The Letter and the Spirit

‘* The letter killeth, but the spirit quickeneth (2 Cor. iii. 6).

Tue feast we celebrate to-day is that of the promulgation of the New Law. I announce to you, in the name of Jesus, that by the coming down of the Holy Ghost you are no longer under the Mosaic Law, and that God has called you to the Law of Grace: and, in order that you might understand what is that law from which you are delivered, and what is the law which is imposed on you, I set before you the words of St. Paul, who will teach you the difference between the two. The letter, that is to say, the Old Law, killeth, he says; and the Spirit, which is (as you shall see) the law of grace, quickeneth. Therefore, following the teaching of St. Paul, let us see how the Law kills us through the letter, and how grace gives us life by the Spirit.

Tue LETTER wuHicu KILLETH.

In order fully to sound the depths of our text, we must first consider what is the letter which kills, of 84 which the Apostle is speaking. And, first of all, it is quite certain that he is referring to the Law: but inasmuch as we might understand this to mean the Ceremonial Law, which, with its circumcision and sacrifices that have been abolished by Christianity, and with even some of its figurative language taken too literally, may be said to kill the soul; lest, I say, you should take this Ceremonial Law to be what the Apostle means by the letter which kills, let me tell you at once that he is speaking of the Decalogue, which is the most sacred part of the Law. Yes, those ten Commandments, which so openly and so solemnly forbid sin, are what the Apostle calls the letter which killeth. This is plainly to be gathered from the context. For St. Paul, immediately after having said that the letter kills, speaking of the Law, calls it a ministration of death engraven with letters upon stones (2 Cor. iii. 7). The ministration of death is undoubtedly the letter which kills; and the letters engraven upon stones, are they not the two tables given to Moses on which the Law was written by the finger of God? It is therefore most evident that it is this Law given to Moses, this most holy Law of the Decalogue, which the Apostle calls the ministration of death and consequently the letter which kills. This is why, in the Epistle to the Romans, he speaks of it in the most positive terms as a law of death (Rom. vii. 6) and a law of condemnation. He says

| that the strength of sin is in the Law (1 Cor. xv. 56); } that without the law sin is dead, and that the law gives it life; that sin betrays us by the command-

: ments of the law (Rom. vii. 8, 9, 11). And he adds 4 many other statements of similar import.

And yet how perplexing it all seems to us! Listen to these majestic words: Hear, O Israel, I am the Lord thy God; thou shalt not have strange gods in My sight (Deut. v. 6-7). Is it possible that they can be a letter which kills? can a Law so holy deserve such a title bestowed upon it by an Apostle of Jesus Christ? Let us try to unravel this entanglement, with the help of that Holy Spirit Who on this day filled the hearts of the Apostles. The question is not indeed an easy one to answer, it concerns matters far beyond the reach of unassisted human intellect; but as it is of the deepest importance to piety, God will give us grace to deal with it successfully. As regards myself, so fearful am I of going astray that I intend to follow closely step by step in the footprints of that incomparable guide St. Augustine, who in two of his works gives an admirable explanation of this great truth.

When St. Paul calls the Law a letter which kills, and speaks of it as giving new powers to sin, be sure that he is not blaming the Law, but deploring the weakness of human nature. If, then, you wish to understand the Apostle, learn first to know what are the deadly diseases, the paralysing languors, which have weighed us down ever since the Fall of our First Parent, from whom, as from the original stock, corruption and decay have spread through the whole human race.

And in order better to understand our infirmities, let us consider first what was the end for which our nature was destined. Assuredly, since it had pleased Almighty God to let a spark of that Divine fire which enlightens all intelligent creatures fall upon our souls, our actions ought undoubtedly to be guided by reason. Now there could be nothing more reasonable ee than to consecrate all that we are to Him Whose liberality has so richly endowed us; and therefore our most natural inclination should be to love and to serve God; in this the whole of our being should be at one, having no other aim and purpose. Then, passing on a step further, I say that the senses being inferior to the intelligence, the gifts and graces of the senses must yield to those of the mind; hence it follows in natural sequence that the affections of man ought to be so regulated that the mind should dominate the body, that reason should control the senses, and that the Creator should be preferred to the creature. It is very evident that nothing is more just, and that if human nature were only upright and incorrupt such would be its inclinations.

But, O my God! how far removed are we from such a state of things! how strangely perverted in this once noble disposition! Now, through the disorder induced by sin, our natural inclinations turn to very different objects; for certainly the majority of men follow their natural inclinations, and it is not difficult to see what it is in these days which rules and dominates the world. At the first glance one would be inclined to say that the senses hold undisputed sway there, that reason is cowed and trampled upon, that she can never gain a hearing unless she favours the passions, that we have no strong attachment except to creatures, and that if we go on in the same course we shall end by forgetting God. Heaven forbid that this should come to pass! Think for a moment what was the condition of the world before the preaching of the Gospel. Where, at that time, was the dominion of God? to whom then did His creatures offer incense? Who does not know that the whole earth was at that time so given over to idolatry, that this vast universe seemed to have been transformed into one huge temple of idols? Who does not shudder over the long array of heathen deities imagined, represented, worshipped only in order to make the august name of God contemptible? Who does not see in this prodigious number of false divinities the strange revolt of our nature, which, like a faithless wife forsaking her real husband, abandoned itself to an infinity of adulteries? For it is most certain that idolatry left nothing untainted upon earth; it was the crime of the whole world; and although God had reserved for Himself a small remnant in Judea, yet we know that even those people, the only ones in all the habitable globe who were instructed in the true religion, were so strongly impelled to forsake their God that neither His miracles, most amazing and most apparent though they were, nor His promises, magnificent beyond comparison, nor His chastisements, although so severe and appalling, were capable of restraining their passionate longing to embrace idolatry. So true is it that the human race owing to its corrupt origin has become naturally inclined to despise God, we see that it is so by this world-wide experience. And whence comes this natural inclination so contrary to man’s original trend of thought and action, if not from the contagion of that first sin by which, the very well-springs of humanity being infected, corruption became our second nature? *

*** All satirists, of course, work in the direction of Christian doctrine, by the support they give to the doctrine of original sin, making a sort of meanness and badness a law of society.’’—CANON J. B. Moztry, Letters, 888.

** The world as Machiavelli saw it, without a conscience, is the real world of history as it is.”’—Hartwic,

Ah! do not let us be afraid to confess our infirmities simply and honestly; let those blush for them who are ignorant of the remedy, who do not know the Deliverer.t+ As for us, do not let us shrink from laying bare our wounds and scars; let us own all the weakness, the languor, the caducity of our nature; nay, of what use would it be to deny what is so evident? Even if we tried to dissimulate and to conceal it, would not our whole life cry out against us? do not even our ordinary occupations show what is the natural bent of our desires and inclinations? Why do all philosophers agree that the path of vice is slippery? How is it that we know by experience that we not only naturally and of ourselves turn into it, but that we seem actually to be dragged into it; whereas if we would climb to those serene heights on which virtue has set up her throne, we must make a desperate effort, gather up all our powers of mind and body, and nerve ourselves for a struggle and a

+** There is a sentiment, noble and beautiful in itself, which has been much and often appealed to throughout all the perturbations and convulsions of society in France; this sentiment is enthusiasm for mankind—the enthusiasm of confidence, sympathy, and hope. ‘This feeling reigned supreme among us in 1789, and gave its resistless impulse to that epoch. There was no virtue that was not ascribed to man—no success that was-not hoped and predicted for him. Faith and hope in man took the place of faith and hope in God. The trial was not long deferred. The idol did not long retain its power. Confidence was soon convicted of presumption, and sympathy ended in social war and the scaffold. The hopes that were fulfilled appeared insignificant, compared with those that had vanished like dreams. Never did experience advance with such rapid strides to confront and overthrow pride.’”’—Guizor, Democracy in France.

** The natural man, whom the French Revolution discovered and brought to the surface, is, according to Taine, a vicious and destructive brute, not to be tolerated unless caught young, and perseveringly disciplined and controlled.”—Lorp Acron, The French Revolution.

conflict in which only incredible efforts can gain the victory? Knowing this as we do, is it difficult to recognise the tendency of our natural, our dominant inclinations? Do we not see too plainly that we turn instinctively to evil, that it requires an effort, and no ordinary one, to draw back and to extricate ourselves from its toils? This is why the teaching of the Gospel which can only nourish the understanding, has scarcely any hold upon our soul, whereas the things of the senses make so deep an impression upon it. I appeal to your consciences in this matter. Sometimes, when you are listening to an eloquent discourse on the mysteries of the Kingdom of God, do you not feel the fire of enthusiasm and zeal glowing within you? You form great designs, noble plans and aims fill your minds. And yet, when the moment comes for putting these projected works into execution, is it not true that one breath of the Evil One puts out that flickering fugitive flame, before it has set light to the fuel of our poor desires? Alas! so it is; we feel within us indeed some instinct—I scarcely know how to define it—which seems to us to be striving to lift us up to God, but we also feel a whole torrent of earthly desires, which with their opposing forces sweep us along with them and carry us away captive. Hence the sighs and lamentations of St. Paul (Rom. vii. 23) and of all the true servants of God, who complain that they are in captivity, and that in spite of all their good desires they constantly experience in themselves a certain resistance to the laws of God, which resistance constrains and torments them. Which among us, then, seeing even the great Apostle so vigorously assailed and so much distressed by this conflict between the powers of good and of evil at war within him; which of us (I say) would not be ready, casting away all pride and self-esteem, to confess before God, in the humiliation of his soul, that in truth our malady is a grievous one and that the wounds of this our fallen nature are deep and festering?

I know that the pride of this world’s wisdom cannot relish the humiliating teaching of Christianity. Nature, feeble and impotent though she is, has never been without flatterers who have puffed her up with their idle praises because they really have seen in her something worthy of admiration. Yes, they have seen this, but they have failed to see that the things which excite their admiration are only the poor remains of bygone splendour, the ruins of a once magnificent edifice, now overthrown, defaced, crumbling, yet still retaining some vestiges of its former beauty and of the skill and marvellous power of its great Architect. Thus we still see in our human nature, diseased, feeble, maimed and halting though it is, some traces of its original beauty; and human wisdom, wishing to deceive itself by this show of excellence, although perfectly aware of every defect and blemish, would rather cover up by pride the ugly scars than heal them by humility. I am willing to own that the majority of men are unconscious of this struggle and resistance which goes on within them; but then how many sick people there are who do not know what a deadly disease is lurking in their veins. This is really the most dangerous effect of our souls’ diseases, that we are reduced to concealments, and even to persuading ourselves in our insane pride that we are in excellent health. Yes, this is indeed my most grievous sickness and infirmity, that

I know not how to deplore my misery nor how to implore the succour of the Divine Deliverer, feeble and yet arrogant as I am, impotent and yet presumptuous.

Moreover, I am not surprised that, living as we do, we should be unconscious of the perpetual war which concupiscence carries on within us. If in swimming you follow the course of the river you feel that nothing could be gentler or more pleasant; but if you turn and swim against the current, then it is that you become aware how rapid it is, how strong, how difficult it is to make any headway in this opposite direction. Therefore it is that I do not wonder if you, leading a careless slothful life, making no effort to reach Heaven, never thinking of trying to rise above your earthly suroundings so as in some degree even here below to taste the joys of the supernatural life, if you (I say) should be unconscious of the resistance brought to bear upon you by concupiscence; you do not feel it because it is carrying you along with it; you are pursuing the same path and at the same pace, closely linked together; its impetuosity, its rapid unhesitating motions are therefore imperceptible to you.

Ah! but a St. Paul will feel it though you do not; because all his affections are centred in Jesus Christ, all fleshly longings wound and trouble him; because he loves the Saviour’s Law, all that is in opposition to that Law makes itself instantly and keenly felt by him. Let us only aspire to Christian perfection; let us only follow Jesus Christ a few steps along the narrow way, and our experience will very soon make us acknowledge our infirmity. It is then that being wearied by the persistent opposition of concupiscence, we shall confess that our strength fails us if Divine grace does not support us. For, after all, it is no human work to conquer this domestic foe who prosecutes us so relentlessly without giving us a moment’s respite. Being thus torn and lacerated in ourselves we are actually worn out and consumed by our own efforts; the more we flatter ourselves that we can recover and lift up our heads again by the exertion of our own natural vigour, the more we find that vigour waning and dwindling. We may compare ourselves to a poor dying man who would if he could cling to life a little longer, but knows not what to do to better his feeble suffering condition. He thinks he might be a little easier if he left his weary couch and took a few turns in his sick chamber. Even the effort which he makes in rising robs him of his little remaining strength; and struggling to drag his heavy stiffened limbs a few paces, he falls, like a stone, pulseless, motionless, more feeble, more powerless than before. So it is with our wills, if unassisted by grace. Now grace is not the Law; for if it were, Christ would have died in vain, and the great scandal of the Cross would have been usless. This is why the Evangelist says that the law was given by Moses but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ (John i. 17). From this I conclude that under the Old Testament all those who were obedient to grace were so through the merits of Jesus Christ and in that respect pertained to Christianity, because neither grace nor justification are by the Law. And therefore, to return to my text, I infer, with the Apostle, that the letter killeth.

Let us return to that sick man I was describing for you; that man who is a slave to his lusts which are his tyrants and masters, powerless for good, holding on el

(as the Council of Orange declares) no belief except — in falsehood and sin. What can the Law do for this man since it cannot give him grace? It speaks, commands, thunders in his ears; but of what use is this, seeing that the disease has so deep a seat down in the recesses of his heart? I have no hesitation in saying that unless the Spirit of Grace comes to his aid the Law, imperious, majestic with its fulminations of wrath and its inflexible precepts, will only stun the poor sufferer; it will indeed cow and terrify him, but it would be far better to cure his disease, and that the Law cannot do. What advantage, then, does the Law bring with it? It brings with it the clear knowledge of what evil is;* it lights a torch and holds it up before the sick man, showing him the way of life; it says to him: Do this and thou shalt live (Luke x. 28). But of what use is it to say this to the poor paralytic who has been bedridden for thirty-eight years? of what use to show him the miraculous pool whose waters could cure him? I have no man (John v. 7), he says sorrowfully; he must be carried, and it is impossible for the Law to carry him.

But, you will say, has the Law then no energy? Assuredly it has; and its energy is very great, but very pernicious to our sick man. It increases knowledge, and that increased knowledge increases the heinousness of his sin: it lays commands upon me as with the voice of God, it makes me comprehend His judgments. Before the Law came I did not

*“ The Gospel fastens the sense of evil upon the mind; a Christian is enlightened, hardened, sharpened, as to evil; he sees it where others do not.”—Canon J. B. Moztry, Essays, I., 308.

Nea

_ know, fully and with certainty, that God was my

Judge, nor that He had taken upon Himself the office of an avenger of sin.* Now the Law shows me very plainly that He is our Judge, since He condescends to be our Legislator. But what results from this knowledge? My sin becomes more inexcusable, my rebellion an act of still greater audacity. This is why St. Paul tells us that by the Law sin has abounded (Rom. v. 20), that it gives sin new strength, that it revives sin (Rom. vii. 9); because to all other sins it adds that of formal disobedience, which is the acme of all evils. What, then, does the Law do? It binds transgressors in the chains of eternal maledictions; for in that same Law it is written: Cursed is he who observes not that which is commanded in this book (Deut. xxvii. 26).

Now, do you not see clearly the full force of the

Apostle’s reasoning? For the Law only touching us externally has no power to heal our inward wounds and relieve our maladies; and yet, proceeding as it does from the mouth of God, it has power to condemn us. The Law, then, considered from this point of view, is nothing but a letter, which gives no support to weakness, but which condemns rebellion; which (as says St. Augustine) affords no relief to the sick, but bears witness against the sinner.

It is well that we should make our sick man fully aware of the extremity of his disease, so that he may the better estimate the infinite mercy of his Physician. We have said that our greatest evil is pride. What does the commandment do for a proud man? It only makes him more obstinate and persistent in

*Cf.. Joseph Rickaby, S.J., Moral Philosophy, 8rd_ edition, chap. ix., sect, iii., 7.

holding the opposite course to that prescribed, just as a stream which has overflowed its banks is chafed and irritated by every obstacle that comes in its way. And why is this? Because a proud man values nothing so much as his liberty, and shrinks from nothing so persistently as from dependence. This is why he delights in shaking off the yoke of the Law; he loves licence because it seems to him like the very overflow and riot of liberty. Our soul then being restless, indocile, impatient, to attempt to restrain it by discipline would only be to drive it to an extremity of revolt. Let us confess the truth: we find a certain sweetness in those things that are forbidden. us. The man who during the fast of Lent finds flesh food more delicious than ever, really cared probably very little for it before! Prohibition excites our appetites, and therefore creates a new enjoyment; and how can we explain the cause of this enjoyment except by remembering how delightful an outbreak of disobedient, lawless liberty is to a proud man, to whom, as says St. Augustine, ‘‘ the thing on which he has set his affections is all the dearer the less he is permitted to enjoy it? ’’ And this too is the meaning of St. Paul’s words: Sin, taking occasion by the commandment, seduced me, and by it killed me (Rom. vil. 11). Yes, it seduced me by that false sweetness which is born of prohibition. True, it is false, it is vain, but yet it is most fascinating to a proud soul and therefore most seductive. Thus we see that the Law by its prohibitions increases the pleasure of wrong-doing, and by that means stirs up concupiscence within me; concupiscence brings with it death: and therefore the Law kills me, not indeed by its own hand, but by the deadly poison of the sin

\ ae which through the prohibitions of the Law gains a mastery over me. Thus concupiscence has become by the commandment an even more abundant source of sin, that sin by the commandment might become sinful above measure (Rom. vii. 18).

Now, is it not clear as daylight that not only the precepts of the Decalogue, but also by an infallible consequence all the teaching of the Law, and even of the Gospel itself, are (unless we are aided by the Spirit) a letter which kills, which stimulates concupiscence by prohibition, and fills up the measure of sin by transgression? Where, then, is the utility of the Law? Ah! it is just at this point that we must pause to gather up the fruit of the Apostle’s wise teaching. Do not let us for a moment imagine that he would have debated with us so subtle a doctrine after the manner of the rhetoricians. No; St. Augustine says that the Apostle wished to show men how extreme was their incapacity, how deplorable their infirmity, since a law so just and so holy became to them a deadly poison; in order that we should humbly acknowledge that it is not enough that God should teach us, but that it is also absolutely necessary that He should help and succour us. Listen again to the great Apostle of the Gentiles, who, after having said all that I have been repeating to you about the Law, breaks out into this passionate lament over his own state of bondage: I delight in the law of God, after the inward man, but I see another law within me, fighting against the law of my mind and leading me captive under the law of sin; for the good which I will I do not, but the evil which I hate, that I do. Unhappy man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death? The grace of God by a ee ae

Jesus Christ our Lord (Rom. vii. 15-25). Here is the — conclusion of the whole matter, here is the answer to our questioning, here is the solution of our difficulties. Our weakness, our impotence, our spiritual paralysis, must lead us to this Divine grace. The Law only points out to us what we should ask of God and for what we have to thank Him; and this it is which makes St. Augustine exclaim: ‘‘ Do thus, O Lord! do thus, O merciful Lord! Command what cannot be accomplished, or rather command what can only be accomplished by Thy grace; so that all may bow down before Thee and seek Thy grace, and that he who glories may glory only in our Lord.”’

This is the true justification which does not come to us of ourselves, but is given to us by the Holy Ghost; this is that justification which is through faith, of which St. Paul speaks so highly, not as it is understood by our Protestant adversaries who say that all the virtue of justification lies in faith only. They have not grasped the meaning of the Apostle, as I will prove to you in a few words. If, says St. Paul, I should have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing (1 Cor. xiii. 2). Now if he is nothing he is not justified; faith, then, does not justify without charity; and yet it is true that it is the faith of Jesus Christ which justifies us, because that faith is not only the foundation, but also the well-spring from which streams down upon us the justice which is ours by grace. ‘For,’’ as says the great St. Augustine, ‘‘what the law commands faith impetrates.’? The Law says: Thou shalt not covet (Rom. xii. '7); faith says, with the Wise Man: I know, O great and Eternal God, that no man can be continent, unless Thou givest him the grace so to be (Wisdom viii. 21). God says in the Law: ‘‘ Do what I command’’; faith replies: ‘ Give, O Lord, that which Thou commandest.” Faith produces humility, and humility attracts grace; and it is grace which justifies (Titus iii. 7). Thus our justification is brought about through faith; faith is its beginning and root; and in that respect we differ from those carnal-minded people who only considered what actions the Law commanded, without paying any attention to the principle from which they sprang. When they read the Law they thought of nothing but of doing what it bade them do, giving no heed whatever to the important consideration of first asking for what they needed to enable them to do these things. As for us, we do indeed listen to the commands of God; but faith in Jesus Christ teaches us that it is from God Himself that we must expect the fulfilment of these commands. Thus, our justice does not proceed from works, in so far as they are done in our own strength; it is born of faith which, working by charity, is fruitful in good works, as the Apostle tells us (Gal. v. 6; Col. i. 10). Indeed, is not belief in Jesus Christ belief in a Saviour, in a Deliverer? and if we believe in the Deliverer, does not that prove that we are conscious of our bondage? if we confess the Saviour do we not at the same time confess our lost condition? Thus, acknowledging before God that of ourselves we are lost, we hasten by faith to Jesus Christ, seeking salvation in Him only. This is the faith which justifies us: to believe and to confess that we are dead and that it is Jesus Christ Who restores life to us. Do you believe like this? is this indeed the faith of all of us who call ourselyes Christians? If you do not H so believe, then you deny Jesus Christ as your Saviour, then for you Jesus is no longer Jesus, then all the virtue of His Cross ceases to be. But if we confess this truth, which is not an individual article of faith, but the foundation and basis of the whole fabric of Christianity, with what humility, with what ardour, with what perseverance ought we not to approach Almighty God, to render thanks for all that we have, and to ask for all that we need! If these words of mine have engraved deeply, ineffaceably upon your souls the necessity for Christian humility, self-renunciation, hope in the Deliverer, perseverance in reverent, submissive prayer, then indeed I shall be content. Let us pray always, ardently, unweariedly; let us learn from the Law how much need we have of grace. Let us listen to the words of the holy Council of Trent, which assures us that ‘“‘God in giving us His Commandments warns us to do what we can, and to ask for what we need to enable us to do what we cannot do of ourselves.”” We must understand from this teaching that there are some things which we are able to do, and others which we cannot possibly do, and if we do not ask for help to do these things, it will not be given to us. Thus we shall remain powerless, and our powerlessness will not excuse our sin; on the contrary we shall be doubly guilty, because we shall have fallen into the deadly error of not desiring the gift of grace. How absolutely necessary it is, then, that we should pray, and pray with all the fervent persistence of the beggar who can only live by the help of the charitable.* This is what St. Paul would have us understand in the passage which I have been

*** Our prayer is not directed to change God’s intention; but

\aa a4 trying to explain to you. He shows us our servitude and our feebleness, nay, more, our impotence and incapacity, in order that, being terrified by the menaces of the letter which kills, we may have recourse by prayer to the Spirit Who gives us life.

THE SPIRIT WHICH QUICKENS.

St. Paul, having taught us that grace and justice are not by the Law, inasmuch as that only enlightens the mind and is not capable of changing the heart, goes on to say: But what the Law could not do, God has done Himself, by sending His Son, Who has shed abroad in our souls the spirit of grace, that the justice of the Law might be accomplished in us (Rom. viii. 8-4); and, as a result of this, he says in another place that we are now no longer under the Law (Rom. vi. 14). In order to understand these words more clearly let us consider the beautiful distinction drawn by St. Augustine between the two conditions of being under the Law, and being with the Law. He tells us that these are two entirely different states of things. *For,’’ he says, ‘‘ the Law by its equity produces two great and important results: it either directs those who obey it, or it makes those who rebel against it punishable. Those who reject the Law are under the Law. Because they may be making vain efforts to wrest themselves from its control it curses them, condemns them, holds them pressed down under the that what God intends may be obtained by our prayers.”’— St. THomas Aquinas.

** Our importunity in praying makes no change in God, but it creates in us such dispositions as God thinks fit to reward.”— Bisnor T. WILson.

rigour of its ordinances; and consequently they are under the Law and the Law kills them. On the contrary,’’ continues St. Augustine, ‘* those who fulfil the Law are its friends, they go along with it, because they embrace it, follow it, and love it.”” Taking those things for granted, it follows that the observers of the Law are not under it as slaves, but are with it as friends. And as in the New Testament the spirit of grace is imparted to us, that spirit by whose aid the Law can be fulfilled, it is quite true that (as the Apostle says) we are no longer under the Law; because, if we follow this spirit of grace, the Law ceases to chastise us as our judge, it guides us rather as our rule. Thus, if we are obedient to grace to which we have been called, the Law no longer kills us, but rather gives us that life of which it contains the promise, as it is written: Do these things and thou shalt live (Luke x. 28). Hence it follows most evidently that it 1s the Spirit which quickens us, for the reason why the letter kills us is that it only proclaims our condemnation in our ears, a warning threatening cry that may pierce our brain but never reaches our heart. Now, the Spirit acts from within, not from without; it goes to the very source of the malady; it drives out the low desires, the craving for sensual pleasures which hold us captive, and fills the empty space with pure love and deep delight in the eternal joys which grace offers to us; it is this Spirit which makes us friends of the Law, because, conquering all that concupiscence which resists it, the equity of the Law through the influence of the Spirit attracts and draws us. You see, then, that it is through the Spirit that we are the friends of the Law, that we are with it, not under it; and thus it is the Spirit which quickens us; the more so as it writes within the Law, which kills us when it only thunders in our ears outside the citadel of our hearts.

This is the new covenant of which Jeremiah prophesies: The time will come, saith the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel, not according to that which I made with their fathers, but this is the covenant which I will contract with them, I will imprint My law upon their souls and I will write it in their hearts (Jer. xxxi. 31-38). The meaning of this prophecy is very plain. The first Law touched only the outward man, the second will put forth all its strength in the soul; this is why Almighty God tells us that He wrote the first Law upon stones, but the second He will engrave upon the heart. In short, the first Law, descending like a thunderbolt but striking only from without, did indeed shake the soul with terror, but the second will by love work a change in that soul; and if we want to get to the bottom of this mystery, I would only ask you to consider what effect fear has upon our hearts. It astounds them, it shatters them, it shakes them to their very foundation; but I maintain that it is impossible for it to change them, because the feelings excited by fear are forced and constrained. The wolf just as he is about to spring upon the sheepfold sees shepherds and dogs on their guard; famished though he may be, he will slink away and do no mischief that time, but this does not mean that he is any the less ferocious, any the less greedy for his prey. Or to take another example. You meet a party of highwaymen: if you and your companions chance to be the stronger and the better armed, the highwaymen will accost you with apparent civility, but all the same they are thieves and desperate ones, and would assuredly rob you if they got the opportunity. Fear, then, stifles the passions; it seems to repress them for a time, but it does not pluck them up by the roots. Clear away this obstacle, remove that dyke, inclination which was only kept back by force will flow on again in its old course with all its old impetuosity; showing most plainly that, though not apparent for a while, it was alive all the time in the secret depths of the heart, bridled but not conquered, held in but not destroyed.

This is why St. Augustine, speaking of those who kept the Law solely out of fear of its penalties, not from love of true justice, pronounces this terrible but most reasonable sentence: ‘‘ They are none the less criminal because of what they appear to be to their fellow-men. In the sight of God, to Whom the deepest recesses of our hearts lie open, their works which have such fair seeming, having no good-will as their source and motive power, are worth nothing. He sees that they would far rather commit crime if only they could do so with impunity.’’? Thus, according to the teaching of this great Doctor, fear is incapable of changing the heart. Consider for a moment the stone on which God wrote His Laws; has it lost any of its solidity and hardness? was it changed in any way for the reception of those venerable words, those sacred precepts? No, it is easy to see that these were only graven on an outer surface, smooth, firm, impenetrable;—a type or figure by which God would have us understand that it is with our hearts as with a stone; that the Mosaic Law only touches them by fear, that their hardness is not softened by it, that the Law always remains, so

\ ee to speak, on the surface of our hearts.* Hence it is that the Council of Trent, speaking of fear of the penalties of the Law, gives us a very clear definition, in contradiction of the teaching of the Lutherans; the Council declares this fear to be “‘ an impress of the Spirit of God,’’ and since it was so well founded on the formidable judgments of God, why should it not come from His Holy Spirit? But the Tridentine Fathers go on to explain themselves more clearly and to tell us that ‘‘ it is an impress of the Spirit of God Who does not as yet dwell within us but only moves and urges us.’’ Hence it follows indubitably that fear of punishment cannot imprint the Law upon our hearts.

In truth, nothing but charity can soften them. Our disease is attachment to creatures; its cure, its perfect health, must, then, be in attachment to God. A perverse distorted love has maimed, crippled, poisoned us; only a holy Divine love can set us right again: ill-regulated, disorderly passions have led us captive, nothing but a true delight in all that is pure and good can break our chains and make us free; only affection for the one perfect, unchanging happinessf can root out our affection for what are but joys

*Cf. C. G. Montefiore, Origin and Growth of Religion, sect. ix.; and Bishop Gore, The Sermon on the Mount, chap. i., sect. ii.

+Bossuet ruthlessly exposed the extravagances and illusions of Fénelon’s amie, Mme. Guyon; and effectively, if somewhat truculently, combated the Semi-Quietism of Fénelon, who, in his Mawims of the Saints, taught that to be in a state of perfection here below one must be animated by the pure love of God without any deliberate desire of happiness or fear of punishment, that self must be put entirely out of the question. Fénelon, in his book, retained the name of hope, but not the thing itself.

We can neyer in this life reach a state of perfection in which acts of hope will not be necessary. Hope and the desire of in seeming, the fleeting perishable joys of earth; love, and love alone, holds the master-key of the heart. © Love, Divine love, then, must dilate our hearts and open them to receive in their inmost depths the dew of Divine grace. Then indeed our souls will be wholly changed; no longer a table of stone written upon from without in characters that do not go below the surface, but a tablet of wax all penetrated and melted by the warmth of a celestial fire.

Now you see what Jeremiah means by the Law engraved in our hearts. Henceforth will there be anything in those hearts but what we would have there? What we love becomes to us a law; and therefore I shall not be wrong if I say that love becomes the law of our hearts; and thus Divine beatitude are, during our life on earth, compatible with perfect charity. Further, to desire for oneself beatitude in order to God’s glory pertains to perfect charity. Cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, qq. 23-29; also F. von Hiigel, The Mystical Element in Religion, vol. ii., pp. 152 sqq.

The late Bishop J. C. Hedley, O.S.B., wrote: ‘‘ The doctrine intended by Fénelon, in his Maxtmes des Saints, and as explained by him during his controversy with Bossuet, has never been censured, although the opposite party laboured hard for its condemnation. Fifteen years after the condemnation of his book, we find him restating to Pope Clement XI. (who, as Cardinal, had drawn up the brief of his condemnation) in careful scholastic language the doctrine intended by himself, but which he himself had misstated in his popular treatise. As there were errors, the other side, whatever the crudity or novelty of some of its contentions, whatever its motives or methods—and some of them were far from creditable—was sure in the end to succeed. And it is well that it should have succeeded as far as it did succeed.”

** Theologians remark,”’ writes the Rev. H. C. Semple, S.J., in the American Ecclesiastical Review, ‘‘ that to make an act of love or perfect contrition and be justified we must have not only faith in God, but also hope in Him; that we would not love God good in Himself, if we did not believe in Him and hope in Him as also good and loving to us; that we could not love God with charity, which is friendship and mutual love, unless we knew and believed God to be a reward to those that seek Him.”

love ought to be the law of the heirs of the New Covenant, because they ought to carry their law in their hearts. The ancient Law was written upon stone; nothing is more motionless than that; it is therefore a dead, inanimate law. We must have a living Law; and what can this living Law be but the living love of the one sovereign good, which the finger of God, that is, His Holy Spirit, writes and imprints in the depths of our souls, when He sheds forth into them the unction of charity? The charity of God, says St. Paul, is poured forth into our hearts by the Holy Ghost Who is given to us (Rom. v. 5). Charity is, then, that living law which governs us and stirs us inwardly; and this is why the Spirit quickens us, because He imprints in our souls a living Law which is the Law of the New Covenant, that is to say, the Law of the love of God. Consequently who could doubt for a moment that charity is the spirit of the New Law and the soul (so to speak) of Christianity, since it was predicted so long before the Birth of Jesus Christ that the children of the New Covenant should have the Law engraved in their hearts by the inspiration of Divine love?

As a natural consequence or result of these principles, in which I have simply followed out the lines laid down by St. Augustine, the diligent exponent of St. Paul’s doctrine, I have no hesitation in saying that anyone who only submits himself to the Law out of fear of its penalties, cuts himself off from Christianity and returns to the letter which kills and to the captivity of the Synagogue. To convince you of this truth, I ask you in the first place to consider for a moment who and what we are; are we children or servants? If God treats you as servants, then be contented with serving Him as a Master; but if He sends you His own Son to tell you that He condescends to adopt you as His children, can you not love your Father? Now St. Paul teaches us that we have not received the spirit of bondage in fear, but that God has given us the spirit of the adoption of children, whereby we call Him Father (Rom. viii. 15). How, then, can we call Him (as we do daily) our Father, if we deny Him our love? Moreover, let us consider in what manner He has adopted us; was it by constraint or by love? Ah! we know well that it was by love and by an infinite love. God so loved the world, says our Lord, that He gave His only-begotten Son that He might save it (John iii. 16). Tf, then, our God has loved us so much, how can we hope to repay His love, except by loving Him in return? ‘‘ And the more so,”’ says St. Bernard, ‘ because love is the only thing in which we are capable of imitating God. He judges us, we do not judge Him; He gives to us, He has no need of our gifts; if He commands we ought to obey; if He is displeased with us we ought to tremble; and if He loves us, what ought we to do? We ought to love Him: that is the only thing which we can do in regard to Him.’’ And indeed how criminal are those children who do not wish to imitate so good a Father! Should we stop short at considering God as a Father? No; let us now consider Him as a Sovereign. As a King He commands us, but there is no command which He lays upon us so strenuously as that of loving: Thou shalt love, He says, the Lord thy God, with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole strength (Deut. vi. 5). Has Almighty God ever spoken with greater energy? And what does our Divine Lord say? He that loveth Me not, keepeth not My words (John xiv. 24). He, then, who loves not Jesus Christ, since he does not keep His commandments, violates the majesty of his King.

Shall we speak now of the gifts which God bestows upon His servants, and from the quality of which we judge of the love which He requires of us in return for them? What is the one great gift which God gives tous? It is the Holy Ghost. And what is the Holy Ghost? What but the eternal love of the Father and the Son? What is the peculiar work of the Holy Ghost? Is it not to create, to inspire love in our hearts, and to shed forth in them charity; and consequently whoever despises charity rejects the Holy Ghost? And yet it is the Holy Ghost Who quickens us. Truly this is an inexhaustible subject; were I to pursue it, the inductions which I should draw from it would be endless. There is not a mystery of Christianity, there is not an article of the Creed, there is not a petition in the Lord’s Prayer, there is not a syllable in the Gospel, which does not cry to us that we must love God.

This God made Man, this Word Incarnate, what did He come down into the world to do? With what pomp or display did He begin His teaching? Did He descend from Heaven wrapt in clouds and mystery? Did thunder and lightning, a smoking mountain, a voice like the trump of doom, proclaim His Majesty? —a voice uttering these terrible words: Depart; let none but My servant Moses draw near; every man and every beast approaching the mountain shall die the death (Exod. xix. 12, 18)? The Mosaic Law was given with this awful solemnity, this fearful restriction. How great a difference in the Gospel ceremonial! how great a change in the language which the Eternal God now addresses to us! Could anything be gentler, kinder, more encouraging than the dealings of our Divine Lord with us His poor suppliants? He sends none away from Him; nay, not only does He endure the presence of the greatest sinners, but He calls them to Him, He goes out to meet them: Come to Me, He says, and fear not; come to Me, all who are heavy-laden, and I will help you to bear your burdens (Matt. xi. 29); come, all you who are sick, and I will cure you; come, you who are hungry, and I will feed you; come, publicans and sinners, draw near to Me, I am your Deliverer.

And what, think you, is the explanation of this change? Why this loving condescension of a God Who thus familiarizes Himself with us? Is it not evident, even to our dull minds, that He desires to banish servile fear; and that He is resolved at whatever price, even (dare I say it?) at the expense of His own greatness, to make Himself loved? Tell me, was it to make Himself feared that by His own will He hung upon the Cross? Was it not rather that He might extend His arms to us, and open to us in every one of His Sacred Wounds a well-spring of love? Why does He give Himself to us in the Blessed Eucharist, if not to show us in a very ecstasy of love the burning fervour of His Divine Heart when He deigns thus to unite Himself to us? Does it not seem as though, unable to endure our coldness, our indifference, our disloyalty, He would by His own Presence light up in our lifeless hearts the fire of Divine love? But how, then, shall we excuse our negligence? What cloak can we find to cover and to hide our ingratitude? May we not well exclaim

\e with St. Paul: If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema (1 Cor. xvi. 22)—a sentence as just as it is terrible? Yes, truly, he that loves not Jesus Christ ought to be accursed; the earth should open beneath him, and bury him alive in Hell’s deepest dungeon; the heavens should be as brass above him; all living creatures should with one voice declare war against him, the traitor, the rebel, the base ingrate who loves not our Divine Redeemer.

But, alas! terrible as it is that I should have to say so, it is we ourselves who are the traitors, the rebels, the ingrates! Can we dare to say that we love our Lord? Jesus Christ is no mortal man whom we can deceive. He looks down into the deepest depths of our hearts and sees there no love for Him. When you love any human being, do you for the merest trifle, the most unimportant reason, break with him? do you scorn and trample under foot every thing that he gives you? do you grudge him every moment of your time, thoughts, words? There is no living man whom you would treat thus; and yet this is the way in which you treat the Divine Lord! He has bound you to Himself by the closest ties of friendship, you continually violate them; He gives you His Sacred Body, you profane It; you have pledged your faith to Him, you break your pledge again and again; He entreats you to love your enemies, you refuse to do it; He commends His poor to you, you despise them; there is not a member of His Divine Body that your blasphemies do not dishonour. How, then, can you escape the Apostle’s terrible but most just excommunication: If any man love not our Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema?

Ah! and how can I myself escape it, ungrateful, shameless sinner that I am? O Almighty and Eternal God, Who rulest all hearts as it pleases Thee, if any one of us loves not our Lord Jesus Christ, grant him Thy grace that he may love Him.

Yes, let us love God with our whole heart! We are not Christians if we do not at least strive to love Him, if we do not at least desire to have this love, if we do not fervently ask for it of that Divine Spirit Who quickens us. I would not say that we are compelled under pain of eternal damnation to attain to the perfection of charity.* No, we are poor sinners; the Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ will atone before God for our faults, provided that we do penance for them. I do not (I repeat) tell you that we are obliged to have the perfection of charity; but I do tell you most emphatically that we are bound to aim at it, to tend towards it, according to the measure of grace given to us, and that if we do not do this we are not Christians. Charity is of the very essence of Christianity;f when you refine your charity, you

*Cf. St. Bernard, On the Love of God, English trans. by E. G. Gardner, Litt.D. (London, 1915), chap. xi.; also St. Francis de Sales, On the Love of God, English trans. by Canon Knox Little (London, 1902), book iii., chap. i., and book x., chaps. i.-ii.

• ‘* Alexander, Cesar, Charlemagne, and J myself have founded great empires; but on what did these creations of our genius depend? Upon force. Jesus alone founded His empire upon love, and to this day millions would die for Him.’?—Napo.eon.

‘* There is One Man Whose tomb is guarded by love; One Man Whose grave is not only glorious, but beloved; there is One Man, and One only, Who has for ever established His love upon earth, and that Man is Thyself, O Jesus.’’—LacorpDaIRE.

“* You say it is hard to suffer. No, it is easy; it is happiness. Only we must love what we suffer, and suffer whilst we love. On the way of the cross, you see, my children, only the first step is painful. Our greatest cross is the fear of crosses.’’—The Curé d’Ars.

““The mother watching by the side of her sick child would

_- oni

Xe are preparing pure gold for the adornment of Heaven. St. Paul tells us that only charity will endure in Heaven: Faith will give place to the vision of God; to Hope will succeed fruition; but Charity never falls away (1 Cor. xiii. 8). Not only is it crowned like Faith and Hope, but it is itself their crown. Charity alone is worthy of Heaven, worthy of the glory of Paradise; it alone will be reserved to shine as pure gold before God eternally, it alone will be reserved to burn eternally before God as a holocaust of the sweetest odour. Let us begin to love on earth, since we shall never cease to love in Heaven; let us begin to practise charity in this world, so that one day it may be consummated in its eternal abiding-place in the courts of Heaven.

shrink from the thought that she is doing what duty bids; duty is swallowed in love. The Saviour spoke not of duty, but of love; and millions of hearts respond to His appeal, for hundreds who are swayed by the cold and imperative command of duty.’’— Bisuor J. L. SpaLpING.

“The commandment of Love is the final law of the universe, although everything in nature and in man seems to disprove it. Love is the sole law which should govern the moral world. It is a doctrine difficult to believe, as the law is difficult to practise; but the law is final. It is the last word that has been uttered by Divine and human philosophy.’”—Rrv. Canon P. A. SHEEHAN.

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