p. 178 | The Life-battle by Cuyler

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 5, 1861

The Life-battle.

By Cuyler

"So fight I," says Paul, "not as one that beateth the air. But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection." The literal translation is, I strike under the eye, making it black and blue. This is a boxing phrase indicative of the sharpest, sternest efforts at self-mortification. As one who should say—I conquer my fleshly appetites by violent and re-iterated blows, and bring them into subjection. I lead my body along as a conquered captive. It is a beaten antagonist. My wicked, lustful nature is thus vanquished, "lest that by any means when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway."

Here is a tremendous warning to every one of us—a warning founded on our double danger—first from evil appetites of the body, and also from evil affections of the heart. Paul, the heroic apostle of Jesus, so felt his actual danger that he tells us that he bruised and beat down his sensual passions, lest having saved others he might himself be finally lost. In the phrase before us he especially refers to the bodily appetites. "I keep the body under," i. e., I smite it under the eye! Paul—like other men of energetic make and ardent temperament—was very probably tried with strong temptations to excesses of the passions, both physical and moral. He has not chosen to let us into all the secrets of his character. He knew nothing of the modern pseudo-science of phrenology; nor would he have been one whit the wiser if he had. He does not tell us how often "acquisitiveness" tempted him to pocket the "collections" sent up to the saints at Jerusalem; or how often he fell through the sore stress of his "destructiveness," his "amativeness," or his "combativeness." Such jargon he leaves for modern empirics in the mysterious science of the mind.

But methinks I see the wrestlings of a stern and furious struggle between the holier and the baser natures of one of God's heroes in that profound and plaintive seventh chapter of the epistle to his Roman brethren. I seem to see a stout soldier of the cross, with uplifted arm, and swollen sinew, crying out "ὑπωπιάζω σῶμα"—I beat down my baser self. I give no quarter to my lusts. I strangle my appetites till they grow livid in the face. I vanquish my inner foes that God may make me stronger to vanquish his foes without me. Lest, having saved others, I, Paul, the converted blasphemer of Damascus, should only prove to be a pitiful wretch and castaway.

For Paul claimed no immunities from danger through his position. That a man is a professed minister of the Lord Jesus is no assurance that he may not be cast into hell. He has "like passions" with his fellow-men. The same ravening lusts that have decimated the bar and the senate-house, have left their blood-prints on the pulpit stairs. Along the whole track of ministerial biography, there lie strewed, here and there, the bleaching bones of those unhappy victims who fell a prey to the spoiler. Paul, to be sure, never fell. To the last he kept his faith, and the integrity of a godly life. And the simple secret of this continence and this constancy I read in these brave words, "So fight I, not as one that beateth the air. I keep my body in subjection, lest that by any means when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway."

Shall we restrict the scope of this life-battle to sensual appetites alone? Paul did not; he extended it to all the wicked propensities of his mental and moral nature. The war which every

Christian has to make must be universal and unsparing on the whole brood of interior passions. The sudden insurrections of anger—the malicious whisperings of green-eyed envy—the acid tongue of censoriousness—the clutchings of greedy covetousness—the restless cravings of unsanctified ambition—the subtle sophistries of deceit—the uprisings of bigotry and spiritual pride—all these and every other like them in the great rebel army of the heart, must be met with the same indiscriminate "war to the knife." He who would keep his conscience clean, and his life holy, must wage this life-battle without compromise and without quarter.

I. Let us offer a few concise rules for the conduct of this spiritual life-battle. Our first counsel is—beware of the silent marches which the flesh will steal upon you. We are fearfully and wonderfully made; the combination of body and spirit is such that each one re-acts upon the other in a manner that is most direct and yet most mysterious. The encroachments of the "flesh" upon the spiritual nature are astonishingly quiet and insidious. The cravings of healthy appetite may gradually lead to the excesses of gluttony. Put a knife to your throat. Tampering with so-called innocent stimulants has sent many a professor of religion to the grave of the inebriate. The cup of coffee led to the glass of wine; the wine to the brandy; and the brandy to perdition.

With all possibilities of self-indulgence come temptations. Luxury steals silent marches on Christians when prosperity brings within their reach a fine equipage, or high living, or splendid establishments. There is hardly a Christian in New York who lives when worth ten thousand dollars a-year just as he lived when hard toil gave him only one thousand or one hundred. Men change their habits gradually; not suddenly. A man may be converted in a moment. Backsliding is the process of months or of years. By degrees tippling grows into intemperance; by degrees the social evening entertainment prolongs itself into the midnight frivolities of the rout, the ball-room, and the play-house; by degrees a church-member exchanges the prayer-meeting for the opera. Beware of the silent marches of the enemy.

II. If you find that the contact of certain persons and places is dangerous to your weaknesses, then avoid those persons and places, cost what it may. If you are temptable by a wine-cup, then keep out of convivial company. If you have tendencies to run mad with over-mirthfulness, then stay away from those circles in which you are tempted to turn the Christian into the harlequin. If the sight of a picture or a person invariably excites libidinous thoughts, then look somewhere else. It is not every young Christian who can be trusted even to walk through certain streets in our great cities. A "besetting sin" may lurk in that very street.

A man’s besetting sin is the one that jumps with his inclinations. Does he love ease? Then he always interprets those Providences in his own favor that allow him to sit still, or to enjoy his hammock. Does he love flattery and éclat? Then he imagines that he is working for God, when he is only working for human applause. Here is a dangerous foe; all the more so from its wearing the honest guise of a friend. Look out for selfishness. It is the "old Adam" lurking behind every hedge. Like Southern slavery, it will only keep the peace on condition of having its own way. If not, then its stiletto is unsheathed in a moment. It is a polite and plausible, but a godless spirit. Keep no league with it. A Christian is never safe unless he is continually collaring every evil passion of his nature, and forcing it into unconditional submission.

III. Finally, put on the whole armor of God—the shield of faith, the breast-plate of righteousness, and the sword of the Spirit. Leave no spot exposed. Ahab was wounded through the joints of the harness. In the heat of the conflict look to Jesus the Captain of your salvation; and never surrender. Toward the sunset of the long bloody day of Waterloo, when the surviving remnant of the old Imperial Guard were summoned to lay down their arms, the scarred veterans of fifty victorious fights cried out, “The Old Guards can die; but they cannot surrender.”—Cuyler.