¡Així no, president! ¿Guerra civil?

José I. González F.

www.religiondigital.com / 06.10.17

Dijo hace poco el papa Francisco que estamos ante una “tercera guerra mundial”, pero que hoy las guerras tienen otro formato, distinto de las clásicas. Me pregunto si eso mismo será aplicable a la situación española: ¿estamos en una nueva guerra civil? Aunque quizá hemos progresado algo y ya no se dispara con armas de fuego sino con fuego de afectos.

En cualquier caso, quizá valga la pena recordar las célebres palabras de Pío XII en los años cuarenta: “nada se pierde con la paz, todo puede perderse con la guerra”. Temo que vayamos a perderlo todo: porque, en este tipo de guerras, ya no hay vencedores ni vencidos: sólo víctimas por ambas partes, unas más a corto y otras más a largo plazo.

Es muy probable que la guerra no sea propiamente entre Cataluña y el resto de España, sino entre los descendientes de aquellos locos que gritaban “antes roja que rota” y los otros locos que cantaban: “de la sang dels castellans, en farem tinta vermella” (haremos tinta roja con la sangre de los castellanos) y que, más que representar, suplantan a sus respectivos pueblos. Ambos grupos muestran que el fanatismo es el único campo donde se cumple aquello de “todos los hombres son iguales”.

Así, frente a un Rajoy vengativo que parece buscar sólo la humillación del rival, aparece un Puigdemont vanidoso que “ya se siente presidente de un país libre” (según declaró a la revista Bild); al menos Artur Mas había dicho que el día en que se declarara la independencia, renunciaría él a ser presidente. Por si fuera poco, el discurso del rey (que hasta ahora siempre me había parecido correcto en sus actuaciones, y que esta vez parecía escrito por Rajoy), ha venido a echar más leña al fuego. De modo que “éramos pocos y parió la monarquía”, si me dejan parodiar aquel dicho castizo sobre la abuela.

Hasta ahora he gritado contra la hipocresía de Rajoy, porque todo lo que ha ocurrido se veía venir y él prefería no verlo. Pero creo llegado el momento de gritar también contra la bajeza de Junqueras y Puigdemont, que sabían perfectamente que estaban violando el Estatut de Cataluña, saben también que los datos referendarios que ofrecen no pueden tener validez jurídica y que la declaración unilateral de independencia es un riesgo mayor que construir una central nuclear en una zona sísmica. Pero siguen empujando a su pueblo hacia un Chernóbil político, mientras fingen obedecerle.

En ese contexto, permítaseme una comparación con el proceso que llevó hasta algo tan increíble como la Alemania de Hitler. Aclaro de entrada aquella sabia precisión latina: “comparatio non tenet in omnibus” (una comparación no vale en todos los puntos). Por tanto no estoy queriendo decir que Junqueras y Puigdemont sean nazis, ni que busquen un imperio, ni que vayan a eliminar judíos o a instaurar una dictadura. No digo nada de eso (aunque me acusarán de haberlo dicho).

¿Dónde está pues la comparación? En los estados de ánimo: en el tratado de Versalles en 1919, Alemania había sido víctima de una paz injusta y humillante. La república de Weimar podría haber ido funcionando como terapia lenta, a menos que apareciera un loco que se aprovechase de los sentimientos heridos. Pero ese loco apareció y todos le siguieron mecidos e ilusionados por sus promesas. Luego hemos dicho muy alegremente que los alemanes eran racistas, cuando sólo habían sido engañados y llevados a un callejón sin salida, donde había que jugarse la vida propia y la de la familia, si uno quería hablar en favor de la justicia. Por eso prefirieron no saber y luego ocultar avergonzados la pasión que habían sentido por el Führer.

En esta misma dirección, Puigdemont y Junqueras han sido como donjuanes que seducen a doña Inés y luego se limitan a repetir: “es lo que ella quería”. Daba pena daba oír algunas voces ilusionadas tras la manifestación del pasado 11 de septiembre, que decían: el año que viene ya será distinto y celebraremos este día en una Catalunya libre y feliz. ¡Qué contraste con el pánico irracional que ha comenzado a gestarse hoy ante el anuncio de que el Banco Sabadell traslada su sede social a Alicante y quizá no sea el único! Ya comienza a hablarse de corralitos y hay gente que quiere sacar sus depósitos bancarios cuanto antes, con riesgo de producir eso que se llama profecías autocumplidas, tan típicas del miedo. Es posible que Junqueras y Puigdemont suscriban aquellas palabras que oí a una religiosa: “prefiero pasar hambre siendo independiente, que comer siendo española”. Respetable; pero una decisión de ésas, ¿puede imponerse a todo un pueblo sin haberle avisado antes?

Soy consciente de cuántas bofetadas van a traerme estas líneas. Pero, si siempre he creído que debía solidarizarme con una Cataluña maltratada por el PP (verdadero culpable de las atrocidades policiales del pasado domingo), creo que ahora debo solidarizarme con esa media Cataluña maltratada por la otra media: con Isabel Coixet (cuyo artículo del miércoles en El País llenaba de tristeza), con Ángels Barceló, con Joan Manel Serrat, con Pere Casaldáliga (que hasta ayer seguía “lúcido a pesar de su párkinson y que ahora de repente “se ha vuelto chocho”) y con los pobres niños, hijos de policías o de padres no independentistas, cuyas infancias han sido destrozadas y de los que uno ya no sabe cómo cuajarán en personas, sin que nadie diga que eso del bullying también tiene aplicación aquí.

Ignacio de Loyola tiene fama de buen psicólogo. Desde la espiritualidad ignaciana que intento seguir, la solución parece tan simple como difícil: que cada uno mire allí donde no quiere mirar: no a ese único punto en el que tiene fijos los ojos, sino a eso otro punto (propio o ajeno) que de ningún modo quiere ver. Pero esto han de hacerlo todos. El artículo citado de Isabel Coixet lo recomendé a un amigo y me contestó que no valía la pena leerlo porque, “siendo de El País, ya se sabe lo que dirá”. Eso es exactamente lo que no hay que hacer y lo que somos más inclinados a hacer: desautorizar los argumentos no por lo que dicen sino por quién los dice.

El evangelio de Lucas cuenta una escena, aplicable a lo que estoy queriendo decir: Jesús parte con los suyos de Galilea a Judea y, al atravesar Samaría, son maltratados y mal recibidos por los samaritanos. Esto lo deja muy claro el texto.

Entonces, dos de los discípulos más significativos (Santiago y Juan) reaccionan de una manera desproporcionada y vengativa. Jesús “les riñó” por eso. Y algunos manuscritos dan palabras a esa riña: “no sabéis de qué espíritu sois”. Pues bien: hermanos Junqueras y Puigdemont, en otros aspectos podéis ser tan excelentes personas como Santiago y Juan. Pero en este tema concreto “no sabéis de qué espíritu sois”.

Carta a Don Mariano Rajoy

José I. González F.

www.religiondigital.com / 22.09.17

Le escribo desde un desacuerdo con la actitud del Govern de la Generalitat, (que me parece antidemocrática y poco ética), y desde una preocupación grande por todo el mal trato que están sufriendo y soportando en estos momentos los catalanes no independentistas. Creo importante decir esto de entrada para que sepa que es desde aquí, y no desde un sentimiento nacionalista, desde donde me siento obligado a decirle que es Usted el responsable último de todas estas tragedias. No es buena norma de convivencia atender sólo a la falta de razón del otro, para dispensarse de examinar la propia falta de razón.

Y a Usted creo que le falta razón, por mil razones como éstas:

- Por su negativa a abordar un problema político que realmente existe, procurando que se lo resolvieran los jueces, dando al tribunal constitucional unas atribuciones penales que superan su carácter de arbitraje y creando esa increíble y sucia “policía patriótica”.

- También por esa conocida máxima suya de que muchas veces “lo mejor es no actuar”, que ha llevado a que lo que antaño pudo ser sólo un tumor incierto se haya convertido hoy en un cáncer. Hace tiempo le escribí una carta (que no creo leyera) diciéndole que el proverbio ese chino de “sentarse a la puerta hasta que veas pasar el cadáver de tu enemigo”, no funciona siempre: a usted le ha funcionado cuando su enemigo eran unas izquierdas tantas veces divididas por haber llegado a confundir izquierdismo con egoísmo. Debo reconocerle que, a veces, admiré su astucia en este punto. Pero no siempre vale ese proverbio; y puede llegar un momento en que, en vez del cadáver, llega a tu puerta el tigre que lo ha devorado…

- También por haber tolerado que una ministra de su gobierno (de defensa para más inri) dijera hace poco aquí en Barcelona que “la bravuconería separatista bajará los brazos dentro de poco”, dejando clara la pretensión de resolver el problema humillando a muchos catalanes e ignorando la fácil paráfrasis de una frase del escritor Tertuliano que seguramente conocerá Ud (“la sangre de mártires es semilla de nuevos cristianos”), y que ahora puede sonar así: la humillación de catalanes es semilla de nuevos independentistas. ¿Cómo puede un político ser tan ciego como para no entender esto?

- También porque, aunque ahora diga Usted: “no me hagan llegar hasta donde no quiero llegar”, ha sido Usted el primero que se embarcó en esa ruta que lleva a donde ahora no quisiera llegar. Usted que, siendo el gobernante que más desigualdades ha creado entre los españoles, apelaba precisamente a que “no puedo tolerar desigualdades entre los españoles”, para no afrontar el problema catalán…

No quiero entrar ahora en si las últimas actuaciones de la guardia civil y demás son criticables o no. Pero sí quiero decirle que era obligación primariamente suya el que no hubiera que llegar hasta ellas.

Comprendo que, por todos esos y otros factores más, se encuentra Usted ahora en una difícil situación de inferioridad: porque no sé yo qué pasará el 1 de octubre: si habrá referéndum, o no, declaración de independencia o no; lo que creo percibir es que, ahora, el interés de la Generalitat es que ese 1 de octubre haya más policía, más represiones, más detenciones, más porrazos si es posible… Y que todo eso sea visto en el mundo entero.

Con lo cual se encuentra Usted en el peor de los dilemas: si no actúo, mal; si actúo, quizá peor… Sé también que, aunque no hubiera nada el 1 de octubre, no por eso se habrá resuelto nada: sólo se habrá agrandado un problema que es ya demasiado grande. E intento comprender también que se encuentra Usted preso en la vieja contradicción de su partido, que ha pretendido unir una derecha que quiere ser civilizada, con una extrema derecha franquista y agresiva sin la cual no podría Usted en modo alguno ganar ningunas elecciones. Me temo que esa unión un poco contra natura se ha roto ahora y los escombros le caen encima a Usted.

Desde este deseo de comprender, le pido perdón si he sido duro. No tengo nada contra Usted, e intento vivir una espiritualidad centrada en aquella máxima: “todo hombre es mi hermano”; y mi enemigo es también mi hermano; y los que me abofetearán por un lado y por el otro, por haber escrito esto, son también mis hermanos y quiero amarlos “para ser hijo del Padre de todos que está en los cielos y que hace llover y salir el sol sobre catalanes y españoles y sobre independentistas y constitucionalistas” (cf. Mt 5,44-45).

Desde el afán de vivir así (y aun sintiéndome lejos de esa meta) es desde donde me atrevo a decirle que haría Usted un gran favor al país si tuviera el coraje de presentar su dimisión por haber dejado que las cosas llegaran a una situación a la que nunca debieron llegar.

Quizá, puestos a soñar, sería mejor que dialogara Usted con el señor Puigdemont para llegar a un acuerdo más o menos como éste: se suprime el pseudoreferéndum del día 1 (digo “pseudo” porque muchos de los que dicen que irán a votar, le niegan sin embargo el carácter de referéndum, y lo califican sólo como una movilización).

Bien: llámesele como se quiera, se desconvoca lo del día 1 de octubre y, a cambio, tanto Usted como Puigdemont (representantes además de los dos partidos más corruptos de España), dimiten y convocan unas elecciones, generales y autonómicas, en las que ni Usted ni él se presentarán como candidatos. Sería un diálogo mucho más auténtico que ese de “sólo voy a dialogar cuándo retira Usted el referéndum”; o “sólo voy a dialogar la fecha y la pregunta del referéndum”…. Frases ambas dignas de figurar en aquel viejo “Celtiberia show” del señor Carandell.

No soy tan ingenuo como para esperar que esto ocurra. Pero sí creo que, si algo así sucediera, sería un gran beneficio para todos los ciudadanos y un buen ejemplo para todo el mundo.

Un saludo cordial desde alguien que no quiere dejar de ser hermano suyo (ni de nadie), por más que me sienta obligado a criticarle.

Søren Kierkegaard, philosopher, 11 November 1855

Søren Aabye Kierkegaard is considered the father of the philosophical movement called existentialism.

In a Danish film, Ordet ("The Word", based on a play by Kaj Munk--see 5 January), one character appears to be insane. Someone asks his brother:

"Has he always been like this?" 

"No, he became this way while at the University." 

"A love affair?" 

"No, reading the works of Søren Kierkegaard." 

Whenever I have seen the film, this line elicited general laughter, since the audience was a student crowd, and most knew enough about Kierkegaard, if only by reputation, to get the point.

Often, the details of a philosopher's life are irrelevant to his philosophy. Who cares how many brothers and sisters Aristotle had? It does not affect his concept of Categories. With Kierkegaard, however, the life does matter to the student of the philosophy.

Kierkegaard's father, Michael Pederson Kierkegaard, was a farm laborer who led a desperately unhappy life of grinding poverty. One day (I gather while he was still in his teens), full of rage at his lot, and God's apparent indifference to it, he stood on a hilltop, shook his fists at the sky, and solemnly cursed God. Soon after, by a series of strokes of remarkable good fortune, he prospered, and ended a long life by dying a rich man. However, he carried a tremendous burden of guilt for his cursing, and his life was not happy, for his wife and five of his seven children died within a space of two years, and he felt that God was punishing him.

His youngest child, Søren Aabye Kierkegaard, was born in Copenhagen in 1813. He went to the University to study theology, but later switched to philosophy. When he learned of his father's boyhood curse, he was shaken to the core. He became for a while a stranger to both God and his father, but later became reconciled to both. In 1840, being 27 years old, he was betrothed to Regine Olsen, ten years younger. He loved her, but he had come to believe that he was called to probe the dark, unhappy side of existence, and that he could not ask Regine to share this unhappiness with him, or make her understand what he was thinking and feeling, and that he ought to break off with her for her own good. She loved him, and was not willing to be dumped for her own good. He decided to behave so badly that when it became known that the betrothal was off, everyone would assume that she had broken off with him. He then ran off to Berlin for six months, to let the dust settle. (Mark Twain said: "Never tell a woman that you are unworthy of her. Let it come as a surprise.") The episode had a deep effect on him, and he comments on it in several of his books. For example, he compares his willingness to renounce his fiancee for the sake of his vocation to Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac. However, he expected that, even without ever seeing each other again, they would continue to have a "spiritual union," trusting that God would somehow make the impossible possible and bring them together eventually. Kierkegaard never married. Regine married Fritz Schlegel and accompanied him to the Danish West Indies when he was appointed governor thereof. Kierkegaard felt deeply betrayed by her action, and refers to it several times in his later books. He made her his sole heir.

Over the next few years, he wrote and published a series of books:

• Either/Or: A Fragment of Life (1843)
• Fear And Trembling (1843)
• Repetition (1843)
• Philosophical Fragments (1844)
• The Concept of Dread (1844)
• Stages on Life's Way (1845)
• Concluding Unscientific Postscript to The Philosophical Fragments: a Mimic-Pathetic-Dialectic Composition, an Existential Contribution (1846)
• Edifying Discourses in Divers Spirits (1847)
• Works of Love (1847)
• Christian Discourses (1848)
• The Sickness Unto Death (1849)
• Training in Christianity (1850)

He published most of his work under a variety of assumed names, so as to make the point that they were not a single consistent point of view. Often a later book would reply to arguments found in an earlier book.

Most philosophical writers before Kierkegaard, both Christian and otherwise, undertake to explain reality, to offer a view of it that makes sense. Consider, for example, Georg W.F. Hegel (1770-1831), whose views dominated philosophical study in Kierkegaard's day. He was considered by his admirers to have found the key to explaining, in principle, just about everything. His position was called Dialectical Idealism. "Dialectic" refers to the process of examining a idea (thesis), working out its implications and consequences and applications, and thereby finding difficulties (antithesis) that require the discarding of the original idea and the adoption of a modified form of it (synthesis), a new idea. We then examine the new idea (thesis), and repeat the process. The goal of the process is the final thesis, God, alias the Absolute. (Find a sleeping freshman who is taking a philosophy course, whisper "Hegel" in his ear, and he will murmur, "thesis, antithesis, synthesis.") German professors of religious history, influenced by Hegel, wrote papers on Judaism, Hellenism, and Christianity as thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. They discussed the history of the early Church in terms of Peter (who wanted to preserve the simple teachings of the Jewish rabbi, Jesus), Paul (who wanted to abandon the Jewish aspects of the faith, abolish the requirement of circumcision, and turn the whole thing into a mystery religion like Mithraism), and Luke (who in the book of Acts undertook to portray Peter and Paul as allies rather than enemies). [Please note: their descriptions of the apostles, not mine.] Thesis, antithesis, synthesis! They wrote histories of the formation of the Hebrew Scriptures in terms of the J document, the E document, the combination of the two to form the JE document (synthesis), and so on. Their opponents accused them of manufacturing theories to fit Hegel's pattern, and then forcing the evidence to fit the theories. But to many scholars, it seemed that Hegel had made sense of everything. (Marx, in contrast with Hegel, called his philosophy dialectical materialism. He said that the fundamental fact of history was not the succession of ideas, but the succession of material and economic systems. Feudalism, working out its consequences, destroys itself and leads to capitalism. Capitalism, working out its consequences, destroys itself and leads to socialism. But these are not logical or conceptual consequences, but physical or material ones. Hence the term "dialectical materialism." But I digress.)

Kierkegaard was convinced that this whole approach is a mistake, that the world is a mysterious and often frightening place, and that explanations that try to make it less so are dishonest. Traditional philosophers (sometimes called "essentialists" to distinguish them from Kierkegaard and other "existentialists") are like a man sitting in an upper window overlooking the street and watching a parade go by, and undertaking to describe the parade, noting the various components of the parade and how they interact. But man is not really like a bystander watching a parade. He is like someone who, not by his own choice, is marching in the parade. And this is crucial to his experience of the parade. One cannot distinguish the observer from the observed, subject from object.

Kierkegaard also laid great emphasis on the notion that freedom means that man must choose arbitrarily, with no criteria to guide him. If he can give any reasons for his choice, then the choice is determined by the reasons and is not truly free. This notion of freedom he and many others find both convincing and terrifying.

The book by Kierkegaard most widely read in survey courses in philosophy is Fear and Trembling, which deals with Abraham's choice when God commanded him to sacrifice his son Isaac. How could Abraham know that it was God and not Satan who was talking to him? Is not murder wrong? If we say that God makes the rules of morality, and so good means whatever God happens to command, we then find that the statement "God is good" no longer means anything except, "God wants whatever God wants." Moreover, the view that God can and will simply redefine the standards of morality whenever it suits Him is incompatible with what we read four chapters earlier, where God speaks of judging the wicked city of Sodom, and Abraham says, "What if there are some good men in the city? Will you destroy the righteous along with the wicked? Far be that from you [alternate translation: Shame on you]! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" (Genesis 18:25) And so Kierkegaard struggles with the meaning of Abraham's choice, and talks about something called "the teleological suspension of the ethical." And students remember the phrase, and parrot it back on the final exam.

A friend of mine who writes songs took a course in Philosophy of Religion, and during a lecture on Kierkegaard wrote the following, which I reproduce with his permission. He also wrote a catchy tune with guitar accompaniment, but I will not try to reproduce these. Make up your own. (Note: Schleswig-Holstein is the object of a longstanding border dispute between Germany and Denmark.)

Now, children, since you've worked so hard, 

we'll spend a little time on Søren Kierkegaard. 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

This fellow, Søren Kierkegaard, 

was a Dane that didn't want to think too hard. 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

Søren Kierkegaard refused to niggle 

with Georg Wulfgang Friedrich Higgle. 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

Søren called for a radical schism 

with dialectical idealism. 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

Now, God told Abraham his son to slay, 

and if he'd done it, 'twould have been okay, 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

But, just as Abraham raised the knife, 

God said, "Spare that young man's life!" 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

God said, "Abe, do you feel ill-used?" 

and Abe said, "No, just a mite confused." 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

"But I'm Abraham, and you're God, you see, 

so whatever you want's all right with me." 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

This God may seem a dictatorial cat, 

but German Lutherans are all like that. 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

For man views God in his own image, 

and Søren was deutsch from start to finnage. 

     (Søren, we'll spend a little time on you.) 

That's the end of the theological session, 

and the start of the Schleswig-Holstein question. 

     (Søren, we have spent a little time on you.) 

In his later years, Kierkegaard became convinced that it was his mission to attack the complacency of the established church. The Lutheran Church of Denmark was the official Church of the country, recognized and subsidized by the government, but, still more to the point, it was accepted by polite society, and Kierkegaard saw this as dangerous. The Bishop of Copenhagen was a scholar of impressive achievements, respected both as a theologian and as a scientist. Kierkegaard describes him as follows (I quote approximately from memory):

It is Sunday morning, and the bishop is scheduled to preach at the cathedral. In his liturgical robes, he ascends the pulpit. His graying hair adds a touch of wisdom to his already striking and dignified appearance. The Royal Family is present, and several rows are filled by members of the Danish Academy of Science. Glancing over the rest of the congregation, one sees bankers, lawyers, judges, wealthy merchants. The bishop begins to speak. "Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, my text this morning is taken from 1 Corinthians 1:28. Behold, God has chosen you for himself, you, the despised and rejected of the earth." And no one laughs.

He waged a campaign against what he saw as a complacent and compromising Church, spending both fortune and health recklessly, until after two years he collapsed in the street and was taken to a hospital where he died a month later, on 11 November 1855.

For a while, immediately after his death, he was largely forgotten, but then interest in his writings revived. They struck a chord in many readers, Christian and non-Christian alike. Thus, when a new edition of his works was issued after his death, one editor was a convinced Christian, and the other two were atheists. His work has deeply influenced not only professed Christian philosophers like Paul Tillich, Karl Jaspers, and Karl Barth, but also atheists like Jean-Paul Sartre, Martin Heidegger, and Albert Camus, and Jews like Martin Buber.

I close with two extracts from his writings.

From Fear and Trembling:

Then Abraham lifted the boy up and walked with him, taking him by the hand, and his words were full of comfort and exhortation. But Isaac could not understand him. Then he turned away from Isaac for a moment, and when Isaac saw his face a second time it was changed, his gaze was wild, his expression one of horror. He caught Isaac by the chest, threw him to the ground and said: "Fool, do you believe that I am your loving father? I am an idolater. Do you believe that this is God's command? No, it is my own desire." Then Isaac cried out in his anguish: "God in heaven have mercy on me, God of Abraham have mercy on me; if I have no father on earth, then be Thou my father!" But below his breath Abraham said to himself: "Lord in heaven, I thank Thee; it is better that he should think me a monster than that he should lose faith in Thee."

When the child is to be weaned, the mother blackens her breast, for it would be a shame for the breast to look pleasing when the child is not to have it. So the child believes that the breast has changed, but the mother is the same, her look loving and tender as ever. Blessed is the one who needs no more terrible means to wean the child.

Abridged from Sickness Unto Death:

There is so much said now about people being offended at Christianity because it is so dark and gloomy. But the real reason why man is offended at Christianity is that it would make of a man something so extraordinary that he is unable to get it into his head.

Imagine the mightiest Emperor that ever lived; and imagine some poor peasant, who would think himself fortunate if he could but once catch a glimpse of the Emperor, and would tell his children and grandchildren of this as the most important event of his life. Suppose that the Emperor were to send for this man, who had not supposed that the Emperor knew of his existence, and informed him that he wished to have him as a son-in-law. In all probability, the peasant, instead of being delighted, would be offended, since he would suppose that this could mean only that the Emperor wanted to make a fool of him! 

And now for Christianity! Christianity teaches that every man, say an ordinary man who would be quite proud of having once in his life talked with the King of Denmark, can talk with God any moment he wishes, and is sure to be heard by Him, that for this man's sake God came into the world to suffer and die. If anything would stun a man, surely it is this. Whoever has not the humble courage to believe it, must surely be offended by it.

LinK: http://elvis.rowan.edu/~kilroy/JEK/home.html   

Martin of Tours, bishop and theologian, 11 November 397

Ar

mistice Day (Veterans' Day, Remembrance Day), 

11 November 1918

Martin was born around 330 of pagan parents. His father was a soldier, who enlisted Martin in the army at the age of fifteen. One winter day he saw an ill-clad beggar at the gate of the city of Amiens. Martin had no money to give, but he cut his cloak in half and gave half to the beggar. (Paintings of the scene, such as that by El Greco, show Martin, even without the cloak, more warmly clad than the beggar, which rather misses the point.) In a dream that night, Martin saw Christ wearing the half-cloak. He had for some time considered becoming a Christian, and this ended his wavering. He was promptly baptized. At the end of his next military campaign, he asked to be released from the army, saying: "Hitherto I have faithfully served Caesar. Let me now serve Christ." He was accused of cowardice, and offered to stand unarmed between the contending armies. He was imprisoned, but released when peace was signed.

He became a disciple of Hilary of Poitiers, a chief opponent in the West of the Arians, who denied the full deity of Christ, and who had the favor of the emperor Constantius. Returning to his parents' home in Illyricum (Yugoslavia, approximately), he opposed the Arians with such effectiveness that he was publicly scourged and exiled. He was subsequently driven from Milan, and eventually returned to Gaul. There he founded the first monastary in Gaul, which lasted until the French Revolution.

In 371 he was elected bishop of Tours. His was a mainly pagan diocese, but his instruction and personal manner of life prevailed. In one instance, the pagan priests agreed to fell their idol, a large fir tree, if Martin would stand directly in the path of its fall. He did so, and it missed him very narrowly. When an officer of the Imperial Guard arrived with a batch of prisoners who were to be tortured and executed the next day, Martin intervened and secured their release.

In the year 384, the heretic (Gnostic) Priscillian and six companions had been condemned to death by the emperor Maximus. The bishops who had found them guilty in the ecclesiastical court pressed for their execution. Martin contended that the secular power had no authority to punish heresy, and that the excommunication by the bishops was an adequate sentence. In this he was upheld by Ambrose, Bishop of Milan. He refused to leave Treves until the emperor promised to reprieve them. No sooner was his back turned than the bishops persuaded the emperor to break his promise; Priscillian and his followers were executed. This was the first time that heresy was punished by death.

Martin was furious, and excommunicated the bishops responsible. But afterwards, he took them back into communion in exchange for a pardon from Maximus for certain men condemned to death, and for the emperor's promise to end the persecution of the remaining Priscillianists. He never felt easy in his mind about this concession, and thereafter avoided assmblies of bishops where he might encounter some of those concerned in this affair. He died on or about 11 November 397 (my sources differ) and his shrine at Tours became a sanctuary for those seeking justice.

The Feast of Martin, a soldier who fought bravely and faithfully in the service of an earthly sovereign, and then elisted in the service of Christ, is also the day of the Armistice which marked the end of the First World War. On it we remember those who have risked or lost their lives in what they perceived as the pursuit of justice and peace.