The Demon-Haunted World

How shall a man afflicted with cancerous tumors ever recover his health, if he believes he suffers from a mere cold? Or worse, if he believes that his condition -- his weakness, his lack of focus, his antipathy for great things, and his contentment with petty things -- is normal, "the human condition"? How shall he strive, if he considers his sickness a part of him; if he looks on healthier and happier men and thinks that they are blessed by nature, while his own nature is cursed? If he says to himself, "They have charisma, intelligence, talent. They have some inner light which I do not have,"? How shall he endeavor to uncover his own inner light, if he is convinced no such light exists in him? How shall he ever recover, unless someone suggests to him that there is a higher and better way; that nothing needs to be added to him, but that there is a light already within him, which can be revealed by the shedding of impurities, and that true health is something he has yet to experience?

A man will steer clear of a hornet's nest, without reflecting that the very world in which he lives, the places to which he goes, the people with whom he communes, and he himself, are all nests of demons. Pride, of which he often approves, is a demon. Pettiness and frivolity, which are as bedfellows to him, are likewise demons; fierce and hideous in the extreme. Self-concern, his constant companion, is among the most terrible minions of evil. And, yet, he is blind to them. They have become normal to him. The air he breathes; the atmosphere in which he lives, moves, and has his being. All around him, these same demons live and feed on everyone he knows. He sees their sins, sees them deteriorate in a thousand lamentable ways, and is not moved by the sight. It is, to him, no cosmic tragedy. It is life.

My friends, there is no surer sign that the devil has you right where he wants you, than that you yourself are apathetic to the fact. He is more than willing to provide you with creature comforts, so long as they satisfy you, and, in this way, to deny you the greater comfort of a holy life. He is gratified when you smile upon the field of carnage, which is the world under his power, and when you say to yourself, "It is a good life, with which I am content." For, while the devil most revels in your suffering, he also wishes to see you smile, if it means that he may lead you willingly, by many fleeting and superficial pleasures, into a far deeper morass of suffering and depravity.

Indeed, he rejoices with you, when you rejoice in foolish and wicked things. He loves to attend the most richly decorated weddings, and to give his "blessing" to the happy couple, for he knows that all these luxuries in which they indulge have been procured through the exploitation of the poor, -- or, at best, through their indifference to, and neglect of, the poor.

Most of all, he loves churches, provided they are ornately adorned with gold, silver, and brass; with oak which has been carved, or stone which has been chiseled, by master craftsmen at no small expense; by marble floors and painted ceilings, and all sorts of materials which have been painstakingly torn from the earth by the poor and carried half-way across the world in order to satisfy the materialistic tastes of the parishioners and priests. Nothing would disappoint him more than to see such churches dismantled, liquidated, and all the funds distributed to the needy and the sick. Most of all, he despises the simple meeting houses of Quakers, which are adorned only with the simplicity of the members, and the purity of God's holy presence.

So many of our pleasures are more pleasing to the devil than they are to us. We imagine that we are conquering dark spirits, when we laugh and lift our spirits with a frivolous conversation; or a rich meal; or a "harmless" film. We do not realize how these things work insidiously upon our souls. We do not think how wicked it is to be gratified with empty talk, when there are much loftier things to consider; or with heavy meals, which make us slow, sluggish, and dull, while they fail to satisfy our higher appetites; or with films which cost millions of dollars and a great deal of time and effort to produce -- all of which (money, time, and effort) could otherwise be directed to far nobler causes.

We think of ourselves as good, provided we do not lie, steal, or kill. And yet, our entire culture is founded on lies, on the exploitation and extortion of other lands and peoples, and on wars and socioeconomic conditions which result, daily, in the deaths of large numbers of people. This, the big picture, is effectively hidden from us by those dark forces whose sole occupation is to keep our attention on ourselves and our immediate gratifications. Our mirth is music to their ears, as it mingles with the cries of those whom we have enslaved for the sake of our pleasure, and as it pales before the glory we might otherwise experience, were we diverted to more sober and edifying pursuits.

My friends, the first step toward recovery is the recognition of our affliction. We, indeed, are sorely afflicted, demoralized and enslaved. What is optimistic about our predicament is only the extent to which it may be transformed by the grace of God; for a man who is deathly ill has the most to gain from recovering his health. The apostle Paul, who was healed of his sins, wrote that, "where sin abounded, grace did much more abound". We may be comforted by the reflection that God's justice is not punitive but merciful. While the karmic law demands that we repay all that we have taken, the law of grace, which is not subject to karma, -- any more than deep space is subject to the earth's gravitational pull, -- absolves us. But we must turn our backs on the world, and leave its "gravity" behind. Like the prodigal son, we have only to confess our weakness, truly and deeply, and to declare with equal force our great desire to be strengthened and led by the power of God, in order to be freed from the heavy bonds of sin which we have forged under the guidance of evil.

Do not be fooled, though, into thinking that such a conversion happens only once. It must be renewed, faithfully, at every moment, for if at any time we neglect to consider our foolishness and God's wisdom, then our enlightenment is not sincere, and the gifts of grace must wane. Even a formidable ascetic, after many years in the desert, engaged in the most impressive devotions and austerities, may one day succumb to temptation, having come to rely on himself, forgetting his weakness and God's strength. In that moment, he must recollect himself, and renew his conversion, or all is lost.

There are atheists who say that God, and religion, is a concoction of weaker people, a crutch upon which they must rely in order to be merely decent. What they do not understand is that they themselves are far weaker, and far less decent, than they imagine, and that the spiritual life exists not to make men decent, but to make them perfect.