On the Eight Spirits of Wickedness

BY THE SAME CONCERNING THE EIGHT SPIRITS OF WICKEDNESS.

BY THE SAME TRACTATE CONCERNING THE EIGHT SPIRITS OF WICKEDNESS.

^A CAPUT I. Concerning gluttony, or gormandizing. The beginning of bearing fruit is the flower, and the beginning of the active life is temperance; he who masters the belly diminishes the passions, but he who is conquered by foods increases pleasures. The beginning of the nations is Amalek, and the beginning of the passions is gluttony. Fuel for a fire is wood; fuel for the belly is food. Much wood excites a great flame, and a multitude of foods nourishes desire. A flame is dimmed when the fuel is lacking, and a lack of foods causes desire to wither. He who obtained the jawbone destroyed the aliens, and easily broke the bonds of his own hands. The destruction of the jawbone brought forth a fountain of water, and gluttony when destroyed brought forth practical contemplation. A peg of the tabernacle passing through, the jawbone destroyed the enemy, and the word of temperance put the passion to death. Desire for eating gave birth to disobedience, and a sweet taste cast [man] out of paradise. The luxury of foods delights the throat, but it nourishes the sleepless worm of intemperance. A belly in need prepares the soul to watch in prayer, but one that is filled brings on much sleep. A sober mind consists in a very dry diet, but a fluid life plunges the mind into an abyss. The prayer of one who fasts is as a chick of an eagle flying upward, while that of one who has feasted is weighed down by satiety and dragged below. The mind of one who fasts is a star shining brightly in the serenity of the night, but the mind of one who has feasted is hidden in a dark and moonless night; as mist covers the rays of the sun, so the thick transmission of foods darkens the mind.

^C CAPUT II. A mirror soiled does not clearly reflect the form presented to it, and an intellect dulled and blunted by gluttony does not receive the knowledge of God. Uncultivated land brings forth thorns, and the mind of a glutton sprouts shameful thoughts. It is not possible to find perfumes in mire, nor the sweet fragrance of contemplation in a glutton. The eye of one addicted to the belly curiously seeks out banquets; but the eye of the temperate man seeks the assemblies of the wise. The soul of a glutton counts the memorials of the martyrs, but the soul of the temperate man imitates their lives. A cowardly soldier trembles at the trumpet signaling war, and the glutton fears temperance when it is proclaimed. A gluttonous monk is a slave to his belly, and when struck he demands...

his daily tribute. ^A A swift traveler will quickly reach the city, and a temperate monk, his peaceful state. A slow traveler will lodge in the wilderness under the open sky, and a gluttonous monk will not reach the house of dispassion. The vapor of incense perfumes the air, and the prayer of the temperate man delights the sense of God. If you surrender yourself to a desire for food, nothing will suffice to satisfy the pleasure; for the desire for food is a fire, always receiving and always ablaze. A sufficient measure has filled the vessel, but a belly that is burst does not say, "It is enough." The stretching out of hands put Amalek to flight, and actions raised up—namely to God—subdue the passions of the flesh. ^B

CHAPTER III.

Exterminate from yourself every whim of wickedness, and put your members of flesh to death effectively. For just as a slain warrior will not strike fear into you, so a deadened body will not disturb your soul. A dead body does not know the pain of fire, nor does the temperate man feel the pleasure of a deadened desire. If you strike an Egyptian, hide him in the sand, and do not fatten the body when the passion has been defeated; for just as what is hidden in rich soil sprouts, so passion sprouts again in a well-fed body. An extinguished flame shines brightly again if it catches dry twigs, and pleasure that has been put to sleep is rekindled by a surfeit of food. Do not pity the body when it complains of weakness, nor fatten it with an abundance of varied foods; for if it becomes strong, it will rise up against you and kindle an inexpiable war against you, until it makes your soul captive and hands you over as a slave to the passion of unchastity. A well-reined horse is a body that is lacking in nourishment, and it will never throw its rider; for it yields while constrained by the bit and obeys the hand of the charioteer, while the body is tamed by hunger and vigil, and does not shy away from the reasoning that mounts it, nor does it neigh when stirred by the impulse of the passions. ^C

CHAPTER IV.

On Luxuria.

Continence gives birth to temperance, but gluttony is the mother of intemperance. Oil nourishes the lamp’s wick, and the company of women kindles the torch of pleasure. The violence of the waves tosses a ship without ballast, and the thought of luxuria [tosses] the incontinent mind. Unchastity will take surfeit as an ally, for it will abandon her and take its stand with the adversaries, and at the end will join warfare together with the enemies. He who loves quiet remains invulnerable to the missiles of the enemy, but he who mingles with a crowd receives wounds at close range. The gaze of a woman is a poisoned arrow; it has wounded the soul and instilled its venom, and the longer it remains, the greater the corruption it creates. ^D

^A One who guards himself against these missiles does not proceed to frequent public gatherings, nor does he wander about during feast days with his mouth agape; for it is better to remain at home and occupy oneself with prayers than, while thinking one is honoring the holy festivals, to become a secondary worker for the enemy. Flee the company of women if you wish to be continent, and never give them the confidence to show themselves to be familiar with you. For at the beginning they either possess reverence, or they feign it; but afterwards they boldly dare anything. In the first encounter they cast their eyes downward, speak gently, weep with compassion, conduct themselves modestly, sigh bitterly, ask about purity, and listen intently. ^B Second, you saw them, and they already hold their heads a little higher. Third, they now look at you shamelessly, smiling, and they themselves laugh freely. Finally, they adorn themselves and clearly demonstrate themselves to you; they fashion their gaze in a way that announces their passion, they raise their eyebrows and roll their eyelids, they bare their necks, and they writhe with their whole bodies. They speak words that soften the passion and cultivate a tone of voice meant to charm the ear, until they have laid siege to your soul by every means. These become for you hooks that lure one to death, and complex snares that draw one to destruction; do not let them deceive you by using words that seem kind, for within them is hidden the malignant venom of wild beasts.

CHAPTER V

Draw closer to a burning fire rather than a young woman, since you yourself are a youth; for by approaching the fire and feeling pain, you will quickly jump back, but by being pampered by a woman's words, you will not depart so easily. ^C Grass flourishes when situated near water, and the passion of intemperance flourishes in the company of women. He who fills his belly and at the same time professes to practice self-restraint is like one who says that he can check the power of fire in straw. For just as it is impossible to stop the rush of fire running through straw, so it is impossible to restrain an intemperate impulse inflamed by satiety. A column rests upon its base, and the passion of lust rests upon security. A ship afflicted by a storm makes haste for the harbor, and the soul of the chaste person seeks solitude; the one flees the waves of the sea, which threaten danger, while the other flees the forms of women, which give birth to destruction mingled with pain. ^D An adorned and beautifully sculpted form sinks the soul into the depths worse than any wave; it happens that a man may swim through the latter due to a desire for life, but the appearance of a woman, by deceiving, persuades one even to despise life itself. A lone bush escapes the flame of fire without harm, and a chaste man, separated from women, is not inflamed with the passion of intemperance; for just as the memory of fire does not burn the intellect, so neither does the passion have power when the matter is not present.

CHAPTER VI

If you have mercy on a warrior, he will be your enemy, and if you spare a passion, it will rise up against you. The sight of a woman irritates an intemperate man toward pleasure, while it moves the chaste man to...

glorifying God. ^A If the passion grows quiet in the company of women, do not believe it when it promises you freedom from passion. For like a dog that wags its tail while cowed by a crowd, but when it goes outside reveals its own malice, so too is the passion. When the memory of a woman occurs without passion, then consider that you have surpassed the boundaries of temperance. But when her image excites you to contemplate her, and her arrows encompass your soul, then consider that you are outside of virtue. But do not linger in such thoughts, nor spend much time conversing in your mind with the form of a woman; for the passion is wont to return, and danger is near. For just as a moderate firing of a furnace cleanses silver, but one that lasts too long destroys it easily, so a woman’s image, dwelling on the mind for a long time, corrupts the state of temperance. Do not spend long conversing with the face that has appeared to you, lest it kindle in you a flame of pleasure and burn up the threshing floor of your soul; for just as a spark lingering in chaff stirs up a flame, so the persistent memory of a woman kindles desire.

CHAPTER VII

On Avarice

Avarice ^B is the root of all evils, and it nourishes the remaining passions like wicked branches, and will not let those that have bloomed from it wither. He who wishes to cut out the passions must cut out the root; for while avarice remains, if he prunes the branches, it does no good, for even if they are cut off, they will immediately bloom again. A monk who possesses much is like a ship burdened with many loads, easily submerged in the storm of waves; for just as a ship taking on water is tormented by every wave, so a man of many possessions is submerged by anxieties. A monk without possessions is an unencumbered traveler, finding an inn in every place. A monk who possesses nothing is an eagle flying on high, which only descends for food when necessity compels it. Such a man is higher than every temptation; he mocks present things and is lifted up on high, withdrawing from earthly things and dwelling with the heavenly; for he carries a light wing, ^C not weighed down by anxieties. If tribulation comes, he departs from the place without sorrow. If death arrives, he departs with a calm mind, because he has tied his soul to no earthly bond. ^D But he who possesses much is bound by anxieties as if by shackles, and is tied with a chain like a dog; and if he is forced to move away, he carries about the memories of his possessions—a heavy burden and useless sadness—and is pierced with grief and greatly tormented in his mind; he has let go of his wealth, yet he is lashed by sorrow. And if death comes, he wretchedly abandons present things, delivers up his soul, and does not turn his eyes away from his affairs; he is dragged away against his will, like a runaway slave, divided from his body, but not separated from his possessions—held more by the passion that detains him than by those who usually drag men away.

CHAPTER VIII.

The sea is not filled by receiving the multitude of rivers, nor is the desire of the covetous man satisfied by money. ^A He has doubled his wealth, and he longs to double it again, nor does he ever cease from this doubling until death brings this insatiable pursuit to an end. A prudent monk will attend to the necessity of his body, and will satisfy the hunger of his stomach with bread and water; he will not flatter the wealthy for the sake of the pleasure of his belly, nor will he enslave his free mind to many masters; for the hands are sufficient to serve the body and to satisfy natural need at all times. A monk who possesses nothing is an unassailable athlete and a light runner, swiftly arriving at the prize of the upward calling. A monk with many possessions rejoices in many revenues, but the one who possesses nothing rejoices ^B in crowns of virtuous achievements. A covetous monk labors intensely, but the one who is poor has leisure for prayers and readings. A covetous monk fills his storehouses with gold; the one who possesses nothing treasures up in heaven. "Cursed is he who makes an idol and places it in secret," and likewise he who is held by the passion of avarice; for the former worships useless, unrefined metal, while the latter carries around the imagination of wealth as if it were an idol.

CHAPTER IX.

On Anger.

Anger is a maddening passion, ^C and it easily alienates those who possess knowledge, makes the soul bestial, and causes one to shun every encounter. A violent wind will not move a tower, and anger will not seize a soul that is free from wrath. Water is moved by the force of the winds, and the irascible man is troubled by foolish thoughts. If an irritable monk sees someone, he grinds his teeth. The spreading of fog thickens the air, and the stirring of rage thickens the mind ^D of the angry man. A cloud subdues and darkens the sun, and a thought of malice does the same to the mind. A lion that is in a cage constantly moves the hinges of its door, and the irascible man in his cell moves thoughts of anger. A pleasant sight is a tranquil sea, but there is nothing more pleasant than a peaceful state of soul; for dolphins swim in a calm sea, and in a peaceful state of mind, thoughts worthy of God swim along. A long-suffering monk is a quiet fountain, providing a pleasant drink to all; but the mind of the irascible man is perpetually troubled, and he will not pass water to the thirsty; or if he does, he proffers it muddied and useless; and the eyes of the irascible man are turbulent, bloodshot, and messengers of a troubled heart. The face of the long-suffering man is composed, and his eyes are benign, looking straight ahead.

CHAPTER X.

The gentleness of a man is remembered before God, and a soul free from wrath becomes a temple of the Holy Spirit.

^A Foxes dwell in a soul that harbors resentment, and beasts lurk within a troubled heart. An honorable man flees from a base lodging, and God from a heart that remembers injuries. A stone falling into water clouds it, and a wicked word clouds the heart of a man. Banish thoughts of wrath from your soul, and let anger not lodge in your heart, so that you may not be troubled at the time of prayer. For just as smoke from chaff irritates the eyes, so does the memory of injuries irritate the mind at the time of prayer. The thoughts of a wrathful man are the offspring of a viper, and they devour the heart that bore them. The prayer of a wrathful man is an abominable incense, and the psalmody of one who is incensed is a discordant sound. The gift of a man who remembers injuries is a sacrifice infested with worms, and it shall not approach the altars where lustral water is sprinkled. ^B A wrathful man sees troubled dreams, and the irascible man imagines the incursions of beasts. A long-suffering man of vision sees the company of the holy angels, and the man who forgets injuries practices spiritual discourses, and by night he receives solutions to mysteries.

CHAPTER XI. Concerning sadness.

^C A monk who is given over to sadness does not know spiritual pleasure. Sadness is a slackening of the soul, and it consists of thoughts of wrath. For wrath is a desire for vengeance, and the frustration of vengeance gives birth to sadness; sadness is the mouth of a lion, and it easily devours the one who is sad. Sadness is a worm of the heart, and it consumes the mother that bore it. A mother who bears a child has pain, but if she has given birth, she is freed from the pain; but sadness, when it is born, stirs up much pain, and remaining after the birth-pangs, it torments not with small pain. A monk who is sad does not know spiritual joy, just as one who is suffering from a violent fever does not perceive the taste of honey. ^D A monk who is sad will not move his mind toward contemplation, nor does he pour forth pure prayer. For sadness is an obstacle to every good. A chain on the feet is a hindrance to running, and sadness is a hindrance to contemplation. A captive from the barbarians is bound by iron chains, and one captive to the passions is bound by sadness. Sadness has no power when other passions are not present, just as a chain has no power when there are no jailers to bind. He who is bound by sadness has been overcome by the passions, and he carries about the chain as a token of his own defeat. For sadness arises from the fact that someone has been frustrated in a carnal desire, and desire is yoked to every passion. He who has overcome desire has overcome the passions, and he who has overcome the passions will not be overcome by sadness. The temperate man will not be saddened by the lack of food, nor will the chaste man by the failure to indulge in unbridled licentiousness, nor the man free from wrath by the loss of the opportunity for vengeance, nor the humble man by being deprived of human honor, nor the man free from the love of money by encountering a loss, for they have powerfully turned away the desire for these things; just as one who is clad in armor

^A does not receive the dart, so the impassible man is not wounded by sadness.

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

Concerning Acedia (sloth)

neither does slothfulness bend a soul that is firmly attached. A wandering monk is a dry shrub of the wilderness; he rests a little, and then is driven away against his will. A transplanted plant produces no fruit, and a wandering monk will bring forth no fruit of virtue. To one who is infirm and weak, one type of food is insufficient, and for the slothful monk, one task is not enough. For the lover of pleasure, one woman is not enough, and for the slothful monk, one cell will not suffice. ^A

CHAPTER XIV.

The slothful eye keeps looking intently at the windows, and his mind imagines those who are visiting. The door has creaked, he springs up; he has heard a voice, and he has peered through the window, and he does not depart from there until he becomes numb from sitting. The slothful man, when reading, yawns often and easily falls into sleep; he rubs his eyes, stretches out his hands, and having taken his eyes off the book, stares at the wall. Then he turns back and reads a little; he flips through the ends of the discourses, counting the pages and calculating the quires; he finds fault with the script and the ornamentation. Finally, folding the book, he puts it under his head and sleeps a sleep that is not very deep, for hunger soon rouses his soul and makes it busy with its own concerns. ^B A slothful monk is lazy in prayer and will never speak the words of prayer. For just as one who is sick cannot carry a heavy burden, so also the slothful man will by no means perform the work of God carefully; for the one is stripped of the strength of the body, while the other is relaxed in the nerves and efforts of the soul. Patience cures sloth, as does doing everything with much diligence and the fear of God. Set a standard for yourself in every task and do not stop before you have finished it, and pray with understanding and intensity, and the spirit of sloth will flee from you.

CHAPTER XV.

On vainglory.

Vainglory is an irrational passion, and it is easily intertwined with every work of virtue. A line traced on water is blurred, and so is the labor of virtue in a soul desirous of vainglory. A hand kept hidden in the bosom becomes white, and an action that is hidden shines more brightly than light. ^C An ivy plant entwines itself around a tree, and when it reaches the top, it dries up the root; likewise, vainglory grows alongside virtues and does not leave them until it has cut off their strength. A grape cluster dragged along the ground rots easily, and virtue is destroyed when it is rooted in vainglory. A monk consumed by vainglory is a laborer without wages; he has undergone the effort but has received no reward. A perforated purse does not keep what is put into it, and vainglory dissipates the rewards of the virtues. The self-restraint of the vainglorious man is smoke from a furnace, and both will be dissolved into thin air. The wind wipes away the traces of a man, as does the almsgiving of the vainglorious. ^D

The cast of a stone does not reach heaven, and the prayer of him who seeks to please men shall not ascend to God.

CHAPTER XVI.

^A Vainglory is a rock hidden under the water; if you strike against it, you have lost your cargo. The prudent man hides his treasure, and the wise monk the labors of virtue. Vainglory advises one to pray in the streets, but he who fights against it prays in his inner chamber. The foolish man makes his riches public, and stirs up many to lay an ambush against himself. But do you hide your own things; for you are on a road of robbers until you arrive at the city of peace, and then you may use your goods securely. The virtue of the vainglorious man is a crushed sacrifice, and it shall not be offered upon the altar of God. Despondency loosens the tension of the soul, but vainglory strings up the mind that has fallen away from God; it makes the weak man strong, and the old man more robust than the young, provided only that many witnesses of the things being done are present. Then fasting, and vigil, and prayer are easy, for the praise of the many rouses up readiness. Do not sell your labors for human glory, nor betray the future glory for a passing acclamation. For human glory dwells on the ground, and its fame is extinguished upon earth, but the glory of virtue remains forever.

CHAPTER XVII.

^C On Pride.

Pride is a swelling of the soul full of matter; if it ripens, it will burst, and will cause a great stench. The flash of lightning foretells the sound of thunder, and the presence of vainglory announces pride. The soul of the proud man ascends to a great height, and from there it casts him into the abyss. He suffers under the sickness of pride who separates himself from God, and ascribes to his own power the deeds he has rightly performed. And just as he who steps upon a spider's web, having fallen through, is carried downward, so he falls who trusts in his own power. Plentiful fruit bends down the branches of a tree, and a multitude of virtues humbles the mind of a man. Rotten fruit is useless to the husbandman, and the virtue of the proud man is not useful to God. A stake supports a branch laden with fruit, and the fear of God supports a virtuous soul. Just as the weight of the fruit breaks the branch, so pride casts down a virtuous ^D soul. Do not surrender your soul to pride, and you will not see terrifying phantasms. For the soul of the proud man is abandoned by God, and becomes a source of joy for demons. By night he imagines a multitude of wild beasts attacking, and by day he is troubled by thoughts of cowardice; if he sleeps, he starts up constantly, and if he is awake, he is terrified by the shadow of a bird. The rustling of a leaf has terrified the proud man, and the sound of water has broken his soul. For he who a little while before sets himself against God, and denies His help, is finally terrified by vile specters.

^A

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.