Free The Case Against Satan by Ray Russell Page B

because of reason or logic that I accept God. I accept Him because I just
know,
in my nerves, that He exists. Faith. But my faith in the Devil is—weak. Shaky. I am as sure of God as I am sure I am standing here, on this floor, grasping this chair. I’m
sure,
I tell you!”
    â€œGood,” said the Bishop almost in a whisper. “I believe you. Tell me. Why are you sure?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Gregory said flatly.
    Slowly, the Bishop suggested, “Would you say you are sure God exists because, perhaps, God wants you to be sure?”
    â€œI suppose so . . .”
    â€œYes or no?”
    After a pause, Gregory said, “Yes.”
    And the Bishop nailed him: “Then—could it be you are sure Diabolus does not exist because Diabolus wants you to be sure of
that?”
Gregory threw up his hands. “It’s logical, isn’t it?”
    Smiling faintly, Gregory said, “I thought we had abandoned logic.”
    â€œThat was you,” the Bishop smiled back. “I haven’t.”
    Letting the argument mark time for a bit, the Bishop idly examined the books that lined the walls. The priest’s library was both Catholic and catholic. The great and near-great writers of his persuasion were represented: the works of Claudel, Mauriac and Bernanos in the original French; the Englishmen Chesterton, Waugh and Greene; Augustine and à Kempis, ofcourse; Cardinal Newman; Farrow’s
Damien the Leper
was there, and Gerard’s
Autobiography of a Hunted Priest;
the complete
Lives of the Saints
and the
Catholic Encyclopaedia
 . . . “All the Catholic intellects,” said the Bishop; and, spying other names such as Kafka and Baudelaire, he added, “and a few non-Catholics, too.”
    â€œDo you think they’ve corrupted me?” Gregory asked, good-humoredly.
    â€œWe corrupt ourselves,” said the Bishop. “If a man can be corrupted by a few books, I doubt if there was anything there to begin with.” Casually, he asked, “Don’t you hate people who ask if you’ve read them all?”
    â€œI have a standard reply,” said Gregory. “‘Yes, and some of them twice.’”
    â€œRead much Kafka?”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact; a good deal.”
    Touching a book, the Bishop said, “I see you have the
Prose Poems
of Baudelaire. Remember the one in which he says, ‘The Devil’s cleverest wile is to convince us he does not exist’?”
    â€œNot particularly. And if I did—he was a heretic writer, remember: you think it’s a good idea to enlist his aid in your argument?”
    â€œWell,” chuckled the Bishop, “I wasn’t having much luck with dogma, was I?” He turned back to the bookcase and touched another book. “This Kafka chap, now. I can’t claim to have read much of him, but I do remember one little thing he wrote somewhere. He said, ‘One of the Devil’s most effective tricks to waylay us is to pick a fight with us. It is like a fight with a woman which ends in bed.’”
    The Bishop turned to Gregory. “I’ve never had anything against your psychiatric dabbling, Gregory. You may think me an old fogy, but I try to keep up with the times. I’m aware of the work Father Devlin, the analyst, has been doing in Chicago. All of this is fine, but I wonder if you haven’t allowed yourself to be seduced by some of the more materialistic views of possession and exorcism? I know, for instance, that demonic possession is considered by many psychiatrists to be no more than an ancient way of saying mental illness. I know that the case in Luke of thewoman bowed down by Satan for eighteen years is called hysterical paralysis, and that Christ, in an exorcism mentioned in Mark, is said to have cured a case of what would be called acute mania today. The concept of God and Diabolus struggling for the human soul is accepted only