is keen of intellect is more receptive to sense impression. And this "softness of the flesh", to use Aristotle's phrase, is a dangerous thing indeed, because this is the road by which demons attack us. The demons cannot infect our intellect and will. They can only act on our imagination or attack our body by directly possessing it or by bombarding it with sense impressions. The mystics remind us again and again that the higher we climb on the spiritual ladder which leads to Kingdom of Heaven, the more formidable battle do the demons wage to snatch our soul away and drag it to hell. Every spiritual quest is a gamble. There is no guarantee that you will reach the end. Your soul may well be snatched away at the very last rung of the ladder. What tragedy! Yet it has happened before, and it will go on happenening till the end of time. Many a great scoundrel and mass murderer had a great saint within who was quashed by the devil. And indeed, only great scoundrels are susceptible of sainthood and vice versa: "For certain strong souls , mediocrity is not possible; if they do not give themselves entirely to God on the road to sanctity, they will belong wholly to themselves. They will wish to spend their whole life enjoying their ego; they run the risk of turning away from God and of placing their last end in the satisfaction of their pride or of their concupiscence. In this respect, certain souls somewhat resemble the angels. The angel, says St. Thomas, is either very holy or very wicked; there is no middle course." (Garrigou-Lagrange) To this one may add that neither is there any middle course to the Kingdom of Heaven, because the Eternal Kingdom admits of no mediocrity. And the scriptures testify to this: "So because you are lukewarm - neither hot nor cold - I am about to spit you out of my mouth." (Rev. 3:16) VIDEO: Meister Eckhart, the undisputed master of Christian Spirituality. VIDEO CREDIT: Ted Nottingham
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Human Nature and Christian Spirituality
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