It is worth noting that much of modern atheist thought uses this basic idea as the thesis whose conclusion is, “The spirit does not exist.” This too is a false conclusion, but its proper resolution is the subject matter of another discussion.

The most striking historical conclusion drawn by the followers of gnosticism was that the action of the flesh was immaterial because only the soul was eternal – and the knowledge of the soul was available only through the mind, and not the body. This juxtaposition of goodness of mind vs. goodness of body was a common theme of Greek philosophy well before the birth of Christ. Indeed, the whole of Plato’s Phaedo is permeated with a sub-text of this philosophical argument, which the text itself surfaces. Socrates walks his disciples through a clear definition of what death is (“the separation of soul and body”). And throughout the text, Socrates is resigned to his fate even as his disciples try to convince him to flee.

There is one particularly striking exchange between Socrates and his disciples, in which they discuss the notions of absolutes (e.g. “absolute justice,” “absolute beauty,” “absolute good”). Socrates leads his disciples down a line of questioning that appears to culminate in the statement, “And he attains to the knowledge of them in their highest purity who goes to each of them with the mind alone.” This philosophical notion of “mind alone” appears to justify gnosticism – and modern anti-incarnationalism as well. But it does not end there. Almost immediately after making this observation, the line of questioning changes, albeit subtly. Socrates says to Simmias, “And when you see a man who is repining at the approach of death, is not his reluctance a sufficient proof that he is not a lover of wisdom, but a lover of the body, and probably at the same time a lover of either money or power, or both?” Simmias assents, and then Socrates goes into a discussion of two primal virtues which philosophers must attain to: courage and temperance.

At this point, the exchange seems to continue along the lines of measuring courage as the fear of something worse than death and of temperance as the fear of something worse than its lack: “For there are pleasures which they must have, and are afraid of losing; and therefore they abstain from one class of pleasures because they are overcome by another.”

But Socrates is no fool. He is well aware of the internal contradiction of this line of reasoning. It is explicit in the text (“For the courage and temperance of other men, if you will consider them, are really a contradiction.”). But he is also hopeful for something better: “Yet the exchange of one fear or pleasure or pain for another fear or pleasure or pain, which are measured like coins, the greater with the less, is not the exchange of virtue.” Virtue, it is to be hoped, can be attained to on its own account, without regard for the punishments due to those who lack virtue and even, ultimately, without regard for the rewards of those who do attain to it.

The point of all this, however, is to observe the extremely ancient history of the body-vs.-mind mentality not only in religion but in philosophy as well. Plato was recounting the life of his mentor, Socrates. Socrates himself probably did not come up with his entire philosophy on his own but would have learned it from older folk, expanding upon it in his own turn (and rather significantly) but not inventing it completely on his own.

Most of us know, of course, how the Phaedo ends: Socrates drinks the poison and dies. This final act demonstrates that towards which Socrates was guiding his disciples throughout the entire dialog: while it may be true that only the mind can perceive true philosophy, the mind can attain to that perception only if the body is willing to act. In the case of Socrates, as in the case of Christ, this act of the body required the ultimate sacrifice, death itself. Thus, the very basis of the Christian creed requires the body’s action in religious matters. No mere feeling for the incarnational (or the anti-incarnational) is really of any consequence. That which is incarnate (literally, “enfleshed”) must commit itself. Or else the soul cannot attain to anything.

This is, in fact, the same conclusion drawn by the early Christians. How could one ever attain to a real spirituality unless one first disciplined the body, say, with a monastic life? How could one ever understand the Holy Writ unless the body participated, say, by reading the Scriptures out loud, perhaps with particular attention to the beauty of one’s surroundings and the discipline of the lectio, and in the prayerful company of one’s brethren? And how could one ever understand the motive and consequence of Christ’s redeeming act upon the cross unless one were truly drinking the blood – the same blood, albeit under different appearance – as that which was shed at Golgotha? The body must act in order for the mind to attain anything. This is the law of nature written not just upon our hearts but upon our hands and feet and mouths and noses and ears. The early Christians were no fools, either. These very simple observations were not lost on them.

The juxtaposition of mind-vs.-body (or spirit-vs.-body, in the words of modern Calvinists) is thus revealed to be a false resolution of what is, in fact, a paradox***. There really is a contradiction between mind and body. That which is pleasure to the body is often revolting to the mind, and that which is painful to the body is often pleasing to the mind. These are the observations of no less an authority than Socrates. Conversely, that which is pleasing to the mind is often a terrible trial for the body. And the mind’s degeneration sometimes comes about even as the body frolics in joy. What better way to resolve this paradox than to do away with it? Now, the spirit alone can be of consequence and the mind can view purity without impediment from the body. But as Socrates rightly observes, such actions are vacuous – because all action is indeed impossible without the participation of the body. There can be no spirit-led religion, for the human body must lead all human acts. Modern science reveals that even in internal prayer, blood must circulate in the brain, and physical electrical connections must cross the nerve gaps. “Spirit-led,” therefore, is not just a misnomer; it is impossible.

“Fear of the Incarnation” is therefore an apt title. To paraphrase Socrates, what is the virtue of spirituality if not the fear of the flesh – and of the Flesh? But surely we can attain to Christ in a better way. Spirituality need not – indeed must not – be separated from bodily action. For such a spirituality is always dead, as surely as the soul separated from its body.

** It is worth noting that to the ancients, the concepts of mind and spirit were unified. The Latin noun, anima means both mind and spirit and is itself derived from more ancient concepts.

*** This isn’t the only paradox that is misunderstood by Calvinist thinking. The notion of predestination itself is a misapplication of God’s omniscience. We are predestined for Heaven or Hell because, after all, how could God not know? But the paradox here is really between God’s omniscience and God’s omnipotence. For if God is truly all powerful, how is impossible for Him to create humans with complete free will to choose either the good or the evil? And if he is really this powerful, then this power (expressed by granting the gift of free will) appears to overwhelm his omniscience (because if we are really free to decide, then God can’t really know). The Calvinists simply assert God’s omniscience as overwhelming to his omnipotence (without really saying so). Catholics have an easy resolution of this paradox: God exists outside of time and is not limited by it as we are. Thus, God simultaneously grants us free will and knows (because he is observing from outside time) how we will use at any particular moment and at all particular moments. The paradox is thus resolved in no small way through recourse to an understanding of God’s omnipresence: He is both everywhere at the same time and, if you will, everytime at the same where, precisely because of his eternal nature, which we need to understand primarily not as “forever” but as “outside of time.” And so he can know past, present, and future without ever compromising our gift of free will.

By have the Incarnation, in and through our Eucharist, We restore marriage as to it true meaning and that is they are Incarnate.

Mary and Joseph Incarnate marriage was the first, since Adam and Eve made marriage fallen by their disobedience in the garden.

We know that many Catholic marriages are fallen instead of restored, like Adam and Eve they run away from the Incarnation of their marriage. They run away from the heart of their marriages, the Eucharist.

They look for and find substitutes, for the true meaning of marriage, redefining it to anything they want it to be.