That being said, what I didn’t know then but do know now, is that the “priesthood of all believers” doesn’t qualify every Christian to do all the same works in all the same places and at all the same times. Every part of Christ’s body battles the devil to different degrees, and to ignore distinctions between members is a very dangerous business indeed. Roman Catholic canon law forbids the laity any use of formulas of exorcism or their corresponding sacramentals (e.g. exorcized salt, oil and water). The exorcists undergo professional training. Even those who possess a certain charisma or gift of sensitivity for detecting demonic presence (and deciphering diabolical possession from, say, psychological illness) must have a reputation for being humble, prayerful and rejecters of money and theatrics, before they are publicly acknowledged and commissioned.14 Although we may find some of these restrictions legalistic, one must never forget that an exorcist acts on behalf of the Church at large—the Church militant—and not as an individual. For the same reason, the catholic and apostolic Church has authorized only ordained priests to preside over the mass and only divinely called pastors to preach publicly. When lay people attempt demonic warfare in a non-transparent and private manner, they deprive themselves of the full power and capacity offered by the Church universal. “If all were a single member, where would the body be?” (1 Cor 12:19) This happened to be my error with Lisa.
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Lisa fell into one of her trances as we strolled out of her mother’s dilapidated bungalow and passed in front of the weathered garage door. It was mid-summer, early afternoon. After a few steps, she froze in a stupor, except for her arms that swayed at her sides like rubber bands. Standing still as a mannequin, her head fell forward, motionless. This time, in this trance, something was different. She was not herself. More accurately, she was not there at all—something else was. I stepped away from her and asked God for guidance through a very short prayer with my eyes wide open. I had nothing to lose. I felt a bit paranoid, especially if it all turned out to be an immature prank. I began to address—what I thought might be—a demon. A wave of terror swept over me and I broke into a cold sweat. It all seemed so surreal. Lisa started to tremble slightly, head still hanging low, her face hidden under a veil of thick dark hair masking her sinking frame. To my surprise, I heard a deep voice protrude from a mouth that normally produced a high-pitched tone. It stated simply, “she’s mine,” after which the host resumed her ordinary state. No foaming at the mouth or 360 degree head spins. Yet those two simple words spoken in the third person sent chills up my spine. What an accurate expression summarizing its possession: “she’s mine.” It turned out that it was right.
St. Augustine, who is one of the first Christians to develop a formalized “demonology,” describes demons as discontented entities. Despising their creaturely status and envying human beings, they seek to enter human bodies and take residence therein, like a thief breaking into a house. Their ability to succeed is partially determined by whether or not the owner has left the door unlocked, or even left it swung wide open in an inviting manner. Actually “demon possession” is etymologically misrepresentative. Satan can never “possess” anything entirely (at best he can “borrow”) since the one true God remains the giver of all things. He alone retains the exclusive title of “Maker.” In the end, it is the devil’s greatest frustration.15 He remains a creature in spite of his ambition to become the Creator. Even hell is not under his rule. There, he suffers worse than all. In short, the demons feel themselves to be unfulfilled, dissatisfied with their place in life, driving them to usurp that of other creatures.16 But no matter where they are or what they do, they will never abide in joy. It sounds all too familiar. We too share in this error in our unhappiness with regards to our stations in life: jealous of our neighbours’ success or vocations, wife or husband, home, children, and whatever else belongs to him or her. We fraternize with the league of demons in our nebulous longing for membership in a more “suitable” church, life in a flashier city, the salary of a more lucrative job paired with a more exalted position, and all the other sins against the last commandments. We unobtrusively grumble, “If only I was God, I would do things differently.” Lucifer shared this same sentiment even before our creation.
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The nature of a demon is a subject worth pondering. The word “demon” comes from the Greek daimon, which can be translated as “instrument” or “tool.” Ironically, demons do not want to be what they are. Loathing their instrumentality, they reject their place in the cosmological hierarchy. Our Lord warns, “When you see the abomination of desolation standing where he ought not to be (let the reader understand), then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains” (Mark 13:14). Unlike their angelic brothers, they refuse to remain God’s messengers and helpers, taking residence in places to which they are not assigned. Along with punk rock star Iggy Pop, they “lust for life,” but not their own. They want ours. Like us human beings, they are dissatisfied with their position in life. They reject their identity as servants and wish to seize the place of the king. They abhor being “used” and lust to be “ends,” even though that unique position is already fulfilled by God Himself who is the single end of all things.
The Lord is the sole source of peace, rest, love, and joy although the demons adamantly deny it (while we often resist it). Accordingly, every creature’s fulfilment is uniquely in Him. Even unbelievers know this to be true intuitively. The secular world too has its prophets. The novels of Henry James and Ernest Hemingway impart a message that all human choices lead to dissatisfaction. A disproportionate number of poets commit suicide. True peace and rest for the Christian are found solely in God because, at the end of the day, at the end of our life, at the end of the world, we have one single use. Just as a light bulb finds satisfaction solely in an electrical socket, having no other use, so too, worship is the manner in which human beings are plugged into God, their unique source of eternal contentment. But due to our sinful and corrupt nature we have allied ourselves with the devil, a false plug and empty hole: the begetter of death, robber of life, root of all evil and vice, instigator of envy, font of avarice, fomenter of discord, and author of all pain and sorrow. We are clueless to the fact that our simple dissatisfactions betray our true allegiance. Yet just like the demons, we do not want to be what we are. Notwithstanding our identity as children of light we are all too easily attracted to the shadows and the darkness. The rhetoric of human servanthood and instrumentality rings inherently offensive, suggesting images of oppression by eighteenth-century slave drivers mistreating their human property. Characteristic of the demonic is scorn of one’s true identity and spurn of one’s place and role in God’s order. Accordingly, demons are riotous monsters of chaos. In the Eastern Church sin is not described in terms of a deliberate wilful opposition to God. Instead, the sinful nature is framed within a discourse of man’s inability to know himself and God clearly: a confusion of identity. During one exorcism, a demon was quoted describing hell in the following way:
Everyone lives folded within himself and torn apart by his regrets. There is no relationship with anyone; everyone finds himself in the most profound solitude and desperately weeps for the evil that he has committed.17
For creatures that find their satisfaction, fulfilment and peace in something that lies outside of their own personhood, hell is the absolute expression of navel-gazing—useless.
According to St. Augustine, demons are restless and confused creatures. Therefore, they never enjoy peace. To put things very mildly, they are like spoiled bratty children who don’t get their way and throw a tantrum—for eternity. Still, they remain more powerful and clever than a neighbourhood