The Discipline of War | Page 4

ways.
So intimately bound up is it with every part of our life, apparently so
infinitely the most real part of us, that we often think of it as being our
true self. Yet every cell and fibre of it changes in the course of seven
years. Therefore in itself it cannot maintain our identity. Have you ever
pinched your nail, right down at its base, and watched the dark mass of
congealed blood making its way to the tip of the finger, and then
dispersing? This gives you some idea of the pace at which the body is
being burned up and renewed.

All the while the personal "I" remains, deep-seated in the
self-conscious intellect, memory, will.
Of course the body plays an immensely important part in the complex
story of our existence. It is the machine by which the personal self acts,
speaks, loves, hates, chooses, refuses; therefore we can neither ignore it
nor despise it.
The popular notion concerning religion is that it is meant only for the
salvation of the soul. If this were so, then the coming of the Holy Ghost
would have sufficed for all needs.
One manifest purpose of the Incarnation was to give to the body the
possibility of holiness here, resurrection hereafter.
Very marvellous is the dignity conferred upon the body by the fact the
"Word was made flesh." From that flows forth the high position of the
Christian, whose body is a "temple of the Holy Ghost."
It is through the body that we receive the Sacraments, which are means
of grace to the soul.
Did time permit, it would be deeply interesting to trace out the use of
the word body in this connection--the natural body of our Lord, His
spiritual body after the Resurrection, His mystical body, the Church, in
which sense He Himself is called "the Saviour of the body" (Eph. v. 23),
His Sacramental Body, of which He says, "This is my body."
The discipline of the body.
The thought is prominently before us at the present moment, and first
let us look at it from its purely material side. Thousands of youths who
a few months ago were slouching, narrow-chested, feeble specimens of
underbred humanity, have now-expanded into well set up, hardened
men. The body has been disciplined by drill, exercises, route-marching,
and the like. Those who return from the war uninjured will, we may
hope, be in such improved condition as may somewhat compensate for
the terrible loss of vigorous life which is taking place.

Had there been universal military training of the youth of our land for
the past few generations, either the present war would never have taken
place; or the results of the first three weeks of it would have been vastly
different from what they were.
Now take another significant fact: letter after letter from the front says,
"We are all very fit." The average "fitness" in the trenches is, broadly
speaking, higher than that of training camps at home, especially of
those where little or no supervision is exercised as to strong drink. How
plainly this shows that hardness, even of an extreme character, braces
up the body; softness and self-indulgence enfeeble it.
S. Paul affords a wonderful illustration of this; obviously a man of very
delicate health, frequently ill (probably this was the thorn in the flesh),
yet accomplishing vast labours, and, in addition, buffeting his own
flesh lest it should get the upper hand.
Here, then, we reach the first great principle in the discipline of the
body. It must not have its own way, or it will infallibly assert its sway
over the man's real self.
That is what happens in the case of the habitual drunkard or the slave of
lust. That which at first is a temptation, perfectly capable of being
resisted, becomes at last what the doctors call a "physical" craving that,
humanly speaking, cannot be overcome. By constant yielding the will
has been weakened to such an extent that the personal "I" no longer
reigns; the usurping body has taken its place and rules supreme.
Let us take the main thought of self-control, which is the true rendering
of the word temperance, the state in which, as S. James says, the man is
"able to bridle the whole body" (S. James iii. 2), and test ourselves by it
this Lent. Am I retaining my dominion over my body, or is it gradually
pushing itself into my place?
Self-examination, honestly performed, will reveal this at once, for
conscience, unless blunted by neglect, will speak infallibly.
For instance, when you find some indulgence of the flesh concerning

which you say "I can't help it," there your body has vanquished you. It
is absorbing your personality, robbing you of your divine birthright, in
which you say, "I will,"