Growing up in the Southern Baptist church, the concept of spiritual warfare was woven deeply into every aspect of my life. Weekly, I’d hear sermons warning of Satan’s influence, the need to stand firm against worldly temptations, and the spiritual “battles” the faithful were called to fight. Spiritual warfare was framed as an outward clash, a fierce defense against very real and tangible external forces threatening one’s soul. For much of my early life, I viewed faith as this kind of unyielding stance against the dangers lurking around every corner and in every non- and false-Christian.
Over time, however, my understanding of this “warfare” has evolved, especially as I’ve grown more reflective about mental health. Now, as a middle-aged agnostic, I find myself drawn to more introspective interpretations of internal struggles—perspectives I find represented in Erasmus’s Enchiridion Militis Christiani and Albrecht Dürer’s Knight, Death and the Devil. These works present a vision of life that resonates with me today: one that focuses less on defeating an external enemy and more on the inner resilience needed to live with integrity amidst life’s trials.
Dürer’s Knight, Death and the Devil, created in 1513, exemplifies this shift in perspective. The engraving depicts a lone knight on a journey, flanked by ominous figures representing Death and the Devil. Yet, rather than engaging in combat or fleeing these figures, the knight moves forward with a calm, resolute gaze. He seems undeterred, focused on his path despite the reminders of mortality and temptation looming nearby. This isn’t a scene of outward victory or confrontation; instead, it’s a quiet, determined advance. The knight’s journey here reflects a kind of endurance, one that requires inner strength to stay on course without being overcome by fear or despair. Unlike the adversarial approach of my Southern Baptist upbringing, this image of the knight suggests that true courage is found not in conflict alone but in the resolve to persevere through life’s inevitable challenges.
This same inward focus permeates Erasmus’s Enchiridion, a guide for Christian Knights who, like Dürer’s knight, face trials that test their virtues rather than their defenses. Erasmus speaks of virtues like humility, patience, and love as essential “armor” for navigating the journey—not to ward off external enemies, but to fortify the inner self. In Enchiridion, the struggle is less a fight against outside forces and more a quest to cultivate resilience, to strengthen one’s character by understanding and restraining ones' impulses. True faith, Erasmus suggests, is found in the quiet discipline of self-reflection and personal growth, not in merely resisting or condemning the world around us.
Looking back, I can see why the Southern Baptist teachings on spiritual warfare felt so urgent in a church focused on moral certainty and maintaining strong community boundaries. The worldview I grew up with emphasized vigilance, both on eachother through "accountable" and on the outside world with suspicion. This approach, while protective, often left little room for questioning or self-examination. There was a strong focus on resisting temptation, but less emphasis on understanding one’s own motives or seeking a nuanced inner transformation. It painted a picture of faith as a defensive, even combative posture, where “salvation” meant holding fast against outside threats rather than cultivating an inner, personal strength; the need to prove you had been "once saved, always saved."
Today, the teachings of Erasmus and the imagery in Knight, Death and the Devil offer me a different kind of guidance. They invite me to see life’s challenges less as battles to be won and more as moments requiring courage, patience, and self-knowledge. Rather than looking outward to defend against an enemy, these perspectives call me to look inward, to confront my own fears, doubts, and weaknesses, and to find a way forward with integrity. Dürer’s knight, facing the inevitable with calm determination, and Erasmus’s call for humility and love in the face of life’s complexities resonate with the kind of quiet resilience that feels more relevant to me now.
This shift has transformed my understanding of concepts like courage, justice, and fortitude. I no longer see it as a fierce stance against the world, the other, but as a personal commitment to integrity in the face of uncertainty. The Enchiridion and Knight, Death and the Devil show me that true strength is found in the quiet resolve to stay grounded, to meet each day’s challenges with a sense of purpose rather than fear. In a way, I feel that both Dürer and Erasmus understood something profound about the nature of faith: that real courage isn’t about conquering evil but about living authentically, with humility, patience, and love, in a world that is often chaotic and difficult.