On the Excellence of Monks

for the purity of the heart is followed by the purity of the body—must be undefiled for the sake of God, who wishes to see it thus. Yet the condition of the soul does not necessarily correspond in the same way to the tent of the body; for it happens, as the Lord Jesus ^A says, that one may be a whited sepulchre, full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness, not possessing an interior truth that corresponds to what appears. But the discourse of the matters mentioned does not call such a person to this comparison; rather, it summons him who is equal to them [the saints] according to the practical life, and who has exercised himself in the moral virtues just as they have. For we shall find such a man to be far inferior to them in range, and as distant from the scientific discipline as that art of medicine which relies only on manual procedure differs from the one governed by correct method; the former neither knows the causes of diseases, nor curiously investigates the differences in passions—how or where they are born—but merely stands by the patient and treats that condition which it knows will quickly return because the cause from which it took its beginning has not been removed. For just as distensions and inflammations of the precordia and intemperance of the humors bring forth, under a thousand names and conditions, diverse fevers—these being intermitting in one day, others in seven, and others in fourteen, or becoming lethal, or long-lasting, or hectic, or daily—and these arise from yellow bile, those from black, others from putrid phlegm, and others from an abundance of blood; some ^B of these come on silently and imperceptibly, while others signal the illness long before by proclaiming their arrival through languor, dryness, and sleep that is continuously interrupted.

CHAPTER III.

Thus, an inordinate impulse of the senses is wont to generate a thought subject to passion, a shameful desire, desire itself, and then consent, the follower of which is actual sin. This, when it takes its beginning, ought to be repressed from that initial principle by turning away the sense of sight, which stirs up the things mentioned in a chain, before it arrives and makes the recovery difficult. For that which is not imprinted through vision perhaps causes no difficulty for the intellect, nor does it offer it an evil meditation. What has not been meditated upon does not proceed to the act, nor does it have a place to be expelled by any sign. The tongue does not utter abuse when anger has been lulled within; the eye does not look like a harlot’s if reason restrains and moderates it and forbids an indecorous gaze; the hearing does not receive shameful speech while the mind guards such a sense. No member acts perversely when the governor is ^C watching within, who rules the interior thoughts and who firmly holds back the beginning of the place from whence they proceed. ^D

^A

CHAPTER IV

How then is he who does not sin in act more excellent than he who does not stumble in mind? Because, he says, the former, even when provoked, is not swayed by things, and is more approved than the one whose concupiscible faculty is not tickled by desire for things seen. If the latter has known nothing of the things of the world, he has no fight against them; but if through the sight of them he has arrived at knowledge, he keeps the memory which moves the materials, just as visible things move [the soul], ^B and the struggle is constant for him, since the passions have the opportunity in his quietude to harass his mind more than [if he were in the midst of] sight, [in the case of] a man whose intellect is distracted by nothing external. For one who is in social contacts and living with others has a vision that is more sluggish toward things that scandalize, since the same sense is divided among many persons, and his faculty of reasoning can scarcely by night review the contacts of the day. But the other struggles against only one form—whether a sight has previously brought him pleasure, or a phantom has caused him pain—the one still tickling the desire, the other inflaming the temper; and he spends all his effort to thrust the annoyance out of his mind and to obliterate the remembrance of things that stir up the passions.

He will certainly prevail in time, diminishing the strength of his combatant ^C every day, and increasing his own by exercise as it progresses toward greater vigor day by day, and becoming accustomed to overcoming his opponents. Thus, habit passes into a disposition, and disposition passes into nature, and it guards for the one who has acquired it an immutable possession.

But to those unskilled in the art, things that are very impossible seem possible. For just as it is not possible to see the sand lying below a flowing stream, but when the inflow is checked, it is necessary to behold it bare; so, while sight floods and submerges the mind with other forms, it is neither possible to undertake a fight against a determined person or passion, nor is it possible for the faculty of reasoning to be cleansed, since those things entering from outside blot out the characters that came before, and those that are familiar are marked only for a little while. ^D For others coming in upon them smooth them out, and by this reserve force, an eternal tumult occupies the interior, neither allowing the things that disturb to be recognized by reason of the succession of thoughts exchanging places. For things that fell into the mind just a little while ago occupy the faculty of reasoning, and after a short time the present ones yield to those that follow, and those that have already arrived occupy it in its leisure, and it sustains harm enough from vain thoughts—so that he may even seem to suffer nothing from those things which they (namely, the occurrences) arrange—making the imaginations of things stir up the passions, and blocking out the species of the more necessary and useful thoughts.

CHAPTER V

If anyone, however, were to observe the hurts that [come] from external...

things, both from the eyes looking upon what is not lawful, and from the hearing being everywhere enwrapped by shameful voices, and in addition to these, anger being stirred, concupiscence being enticed, pleasure being provoked, vainglory being fanned as if by a fan, and sadness supervening; he would find himself entirely as one battered by fists in a boxing match and burdened with wounds, and then he would call those blessed who see or suffer none of these things, while they abide in quiet. For what utility is there in the very experience of things to excite the passions to battle, and by this exercise to provide them with the license to be ground down in a more difficult [struggle]; while quiet is accustomed to ^B lead them in some way to an untroubled state, and good leisure is accustomed to diminish the force of each part little by little, whereas this [other] exercise awakens it to a more robust state? For anger, while resting, becomes milder; and concupiscence, while remaining quiet, becomes accustomed to erupting more gently by degrees; and every passion simply proceeds daily toward moderation if it is not moved, and later, through time, it ceases completely from its own operation, having forgotten it, and thereafter the memories of the things remain bare, once the affection stirred by the perturbation has withdrawn.

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

^A this is obscurely indicated by the legal oracle: "If a fire goes forth," he says, "and finds thorns and sets fire to a threshing floor; he who kindled the fire shall make restitution." By the threshing floor he means the passions; by the fire, the impulses of nature; by the thorns, sensible objects. Let these not intervene, and the fire has no place to seize the threshing floor, not finding fuel through which it may advance while burning; for it will either be thoroughly extinguished for lack of fodder and will end in ashes—signifying the extreme weakness of the tyranny and passion which once flourished—or it will remain smoldering in a spark, harming nothing, but teaching by sight that it can do harm if it flares into a flame, should it find fuel suitable for its present potential. For a spark does not immediately seize upon logs, nor does it kindle splinters that are set before it; it needs chaff, and stubble, and hay in order to overcome even more substantial material. This is so that we may learn accurately that small and trivial sins lead us to greater ones, and the indifference which is in these becomes the road to ^B more grievous things.

CHAPTER VIII

It is necessary not to give them a way through habit, nor to permit them to look in impudently; rather, one must rebuke those arriving while they are about to begin, and—while the head is still fawning—crush the serpent's head before it lays hold of the heel, and destroy the seed from Babylon, and dash its infants against the rock, which the addition of the article signifies to be one. For indeed, if the head slips in, the whole length enters along with it; and the seed of weeds, or tares, fixed by the roots, is accustomed to hinder the growth of the sown plants. When the infants have grown to maturity, they are wont to stir up an intolerable and arduous athletic struggle on both sides. By all these things, the passions are indicated: that indeed at the beginning they are easily conquered, but when reinforced by habit they advance toward vigor and become difficult to overcome, after having provided much labor in the struggle. ^C Furthermore, they accuse our own lightness and terrible folly, in that we have increased the enemies against ourselves, whom it was in our power to destroy easily while they were weak. For in this way, the intellect would have had opportunity, after the slaughter of the adversaries, to turn itself to contemplation while enjoying peace, and to cultivate its own faculties. For this is what one of the prophets says: "They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks," signifying a state that has passed over from warlike affairs and is spending its leisure in the works of peace.

CHAPTER IX

But another (of the prophets) says: "Thy eyes shall see those who deceived thee, and thy ears shall hear those who deceived thee from behind." ^D After the cessation of the battle's con-

-^Afusion, it is considered worthy of careful observation to recognize the deceits and designs of the enemies; and the great Moses ^B diligently reminds the Israelites in the second book of what happened to them during the exodus from Egypt in the wilderness, exhorting them to exercise their memory on past battles and hand-to-hand conflicts, and to make these wondrous victories a subject of the greatest thanksgiving. He who is engaged in wars, or who seems to know them and to hold command over others, knows not these things, nor does he ever have the leisure to learn them; for while he indeed undertakes a noble work that is useful to many, he scarcely holds the second place after the man who cares for his own state and amends his inner self; for the former provides bodily assistance to those in need, but leaves his own soul neglected throughout. I myself know both farmers who at every season attend to their own field, and sailors who are always repairing their own ship; and travelers, and merchants, and craftsmen, and laborers are assiduous in doing that which they deem to be to their own advantage, and no one endures to judge the affairs of another as being of more or equal value to his own. But even the sailor, while navigating the sea, directs his ship toward his own voyage, and the tiller of the soil applies to his own farm the care appropriate to the seasons, and he who pursues an art, whatever it may be, practices that which contributes to his own profit; and, in short, every person, thinking it futile and vain to be anxious about the things that pertain to those who are of the same craft, manifests the greatest care and solicitude as to how he may arrange his own affairs.

CHAPTER X.

^C And why do some consider him who is useful to himself in virtue as being more deserving of approbation? To me, they seem to praise altogether even him who, with his house on fire and all the substance that was within it ablaze, allows himself to be persuaded by friends to go off to a wedding or an embassy, because he deemed the need of his friends more important than ceasing the burning of his own house; indeed, it is those who thus honor him—whom they should, if they were making a right judgment, have accused as being out of his mind and deranged—who are to be blamed; for the things of the mind are worse than a fire, as each of the senses is disposed, unless one refuses the progress of the senses which bring alimentary materials to the consuming fire, and piles them up like dry brushwood for the flame of nature to catch, while the memory, like a fan made by meditation, fans it and makes it more voracious and harder to extinguish than the fire that consumes the house. And God seems to cry out indignantly to the prophet regarding certain people about whom he complains, saying: ^D "Seest thou not what they are doing in the cities of Juda and outside Jerusalem? Their sons gather wood, and their fathers light the fire, and their wives knead the dough to make cakes for the host of heaven"; calling the vision, like brushwood, that gathers the provocative forms, and the desire, in these, a fierce kindling fire.

For thus, the sight, passing through the intervening stages, proceeds to actual sin, completed by the confederacy of the aforesaid parts. Moreover, the gathering of stubble for straw belongs to the molding of bricks by those who wander in Egypt, and not by those who abide in silence. ^A

CHAPTER XI

For even against his will, he who indiscriminately mixes with the crowds gathers the materials that produce sin and shapes the idle clay of passion into a form, which in itself is formless, but which, through meditation, receives a clear impression of those things that have been molded into images through the senses. For passion only knows how to move the natural impulse, and it does so more weakly when the external materials do not cooperate with it; but when it has received voluptuous and deceptive forms, it keeps the mind bound by the distinct impressions of sensible things. Such are anger and concupiscence, pleasure and sorrow; they are forces that are quiet and have no form before there is a sufficient supply of material to excite them to their appropriate effect. But if any sense—whether of one who is suffering in soul, or of one who is delighted by desire, or of others of this sort—has brought in a fitting form, it gives work to these senses and provides constant meditation, while they gaze upon the impressions of the things that provoke and make the memory susceptible to passion and very troublesome. ^B For this reason, quietude is a good thing, because that which harms is not seen, and that which is not seen is not received by the intellect. That which does not occur within it does not move the memory by means of the imagination; and that which does not move the memory does not irritate the passion. When the passion is not at all moved, the interior experiences profound tranquility and peace. For this reason, Moses, who was all-wise, although he had the care and solicitude for the people of the Jews, frequently pitched his tent outside the camp and at a distance, fleeing as much as possible from undue disturbance and providing quiet for his mind in order to ponder and discern what was useful for the soul. ^C

CHAPTER XII

For this reason, Jesus son of Nave did not go out of the tent, turning aside from the untimely assaults of vision. For this reason, Elias and Elisha left Judea and dwelt on Carmel. John, fleeing Jerusalem, lived in the solitude of the Jordan. Jeremiah, however, held by the necessity of prophecy, and not bearing that way of life with the impious multitude, said lamenting: "Who will give me a remote lodging place of wayfarers in the wilderness, and I will leave this people, and go away from them," ^D preferring to live with wild beasts, which cause no injury to the soul, rather than to incur that harm which...

^A arises from kinsmen. But what is greater than all things, and for this reason the Lord Jesus, who is superior to every injury, withdrawing from the multitude, whenever he might find an opportunity for leisure, would stay in the wilderness, demonstrating by his action to those who were able to discern it the utility of quiet; so that it might become manifest and beyond controversy on every side, that those who have chosen the monastic and secluded life are to be preferred to those who follow the common and promiscuous way of living, even if these latter excel in gravity, inasmuch as they lull the passions to sleep by quiet—passions which the others, through incessant looking, rub until they become more severe—and they no longer feel the injury, since time has gradually made it habitual to them, just like a hectic or habitual fever, which never ceases, but secretly consumes their strength. Thus also a delicate person, stepping naked upon the ground for the first time, does not bear the roughness he encounters without pain; but once he has become callous, he feels no pain, even if thorns, and shoots, and sharp nails are present, with none reaching as far as the living flesh, because the flesh that has become hardened ^B has laid aside its sensitivity, no less than if it were dead.

CHAPTER XIII.

Why then do they think they are not injured, those who, by long habituation to being injured, no longer perceive the harm of those who injure them? For what time does the intellect have to discern that which brings harm, when the vision is totally distracted by the things that are seen, since it requires leisure to calculate this? Now it receives these forms, and a little later others, and subsequently still others, and then whatever else occurs; and being delighted by all or most of them, whose pleasure will it conclude to be an injury, and when will it have the leisure to cleanse itself of the defilement, since it is never able to see that it is defiled? Does not also the one who is grieving, during his conversations by day, forget his mourning, and the one who is languishing forget his sickness, and he who is convulsed forget his pain; but when at night each one is left alone, he feels his own passion? For quiet naturally provides them with the leisure to be moved, and causes that which was not disturbing them at that moment to trouble them. And just as an appetite, when it is full and satisfied, has no satiety from the constant movement toward desiring—in a glutton who is always eating—so the passions seem to be in a state of idle repose ^C because of the occupation of the senses with sensible things, while they are restrained by their own impulse; but let them have leisure from external perturbation, and just as penury after satiety begets hunger, so the passions, when the senses are slackened, rise up against the one at rest, being very vigorous, and move a great tumult within him by arming against him those forms which are already in him by habit, which he thought he was traversing in his sight without any harm, since he did not have the time to remember the detriment which they inflict; for he only feels it then, when he has the leisure to know and to perceive it, ^D through sight, as he himself has learned, and rightly lamenting himself, because he has been acting against himself, while he...

has given weapons to his enemies and is justly attacked, having provided strength to the enemies through much folly. ^A

CAPUT XIV.

For then those things which, through sight, through hearing, or through other senses, have fallen in as if by seed, begin to sprout up like thorns, and gradually growing, they prick painfully with their barbs; or rather, like the hydra of which the poets have ^B told fables, one after another they raise up heads, tormenting the wretch with a thousand bites. For the face that was desired stands by, joyful, along with luxurious adornment, scattered laughter, disguised bearing, and lethargy and effeminacy intentionally contrived for ensnarement—a wandering glance, a wanton gaze, a restless movement, the melody of a voice, and a softer tone; and not only these, but also an unaffected character, and simplicity in its manner, and guilelessness, and a pitiful word, and sympathetic lamentation, and the tear of an afflicted soul—all these at the end stir up a great struggle. And perhaps the memory of the one who was pitied and who enjoyed care causes danger—for she, who in necessity became a suppliant and later, while struggling, stirred up yielding in the time of need—and mercy, and produces erotic stings. ^C What then is better: to pity one’s self and avoid the scandals, or, by pretending to pity others, to be entangled in inextricable snares by wishing to help them? It is good to lend a hand to one who is being cast over a precipice, if it is possible not to perish together with the one in danger. But if, by appearing to suffer with another, one ends up suffering oneself, one must strive for one’s own advantage, because no other person is so close to one as each is to himself.

CAPUT XV.

For this reason, when the Pentapolis was being consumed by lightning-fire, the angel said to the ^D righteous man who was diligent in hospitality, Lot: "Save your own soul; escape to the mountain, lest you be swept away; take care of your own salvation before that of those who are perishing." 22 For the command, "Do not look back" (Gen. xix, 17), taught him to have no regard for those who were perishing, since it was not at all righteous to wish to perish together with those who were perishing, nor to value the care of others as equal to one’s own care. For compassion in these cases brings the greatest damage to those who feel it, in which it is of no avail to help those who are being punished; rather, it brings harm to the very salvation that is desired by all men alike. For that which is humane, and pleasing to God, and fitting for us, is that one should counsel, strive for, and pray for the good things for one another, and that everyone should...

seek all good things. This kind of affection of the soul is truly praiseworthy; but to be less studious for oneself in necessary things than for others is not only to be disallowed, but also deserves the greatest condemnation. How, therefore, ^A is the one who bears great care for his own state, and moderates and curbs his manners toward modesty and the keeping of discipline, and who in leisure often converses with God, not more, and indeed much more, suitable to be pleasing to God (insofar as he leads his life with greater vigilance) than he who never has time for his own thoughts, or for the passions that lurk within and, on account of external occupation, remain unknown—or is he rather someone to be lamented for deeds poorly done?

CHAPTER XVI.

Shall we not say that Mary is better than Martha? For the Lord, preferring that quiet, devoid of all distraction, to hers—who was distracted regarding bodily ministry and was concerned with service that pertains to the rest of the flesh—says, not to her, but to her who thought she was performing some great act, and therefore needed admonition, correcting her deceived understanding, saying: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary: Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.” Although her tumult was full of zeal to serve the Lord himself, she was nevertheless not praised for that disposition of mind; but He complained that, when she had ceased to sit (as Mary was doing) at the word and at the profit of the soul, she was intent on how nothing essential for the magnificent preparation of the banquet might be lacking, and how the splendid table of customary and sumptuous hospitality might be set forth. For by doubling the calling of her name, He wished to accuse such zeal as being not at all fitting, and to say “Martha, Martha” was perhaps a sign of one lamenting and shaking his head at the one who was led astray; since He knew that, for one deceived by tumult as if it were something necessary, that which was being neglected was more useful for the attainment of piety than that which was being zealously performed.

CHAPTER XVII.

Thus also the Levites were preferred above all the people, ^D inasmuch as they were free from every occupation of life addicted to secular business, and with a pure mind, without any distraction, worshipped the divine majesty, and were those who poured out the great prayer according to the Law, so that they might expiate themselves unto God with attention and purity; and avoiding external disturbances, they were exercised within the confines of the then-holy temple in those things which pertained to the pursuit of chastity, persuaded that rest would beget for them a purity that was by no means laborious. And witnesses of external harm are Abel, the son of the first-created man, and Dinah, the daughter of the patriarch Jacob; the former indeed murdered by treachery in the field by Cain, the latter truly corrupted by Shechem, when, [alt-version omitted]

had they remained resting at home, they would not have suffered this. For they chose the silence of stillness, which is for all—both for the perfect and for the imperfect—the least dangerous; for to the former it preserves their practiced state unshaken, and to the latter it brings them toward that practice as they progress. ^A Moreover, Jeremiah, exhorting not to go forth into the field because the sword of the enemies dwells round about, and Peter crying out: "Our adversary the devil goes about and walks around," all testify to the external mischief; but He who admonishes that the exterminator should be avoided, and He who says: "Shut thy door, and hide thyself for a little moment, until the indignation of the Lord pass over," and He who dwells in the House of Jacob, and He who commands that we dash the son of the murderer, as he approaches, against the door, ^B proclaim the security within, showing clearly that for the former this manner of life is admittedly liable to harm, but for others it becomes, without ambiguity, beyond every danger.

CHAPTER XVIII

Thus, then, and not otherwise, is the truth wont to be: for those who live the life of retreat both struggle in singular combat and engage with an unarmed enemy; for the objects of the passions are the weapons. But those who mix with the multitudes in the city ^C have many from many sides who are in every way plotting against them, and they are all fortified with every warlike instrument, and when they are able to wound, they inflict lethal blows. And it is foolish, and altogether timorous, to build for oneself a life prone to struggle, when the power is present to possess it secure and fearless, and to ensure the necessary protection. For who, having departed from the plotters and having separated himself far from their mixing, does not thereafter live with a secure mind and exist without anxiety, fearing no longer any harm from any side? And who, living together with these, is not in continual fear, ^D expecting traps from everywhere at all times, since all are assiduously plotting, as the malevolent are wont to do against the malevolent? By what means, therefore, is an institute of life that is peaceful and free from disturbance better than that which is held with those who inflict injury? And how has the way that is infested with robbers and barbarians seemed, or does it seem to some, more eligible than that which is passable without any fear? For that one has both bloodstained murderers and despoilers of garments, and in it one must at all points either be killed or be despoiled of one's clothing; but this latter way is strange to every suspicion of this kind, and offers to travelers the faculty of journeying without any loss or pain, who preserve what they possess so that it is in no way snatched away, and they traverse the way cheerfully and with a joyful heart.

CHAPTER XIX

Others, declining the rough and difficult-to-traverse paths, even though they may be steep and shorter, seek out the level and public roads, which have more in length and

^A require a longer time to complete. And how can the steep, difficult, long, and dangerous way—which is beset by beasts, is a breeder of robbers, and contains snares, scandals, ambushes, and many injuries—be judged preferable to that which is tolerable, concise, and level? There, the sight of a woman provokes, while riches, power, and glory stir up jealousy; other things prick the anger; others kindle concupiscence; and different things cause a diffusion of the heart through joy, while others bring about a dejection of soul; some cause a downcast face, or shame accompanied by sorrow and confusion; others produce joy and mirth; others afford pleasure, and others weariness. Thus, with the passions daily inflamed and fanned by these things that are seen and heard, how can they not eventually kindle into a brilliant flame, and by continuous exercise reach a habit difficult to dissolve, and make a transformation either laborious or perhaps impossible? For custom, holding one no less than a bond, does not allow for withdrawal; indeed, it yields a little to the moving impulse, but then drags back to itself him who strives to depart.

However, he who is separated from the business of this life, and has averted his senses from sensible objects, and lives quietly within himself, will, if he has memories stirred by the passions, more quickly delete them, as time, which makes all things ancient, brings about the oblivion of these also little by little. But if he has received no image of those things that stir up the struggle, he has a battle against simple natural reminiscences, which are easy ^B to overcome and can be removed without any trouble, with the mind most easily transferring itself away from them, and turning away without labor, when the enemy cannot entice it with any exterior dainties.

CHAPTER XX

For by these things is the (enemy) accustomed to smear the passions, and to render the struggles of those who contend against them burdensome and laborious; for concupiscence does not have as much power without its material as it does when the objects of desire lie close at hand, nor again does anger rule when there is no one present to incite it. Pleasure, moreover, is then aroused when that which pleases provokes the appetite by its appearance. The movements of these are weak, however, and slack, when the imagination does not disturb—the imagination which rouses consideration as if from sleep, as if it were dozing, and holds the thought awake and persisting in itself. For example: the sight, providing something friendly and charming, holds the unblinking gaze of the eye—which is too studious of its own body—and by no means allows it to turn around, nor permits it to transfer the will to anything else (even if one wishes to constrain it), but with its persistence it conquers by delight, and makes the great effort of the one struggling to avert his eye.

But it does not happen so to him who is disturbed by mere memories, for whom liberation is easy, and for whom the departure is very prompt: for by meditation and the exercise of spiritual discourses, and by intense prayer, the mind departs from these things, which

^A are not pleasing to God, and is transferred to those things which are zealously performed according to the pleasure of God, while it spends its leisure on the latter and consigns the former to oblivion. But to close the eye to things that are seen is altogether impossible, nor is it possible to obstruct the hearing to voices, nor for the intellect, which is always awake, to avoid the harm they inflict: for there are many troubles on every side, and such as are difficult to guard against; and it cannot be that one who walks through mud should not soil his foot, or that he who dwells in a pestilential situation should not suffer the disease that the surrounding air spreads. Thus, it is impossible for the one who dwells and lives in the midst of them not to be mingled with the pollutions of this life, even if he does not perceive the harm, since, throughout the passage of time, he has eventually become accustomed to the things that harm him.

CHAPTER XXI

Since some, by tasting even a little poison, at first suffer no harm, because the quantity does not correspond in proportion to the quality regarding destruction, but while by a gradual addition the temperament of the body becomes accustomed, they eventually adapt for themselves the deadly power of the food as nourishment, with nature learning through time to adapt to itself what is harmful. Who, from the divine Scripture, has not learned the accurate diligence of the blessed David in all things? Who does not know his illustrious deeds by hearing? How, being adorned—not for the sake of elegance, but through mutual charity, so that others might also be taught to do what he himself has done—he narrates his own good works? Sometimes, indeed, saying: ^B "I have walked in my innocence"; sometimes, truly: "If I have repaid those who repaid me with evil"; and at times: "Without iniquity I ran, and directed my course." At another time: "There is no guile in my tongue"; at another: "I have walked in your truth." And the holy man uttered more of this kind, and at last he says: "Lord, my heart is not exalted, nor are my eyes lifted up." Thus he relied upon the habit of the virtues he had practiced. At another time, he neglected prayer a little, allowing his eye to graze entirely unchecked. By this he was drawn to the beauty of a foreign woman, and indeed received an eye-inflamed dart into his heart, which led him on, goaded toward adultery; and the adultery compelled him to dare a murder, and forcibly brought about an unjust homicide. And the evil, having taken its beginning from a gaze, journeyed through so many evils, and in the end drove him to such great destruction. ^C Thus, sin, advancing from a small cause, knows how to bring one to the very last boundary of ruin and perdition. For if, according to the wise writer of the Proverbs, "one ought not to be a companion to a wrathful man, nor dwell with a furious friend," so that he who is a companion may not in any way become a participant in evil, because of the communication of the passion which is wont to creep insensibly and without feeling from those who are held by it to those who dwell with them, how will it not be much more necessary and useful for those who wish to guard against such emulation to flee those who are afflicted with greater and more troublesome diseases?

CHAPTER XXII

For it causes this (namely, imitation), and as no one knows what the ^D

conversation with such men is, it makes them similar even to those who hitherto do not wish to be such; for these indeed little by little become that which they anxiously strive not to become. And Holofernes, a warlike man, who was also laying waste to Judea, the sandal of a woman walking about ensnared into an insane love, and held him captive. For this is what the history says, that the sandal of Judith [* Judith xvi, 11] captivated the eyes of Holofernes, and the snatching away of his vision ended in death; for, having seized him overwhelmed by his passion, she afflicted him greatly with various deceptions and mockery, as he demanded the nuptial union, until she found the appropriate time to decapitate the wretched man, who neither attained that desire by which he was held, and was moreover destroyed by a miserable and mournful death. But even those (of whom I spoke above), although they do not know it, nevertheless suffer many such things: for sometimes a pleasure growing abundantly delights them more and more, sometimes the splendid matter of riches disposes them in the same way, then honor puffs them up, and lack of fame afflicts them with sorrow; then a vapor breathing a sweet scent delights the sense of smell, and the exquisite condiments of dishes, even if perhaps the quality is not perceived, arouse the taste toward appetite. Where, therefore, is such a struggle useful to the demented? They who audaciously endure to go forth against dangers, and provoke the passions—which could be at rest—so that they never enjoy quiet, and never offer themselves rest to exercise the intellect in that which is profitable.

CHAPTER XXIII

For the mind, being by its very nature always mobile, when it has leisure from the anxiety of futile things, turns its care toward useful things, ^B then calculating those things which are fitting, and giving itself entirely to its own proper study, holding communion with God through prayer, enjoying divine words in reading, thinking upon those things which have been created, and praising the Creator for the variety of such workmanship, seeing the passions subdued, looking at [his] habits restrained, applauding daily progress toward the better, and finally considering his whole condition to be evenly balanced and imperturbable, and always giving thanks for these things to Him who has bestowed this gift, and bestowed a life full of gladness and cheerfulness of soul. Therefore, he is not to be esteemed equally with this one, who neither knows his own state, nor grants time for observation to his reason to discern how the passions are moved; ^C whether he is better or worse off today than yesterday, since they require much leisure for the understanding of their varied movement, and the difference which occurs daily; how they creep up diminished, piece by piece, or again increased, by diligence or sloth; how they are disposed in this or that way; intensely and remissly, quiescent and rising up, eating hay like oxen, or greedily desiring meat: for this signifies them being tamed, but that signifies them raging and growing wild like beasts.

^A Since just as venomous reptiles remain still during the winter season and stay motionless, showing no harm because they are constricted by the cold, so also the passions, while idle from distractions, do not cease, but they rest for the time being, only to be stirred up when they find an opportunity and leisure in the thoughts to show what they have been made for, as if coming out of dens and creeping forth like wild beasts heated by the sun. For this reason, it is said that certain of those who attend to their thoughts, after having spent much time in desert solitude, and wishing to learn by experience their daily progress, would gather pebbles from the sand of the desert and keep them in their bosom. And when the intellect was moved toward an honest thought, they would place one of the pebbles on their right side, but toward a shameful one, on their left. This they were accustomed to do from the morning hours until the afternoon, adding single pebbles here and there, as if they were preparing to settle their deliberations. Then, when evening came, they would count both these and those, and in this way learn how much progress they were making toward the good each day. This was a convenient opportunity for one with time to do this. But for him who does not suffice against daily annoyances—because these are more numerous than the space of the day, and by their multitude surpass the time—where will he ever know anything of those things being pursued with such sedulity? For the mind does not wish to have any other care when one of the necessary things is set before it to be considered, nor is it naturally suited, however much it may wish to distract itself with something other than the object of its concern, acting like an eye that looks at one thing and does not have the nature to distribute its visual power among many. ^{B C}

CAPUT XXV.

How then is he who lives dangerously any better, or even the same as he who lives securely? For even if they seem to walk the same path of virtue, they do not traverse it in the same way. For the one, as if by day, in quietude, while surveying everything and knowing the difficulties and facilities of the path, proceeds without stumbling, avoiding cliffs and shunning precipices. But the other, as if walking in the night, falls into pits due to the darkness of distractions, and is broken against rocks, and like a blind man, he knocks against every obstacle. For the praise of those who see his work relaxes him, and the glory of his achievements puffs him up into arrogance; and the contempt of those who do not admire his virtue as if it were stupidity and dullness causes him pain; and the appearance of having something more than others in the good exalts him into vanity. And he is necessarily sometimes puffed up and dissipated, but at other times he is gloomy, despondent, and withdrawn. But he who has withdrawn does not change these dispositions, nor does he know those who praise him or those who speak of him, being alone with God alone, inside the struggle for the crown, knowing his own ^D

^A work, and striving to be hidden from himself for the most part; for it sometimes happens that he becomes his own praiser, lifted up by a childish and empty elation of mind, and it happens that he suffers harm from himself in this, in which he would have been harmed by others, while they were admiring him.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"Those who call you blessed deceive you," was well said by divine Scripture ^B regarding those who do good in the sight of some. But who will call him blessed who is not seen, and who will deceive him with such a blessing into arrogant self-estimation, when he has intentionally avoided them, so that he might not diminish the reward he expects from God through the praises of others? And he who hides from the left hand (according to the Lord’s admonition) every action of the right, so that the work itself may be recognized as having been done, while the desire for display—that element which provides the very half in which empty grandiloquence subsists—is himself ignorant of it. For thus the left hand knows the work of the right, being a vainglorious transmitter, and it is eager to publicize what is covered by the right hand for the sake of hunting for glory. For this reason, those ancient namers of things aptly named those who practice monastically in cities "doves," but those who live in deserts and inaccessible places "turtledoves," because the former pursue virtue under the eyes of spectators and pollute it, whether willingly or unwillingly, through man-pleasing, or by being stolen away by the praises of the many, or even by often proposing ^C to themselves the intention of being celebrated, for the sake of—so they claim—helping those who look on; which, even if it is not man-pleasing, nonetheless utterly pollutes the virtue itself and, in proportion, empties the reward of the labor, just like a dove truly breeding and offering its chicks for the slaughter of men. But the others pass on everything that is done, unharmed and entire, to God, suffering no loss, like the turtledoves, which release their living young from the nest into the air. For such is that which is done secretly for the sake of pleasing God; it lives and flourishes, and it is the untarnished possession of him who labored, whereas that which desires to have the sight of men as its witness, like a garment, generates the moth of vainglory and is corrupted by it.

CHAPTER XXVII.

But in order that he who pursues men with all love, or rather who converses with them, may not suffer ^D the passions which one must necessarily suffer, nor endure any harm from those accustomed to do harm, as has been said (for let us grant to the argument that which the truth does not concede), yet he sees the things which are unjustly perpetrated by those of higher dignity upon those who are lesser; the injury of those who inflict it and the suffering of those who endure it, the tyranny of those who exercise it and the violence of those who suffer it, the defrauding of those who defraud and those who are defrauded—he certainly sees all this, and he sympathizes with those who suffer [the]

in his disposition towards them, dividing himself between both, indignant at the oppressors and compassionate toward the oppressed, full of anger ^A and yet inclined to mercy, agitated and wounded in his inward parts, and sometimes even complaining to God, who remains silent, because of His great patience. For the prophet Habakkuk, having once suffered this, shows it, and demonstrates what he himself suffered to those who were likewise suffering, saying: “Why have You shown me troubles and pains, that the impious man tyrannizes over the just, and You have made men as the fishes of the sea, who devour one another?” He expresses this about such tolerance and permission—as if there were a lack of a Sovereign—with a zeal that is indeed burning, but too boldly entering into contention with God. ^B And what necessity compels one to be present at the evils of others when he is able to offer no help, and even sins in doing so? For even if it be nothing great, to be troubled by the things others do wickedly—when the mind ought to be at peace—is a fault. Thus, those who live within the multitude sin, while those who are separated from the multitude do not, and those in the multitude lose the rewards of their labors for the sake of human glory. For even if those who admire them more than those who live in quiet, a thousand times over, say that this admiration is due to them because they dwell among the crowd, they are nevertheless clearly ^C manifest as being held by that same bond: namely, that they have chosen to inhabit places that inflict damage; places that cry out against them with a clear voice and without an accuser. Conversely, those who are separated far from those who praise them bear witness clearly by their works that they have trampled upon the glory that is admired by many. Fasting does not fall away for them, vigil is not lost, prayer does not suffer wreck, perseverance is not despoiled, nor is any other virtue stolen away; for there is no applause of those celebrating them present, which would have the power to rob them of their labors. God alone sees, who is present with them, and encourages them toward greater combats and rewards, and sharpens the alacrity of their soul, providing assistance now, and after their passing, eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom is the glory and the power into the ages of the ages. Amen.

BY THE SAME DISCOURSE TO EULOGIUS THE MONK.

CHAPTER I.

Those who dwell in the heavenly place, by labors, and not by the belly, nor by the solicitude of corruptible things, look ^D fixedly—