"Get thee behind me Satan!" commands Jesus, according to the Gospel of Luke, when the Devil is trying to tempt him in the wilderness, and although apparently successful 2,000 years ago you'd have to say it's rather a poor defensive gambit in most similar situations.
Surely you want to keep your infernal assailant where you can see him, up front and center. After all, the Devil is known for his dirty tricks, so suggesting he takes up a position in your blind spot seems rather naive, not to say foolhardy.
Of course, it was fine for Jesus, who no doubt could count on an entire flock of angels watching his back, but the rest of us are asking to have our asses handed to us if we think we can defend ourselves from a Diabolic attack from the rear.
In this regard, the pre-emptive strike of Saint Dunstan provides excellent offensive instruction for the ordinary human: Realizing that the seductive woman entering his monastic cell was actually Satan in disguise (pretty obvious in the circumstances, if you ask me), the fast-thinking holy man grabbed the evil one's nose with a pair of red-hot blacksmith's tongs.
Ouch! Saint Dunstan puts the Devil out of action in a trice with none of this namby-pamby, appeasing "Get thee behind me" nonsense.
However, to be fair, most medieval monastic cells were extremely small, and what with the anvil and everything else crammed in there, I don't suppose there was much room behind Saint Dunstan for the Devil to squeeze himself into, even if so ordered, so it's impossible to know how employment of the non-violent tactic would have worked out.
But I wouldn't risk it, all the same. No way Jose. "Keep your cloven hooves where I can see 'em, Satan," is what I'd say. "And make yourself scarce, you sulphur-stinking good-for-nothing, or else you're getting a face full of this Spring Breeze scented aerosol air-freshener that I've just weaponized."
I know a blast of air freshener doesn't sound like a big threat, but who the hell does blacksmithing nowadays?
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