On the Eight Evil Thoughts

OF SAINT NILUS: ON THE EIGHT EVIL THOUGHTS.

SAINT NILUS: ON THE EIGHT CRITICAL THOUGHTS.

NOTICE.

Of the two treatises which blessed Nilus composed on the same subject—that of the eight vices—two learned men, Francis Combefis in his final *Auctarium* and Joseph Maria Suares in his collection of the minor works of Nilus, edited and translated one of them into Latin. Emericus Bigotius, a man to be remembered, again committed the same to the press, along with an ancient version not previously seen. It exists in two written codices of the Royal Library, number 348 and 136 (or 2425), in which it was my pleasure to observe that remarkable reading which I had already assembled in the previous volume from an ancient interpreter. The other treatise, namely the one here, was published in Latin within the works of John of Damascus, having been translated by the careful author Jacobus Billius; it is now presented in Greek based on two Royal exemplars, numbers 1770 and 1662. And to the first of these, a distich is prefixed:

^A*Neilou men potamoio roos chthona oide potizein;* *Neilou d' au monachoio logos phrenas oiden iainein.*

That is, as interpreted by Billius:

*The river Nile irrigates the fields; but the discourse* *That flows from the mouth of the monk Nilus irrigates the soul.*

On Gluttony.

Having undertaken to write about the eight critical thoughts or passions—I mean gluttony, fornication, avarice, anger, sadness, acedia, vainglory, and pride—we shall speak first of the continence of the belly, from which it is easy to discern gluttony as its adversary. The Fathers, therefore, have not handed down one rule of fasting, nor one and the same mode and measure for the reception of food; because not all are endowed with the same strength, whether by reason of age, or infirmity, or a certain habit of body. Yet they have proposed one goal for all: to flee gluttony and to turn away from overeating. Furthermore, they deemed a one-day fast to be more useful than that which is protracted without food for two, three, or four days, or even up to an entire week. For they say that one who stretches abstinence beyond measure often also consumes food beyond measure; and hence it happens that sometimes, through the deception or excess of fasting, the body faints and becomes sluggish for the performance of spiritual duties; at other times, weighed down by the abundance of food, it leads the soul into acedia ^B and languid softness. And then again, they said that it is not appropriate for all to eat vegetables...

nor for all to eat legumes, nor the sustenance of dry bread. Indeed, they said that one man eating two pounds of bread might still suffer hunger, while another might be satisfied with half a pound. Yet they warned everyone not to be deceived by the satiety of the stomach, nor to be dragged along by the pleasure of the throat. For it is not only the quantity of food, but also the quality that produces the fiery darts of fornication. For with whatever ^A kind of food the stomach is filled, it is wont to stoke the flame of the passions. And again, it is not only the excess of wine that intoxicates the mind, but also the satiety of water; and, to speak simply, the immoderation of any food or drink produces drowsiness and stupor. Therefore, the use of food is assumed only for the sake of living, not for serving the urges of desire. Hence, he who provides to the body what necessity-more rather than what pleasure-desires, will suffer no harm in his pursuit of continence. The definition and rule of continence, transmitted from antiquity by the Fathers, is that he who takes food should desist from it while the appetite is still present, and should not wait for fullness. And the Apostle, when he said, "make no provision for the flesh to gratify its desires" [Rom. XIII, 14], did not forbid the necessary governance of life, but forbade the pleasure-loving desire. For the sake of the perfect purity ^B of the soul, however, the abstinence from food alone does not suffice, unless the other virtues also run alongside; rather, continence brings about a partial purity for the sake of chastity, taking humility as its ally. For he who attempts to achieve it through continence alone is like one swimming with only one hand. Some of those who were practicing continence, having measured what was sufficient for their bodies for a daily ration, removed a sixth part; and when they had achieved this, they again cut away from the remainder in a similar proportion; and thus, proceeding on the path, they arrived at the measure that provides only for the maintenance of life. But so much for continence. It is necessary, however, to add something also concerning gluttony (*gastrimargia*). The ancients called gluttony the act of eating rapidly, and in large quantities, and indiscriminately, and before the proper time; but they called greed (*laimargia*) the act of taking pleasure in food; and there is a difference: the one relates to quantity, the other to quality. For since *margainein* ^C is to be mad, the mania of the stomach arises in regard to quantity; but greed...

of the throat or gluttony in regard to quality, although some have called both by the single name of "gula" [gluttony]. This causes [distress of] the stomach, liver, spleen, and finally debility, and those who because of this have fallen into grave illnesses. ^A

The flower is the beginning of fruits, and continentia is the beginning of active virtue, as is gluttony of vicious passions.

Wood is the fuel of fire; the satiety of the stomach is the fuel of lust; the former excites a flame, the latter a base desire.

A needy stomach calms the perturbations of the soul, which a full one excites.

An arid diet produces a sober mind; but a moist and soft diet drowns the intellect.

A mist obscures the rays of the sun; but a thick vapor exhaling from food obscures the mind. ^B

As uncultivated land produces thorns, so a stomach laden with food produces obscene thoughts.

Neither can perfume be found in the mud, nor the fragrant odor of virtue among the gluttonous.

The eye of the glutton curiously seeks out banquets; that of the continent person, the assemblies of spiritual and wise men.

The mind of the glutton counts the memories of the saints; the mind of the continent person imitates their lives.

Do not fatten the body with exquisite and excessive food, for it will immediately rise up against you. But rather, restrain it through continence, and you will render it obedient, so that it neither breaks out in disorderly motions nor neighs like a horse from wanton impulse. ^C For neither does a slain enemy instill terror, nor does a body brought low by continence disturb the soul; and just as a corpse does not feel the flame of fire, so neither does he who is endowed with continence [feel] the furnace of lust.

Continence produces chastity; gluttony, on the other hand, is the mother of profligacy.

He who fills his stomach and professes the cultivation of modesty is like a man who promises to suppress the force of fire with straw, or to extinguish a flame with oil.

He who is sated with bread and water is not continent. For the satiety of anything is foreign to continence.

When the demon of gluttony is unable to weaken the prescribed abstinence regarding food, then he malignantly casts the ascetic into a desire for extreme continence; so that, while he is unable to attain to a continence that exceeds measure on account of bodily weakness, he may also fall away from that which is within measure. And this same thing the enemies [demons] also do in other monastic exercises of virtue. ^D

NOTE. But in this signification, it does not refer to the fury of enthusiasm, but rather to the illumination of it, according to the same Hesychius at the word *enthousiasmos*, and after him Suidas and Varinus; the latter of whom seems to be corrected by the former ones. It may also be corrected in Philo, and that is more pleasing.

^A When we visit the homes of those who live in the world, then most of all let us strive to embrace continence; lest the mind, when it has been fattened by gluttony, neglect its accustomed ways and be easily captured by the enemy. It is fitting that the aged should master anger, but the young their belly; for to the former the psychic demons lay snares, but to the latter, rather, the bodily ones. Continence of the belly humbles the passions; gluttony makes them bold. In the gluttony of the belly, investigate nothing divine. As a cloud is a covering for the moon, so is gluttony for the wisdom of God. Luxury, and especially to the young, is a treasury of passions, a voluntary death of the soul. To a youthful body, luxury and drunkenness kindle the fire of pleasures. ^B A fat belly, through the constant succession of turbid vapors, knows how to put to flight the fineness of the mind. Divine love, if it is not lifted up by the wing of continence, falls more quickly toward material things, being weighed down by the shackles of intemperance. The constant surfeit of the belly stirs up the leaps of lust. The belly is an unfaithful guardian of a deposit, casting out whatever is put into it. A gluttonous, fat man is a pig ready for the slaughter. An influx of blood produces an efflux of spirit. Whoever masters his belly is able to pursue virtue in any place; but he who is mastered by it, is able to do so in no place whatsoever. There are two goals of continence: one, that, by renouncing the pleasures of the present life, we may attain the pleasures of the life to come; the other, that by the body being humbled, the soul may also be humbled along with it, and thus become prone to compunction. Therefore, anyone who abstains from meats while gorging himself on other foods is a glutton, having fallen away from the aforementioned goals of continence. ^C Gluttony often is accustomed to leap in even through the window of charity. Gluttony dries up the fountain of praiseworthy tears, but stirs up the fountain of most shameful pleasures. If you flatter a lion, you will often tame it; ^D

^A but if you flatter the belly, you will make it more savage.

For the gluttonous, even dreams are food. Govern your belly, lest it govern you. When the belly is pressed, the heart is humbled; but when it is pampered, it is lifted up to pride.

The prince of demons is Satan; but the prince of vices is gluttony.

After the wicked one, or the devil, has bound the hands and feet of gluttons with sleep, he then does everything according to his own will, having defiled both soul and body with base phantasms and impure excretions.

Among worldly people, the root of all evils is avarice; but among monks, it is rather gluttony.

A mass of dung begets a great number of worms; and a mass of food produces a great number of impassioned thoughts.

On Fornication

The spirit of fornication, through the desire of the flesh, causes us trouble even from our earliest years. Its war is fierce, and twofold, being observed in both soul and body. But continence fights strenuously against this, bringing to its aid the humility of the soul, without which no one will be able to overcome fornication or other vices.

It is necessary, therefore, according to the Proverb, to guard the heart with all watchfulness ^C against impure thoughts, and to admit none of them that approach us; lest otherwise, entering into the soul, it drag or enervate it, and entice it toward pleasure. For it is worthwhile, according to the teaching of the Lord, to cleanse first what is inside the cup, that what is outside may also become clean.

Furthermore, we observe fasting not only that we may afflict the body, but also that we may acquire the prudence of the mind, lest, being darkened by an immoderate abundance of food, it should be unequal to ^D the guarding of thoughts. And that commandment also, which the first man received from God, bids us to watch the head of the serpent; that is, the beginning of the harmful thought, through which it creeps

^A into our soul, lest, if the head be admitted, the rest of the body also slide in with it and we fall into forbidden action. It is well, therefore, if we dash and crush the little ones of Babylon—I mean the shameful thoughts that first set upon us—against the rock, which is Christ [1 Cor. x, 4; Ps. cxxxvii, 9]. For if they grow up, they will provide us with many troubles and tasks. We should not trust that we can cast out the unclean spirit of fornication by asceticism alone, unless the help afforded by God joins us. For man will not cease to be warred upon by it until he truly believes that it is not by his own zeal and labor, but by the protection and defense of God, that he will be delivered from this harsh scourge. For the matter is an extraordinary one and above nature; and whoever tramples down the stimuli and pleasures of the flesh, in a way, departs from the body. Hence it is impossible for a man to fly to high purity on his own wings, unless the grace of God also leads him up from the abyss of passions. ^B A proof that one has attained this virtue completely is that no shameful phantom should leap upon the soul in sleep; for these are a certain indication that the soul is sick and not yet delivered from the passion. Therefore, we say that these are also a proof of previous sloth and of the weakness in us—like an illness hidden in the secret parts of the soul, rendered manifest by the discharge that occurs during sleep. Great, therefore, brothers, is the accomplishment of purity and temperance; and for this reason, it is warred against by the enemies with great and varied plots. But we, knowing that without holiness, as the Apostle says [Hebr. xii, 14], no one shall see the Lord, let us not grow weary while guarding our heart diligently, practicing continence, and frequently praying with groaning, and doing other things, so that we may extinguish ^C the furnace of our flesh, which the Babylonian king kindles with the stimuli of desire, by the intervention of the Holy Spirit. To Him be glory to the ages.

Temperance is the child of continence; but fornication is the offspring of gluttony. The violence of the waves tosses the ship; and the thought of fornication tosses the intemperate mind. ^D A blooming face is a poisoned dart: it wounds the soul and plants its venom within, and the longer it lingers, the greater the corruption it effects. It is better to stay at home and be at leisure, than to think one is honoring the feasts while becoming prey and an accession to the demon. Oil feeds the lamp, and likewise does the company of a woman fuel the flame of pleasure. Flee the company of women, and grant them not...

^A their approach. At the first meeting, they keep their gaze downward, they speak gently, they weep piteously, they compose themselves modestly, they sigh frequently; they ask about chastity, and they listen with diligence. On the second encounter, you see, they lift their eyes a little; at the third conversation, they look at you more fixedly, they smile, and even break into unrestrained laughter; and finally, they prepare everything that besieges the soul, the hooks of death, the enticements of sorcery, and intricate snares.

If you approach fire, you will quickly spring back; but if you let yourself be softened by the words of a woman, you do not immediately withdraw. The herb that is near the water flourishes, and so does the passion of lust in the company of women.

^B An adorned appearance is the ruin and shipwreck of the intemperate. Just as the memory of fire does not burn the mind, so neither does passion when the matter that feeds and increases it is removed. It is right to spare a serpent and stay clear of passion; for as soon as they find an opportunity, they hasten to kill.

In meeting with harmful persons, do not trust in the fact that your passions are currently quiet. For this, too, is a strategy: that they may rise up against you when you are off guard, and thus more easily capture you. If at any time you have overcome a passion, do not on that account cast aside your care and vigilance. For passions are prone to return, and with a sudden assault, they bring great danger to the unwary.

^C A spark lingering in straw excites a flame; so, too, does a harmful memory, when it dwells within for too long, kindle the desire for fornication.

As the memory of death cuts off intemperance in food, so does continence, joined with humility and prayer, excise the wantonness of lust.

If a thought of lust enters your mind, immediately draw your intellect away therefrom and lift it up to God with great eagerness; lest, by lingering too long, you be condemned as a lover of pleasure.

When you burn with passion, then say with a groan: "Woe is me, if I prefer the devil to God, and impurity to purity!" *They have now compassed me about; deliver me, O my glory, from them that compass me about.* There are also some who take a rod and strike themselves severely, and thus expel the burning, since pain drives pleasure far away.

^D As often as the enticement of lust makes an assault upon you when you are alone, rise up and cast yourself before God, crying out: "Son of God, help me." And do not be excessively saddened; for we are not the eradicators of the passions, but their combatants.

^A The demon of fornication is heavy, and attacks vehemently those who are struggling against such a passion; and this occurs all the more during the neglect of one’s diet and the association with harmful people. For by the softness of pleasure, it steals into the mind, and afterwards it advances through memory, settting the body on fire, and exhibiting varied forms of disgraceful fantasies.

A chaste body is more precious to God than a sumptuous sacrifice.

The passion of disgrace is eradicated by mental toil and bodily labor: by the soul always praying to God, and the body practicing continence.

In the battles of the flesh, the body must be exhausted. For it is better for the body to fall into illness than the soul.

Debauchery both softens and defiles the soul, and transfers its sovereignty into disgraceful slavery; and by undermining the vigor of the body, it renders it more prone to diseases.

On Avarice.

The war of avarice is an external one, and alien to our nature; it attaches itself to monks out of a lack of faith. For the stimuli of other passions, such as anger and desire, seem to take their occasion from the body; whence, being in a way innate, they are overcome with difficulty and over a long period of time. But this passion is aggregated from without, and if it meets with diligence and attention, it is more easily cut off; but if it is neglected, it becomes more destructive than the others, and the root of all evils, and idolatry, according to the Apostle. ^C For both anger and desire are seen in children; because the Creator, from the beginning, sowed these into our nature for the sake of assistance: anger, indeed, against the devil—as that great man in theology, Gregory, says: "Let your anger be against the serpent alone, through whom you have perished"—and desire, for the sake of procreating children, even if we use these for a purpose contrary to nature. But the disease of avarice does not receive its starting point from a natural impulse; but, as we have said, from a lack of faith, because we do not believe that we are governed by the providence of God. ^D For when it has seized upon a lukewarm soul, it seems reasonable to put forward pretexts: a long old age, weakness of body, or the abandonment of relatives and friends, and other such excuses; and then, having slipped in,

^A and embracing the soul, it shifts the entire desire unto itself, and persuades one to seek only money, and to trust firmly in this alone as though it will help in time of need, while regarding hopes in God as nothing more than winds. Now there are three types of greed: the first, when someone desires to acquire what he does not have, like Gehazi, whose penalty is eternal leprosy; the second, when someone, after having renounced what he has, again desires wealth, like Judas, whose penalty is the bitter noose; and the third, when someone, having promised to renounce all he has, secretly keeps a portion, like Ananias and Sapphira, whose penalty is sudden and unsparing death. The root of evils must therefore be plucked out; for if this remains, the branches will also shoot forth. Lest we hear unexpectedly: "You fool, this night your soul is required of you, and those things which you have prepared, whose will they be?" Those who dwell in a cenobitic community, concerning themselves with nothing, are best suited to cultivate the virtue of despising money and the rejection of greed.

A greedy monk is most diligent in manual labor; he considers these his primary work, while prayer and reading and whatever else is spiritual he treats as secondary. Indeed, for the defense of such a passion, he brings forward that apostolic saying: "If anyone will not work, neither let him eat." ^B Yet, on the contrary, those things which are useful to the soul ought to be held as the primary work, and those things which are fashioned by the hands as a secondary appendance.

The greedy man is not he who possesses money at all, but he who loves it and desires the acquisition of it.

A monk who is rich and possesses many things is like a heavily laden ship which is easily submerged in a storm. ^C But he who possesses nothing is a light and unencumbered traveler, finding lodging in every place, and quickly arriving at the prize of the upward calling; he is like an eagle flying on high, descending to food only when necessity compels him.

A monk laboring under the disease of greed is never free from care and anxiety.

There can be no pact between greed and love. For love willingly endures being defrauded, and shares what it has with great joy, and at times magnanimously casts everything away; but greed is accustomed to doing the exact opposite.

Waves will never be lacking to the sea, nor anger and anguish to the greedy man.

A greedy man striving for heaven is like one who tries to run with his feet bound in chains.

On Anger

When anger has once taken hold of the breast and flared up, it blinds the mind with smoke and corrupts judgment; and in the end, it renders all things slippery and ^D chaotic. For, it is said, "My eye was troubled by wrath." And again, "Wrath in...

the bosom of fools settles." And it hates what is just. ^A For, it is said, "The wrath of man does not work the righteousness of God." And it behaves indecorously. For, it is said, "A quick-tempered man is not seemly." And since it throws the one who has been caught by it into so many evils, it drives him to ruin in a pitiful manner. It is necessary, therefore, to pursue gentleness and keep ourselves undisturbed whenever we correct one who has done wrong, lest we contract a disease through the very means of healing. "Be angry," it is said, "and do not sin." But how would anyone who is angry not sin? If he is always angry against his own passions and attributes the causes of his anger to his own negligence. But if we happen to be moved against a neighbor, let us quickly be reconciled. For it is written: "Let not the sun go down upon your anger." And again: "Do not hate your brother in your heart."

The rising of mist thickens the air, and the agitation of wrath thickens the mind of the irascible man. The mind of the irascible man is a troubled fountain, possessing a muddy and useless stream. A noble and grave man turns away from an obscene lodging, and likewise does God from the heart of an irascible man. As smoke troubles the eyes, so does wrath the soul of one praying. The thoughts of the irascible man are the brood of vipers, and they devour the heart that bore them. ^B The dreams of the irascible are troubled and filled with terror. "The sun," it says, "should not set upon your anger," so that the demons, rushing in by night, may not disturb the soul through frightful phantasms—for these arise from wrath—and in this way make it more cowardly for the battle. ^C Wrath requires more medicines than desire, for it is more violent and more difficult to restrain. A torrent once flooded carries away whatever it encounters, and wrath, having boiled over, carries away the understanding. Angers, like dogs, produce blind thoughts. Wrath, when it has boiled over, becomes the mother of madness.

On Sadness.

When the evil spirit of sadness seizes the soul, it relaxes all its vigor and endurance, and it darkens, and weighs down, and sub- ^D

- ^A merges it completely; and, like a moth upon a garment or a woodworm in wood, it consumes it and chokes it, and does not permit it to receive any consolation at all. For when it has filled it with every bitterness, it causes it to turn away from all comfort, and to reject it, and to grow slack, and to despair of all things; and subsequently the demon of acedia / listlessness seizes it. But we must struggle against sadness immediately, through prayer, and hope in God, and the reading of the divine Scriptures, and by association and conversation with pious men. However, one should exercise oneself even more in that sadness which is according to God—that is, the sadness over those things in which we sin, and act sluggishly, and provoke God to anger. For this, on the contrary, incites one toward the cultivation of virtues and makes one eager and diligent.

Sadness which is not according to God is composed of the frustration of evil desire. He who is seized by a fever does not know the taste of honey, nor does a monk who suffers from the disease of sadness know of spiritual joy. ^B Sadness is a worm of the heart, pulling the mind toward itself and distracting it. He who is in sorrow will not move his mind toward contemplation, nor does he send up pure prayer to God; for sorrow is an obstacle to every virtuous achievement. Sadness has no strength when the passions are not present. For sadness is the indubitable indicator of the passions. Therefore, he who masters the passions masters sadness as well. Just as jaundice removes the sensation of the body, so sadness removes the sensation of the soul. He who has not been conquered by worldly pleasure will not be conquered by sadness either. For he who flees the former will not be overcome by the latter. The medicine of the viper, if applied sparingly, destroys the poisons of other beasts, but if consumed beyond measure, it also kills the one who drinks it. ^C Similarly, the demon of sadness, if it occurs in a moderate way, extinguishes the loves of pleasures which are instilled by other demons; but if it attacks more vehemently, it sinks the wretched soul. A furnace purifies impure gold; and sadness which is according to God purifies a contaminated heart. A great quantity of wood chokes a flame, and an immoderacy of sadness dries up tears, making the soul smoke-filled and dark.

On Acedia

^A place, and toward the brothers living together, and sloth in prayer and reading. It suggests thoughts of moving, and of other places and the desire for another way of life; it describes another manner of living as more conducive to salvation, and persuades him that unless he changes his place he will surely perish. And in addition to these, it inserts an unaccustomed hunger and excites the appetite for food. Then it brings in thoughts of going to visit the brothers, for the sake of utility or visitation, as it were. And when it has persuaded him, it makes him fickle, inconstant, a lover of pleasure, and a wanderer, and little by little binds him with worldly cares and occupations. But if it cannot gain the victory, it arms a heavy slumber against him, and by submerging him, it attempts to overcome him from that point. It is fitting, however, to overthrow it through prayer, and reading, and patience, and endurance, and abstinence from idle talk, and through the work of one's hands. ^B

Acedia is a languor of the soul that lacks endurance, or the listlessness of a soul suffering from a craving for pleasure. A wind drives a cloud without water, and the spirit of acedia drives a mind that has no endurance. Just as the force of the wind cannot shake a tree that has taken deep roots, so the onset of acedia cannot bend a soul that is fixed and stable. Neither can a plant that is frequently replanted bear fruit, nor can a wandering monk. A monk subject to acedia is but a dry twig of the desert; he rests for a little while, and then migrates elsewhere. One woman does not suffice for one given to lust, nor one dwelling for one laboring under acedia. This one imagines visitors: the door squeaks ^C and he immediately rushes out; he hears a voice and peers through the window. If he has sat down for the sake of reading, he begins to yawn and falls into a sleep; he rubs his eyes, stretches his hands; having turned his eyes away from the book, he stares at the wall. Then, having turned back, he reads a little, flips the pages, curiously investigates the ends of the discourses; eventually he closes the book and places it under his head as a pillow. A monk who is a victim of acedia is prompt for service, but slothful for prayer. In every work, set a limit for yourself, and do not depart before you have finished it. When you fall into acedia or weariness, exhort your soul with tears, and thus exorcise it: "Why are you sad, and why do you trouble me? ^D Hope in God, and He will act." A monk must be prepared as though he were to die on the morrow, and yet so look after his body as though he were to live for a long time. For the former cuts off the thoughts of acedia; while the latter preserves for the body its balanced self-control. Someone said to the old man, "Father, I am seized by acedia." He answered, "Not yet, my son, have you known..."

^A the joy that awaits the diligent, nor the punishment of the slothful. For if your cell were entirely crawling with worms, you would endure it, without in any way languishing from acedia."

Acedia, seizing all the faculties of the soul, frequently stirs up almost all the passions at once. The Lord, perceiving this, said: "In your patience you shall possess your souls" [e].

A physician visits the sick in the morning; but acedia strikes monks at midday. The passion of acedia makes war most of all against those who lead a quiet life in solitude.

The effect of acedia is to move the feet this way and that during prayer. It also causes one to look, now at the walls, now at the ceiling, now at whatever may be inside; and at one moment to peer out the ^B window, and at another to prick up the ear, as if some sound were striking it.

On Vainglory

The passion of vainglory is multiform, subtle, and difficult to grasp. The impulses of other passions are indeed manifest; but this passion is all the more difficult to overcome, the more difficult it is to detect. For it arises in every pursuit: in manner, in habit, in gait, in voice, in speech, in silence, in clothing, in nakedness, and, to speak briefly, in everything. For it attempts to transfix the athlete in all things; and he whom it could not lift up through honor, it strives to strike down by the endurance of contempt. It besieges him from both sides and through contraries, and casts the one who has been conquered into extreme stupor.

Moreover, there is a distinction between vainglory and pride. For vainglory arises when we do something right out of a desire for human glory; but pride exists when we judge ourselves to be great and exalted, and condemn others. The former arises from action, the latter from estimation; the former is the beginning of conceit, the latter—that is, pride—is the end. Therefore, one must strive by all means to flee this multiform beast, and to disdain human glory, and to ensure that in every noble deed, theatrical pride and the pursuit of ambition be absent. For it is worth our while that those who have performed some good deed should repeat to themselves that apostolic word: "Yet not I, but the grace of God with me" [f]; and also that word of the Lord: "Without me you can do nothing" [g]; and that word of David: "Unless the Lord build the house, they labor in vain who build it" ; and again that word of the Apostle: "For what have you that you did not receive? And if you have received it, why do you boast as if you had not received it?" [i]

^A The earth rots the grape that trails upon it, and vainglory rots virtue. A monk who is vainglorious is a laborer without wages; he has undergone the effort, and has lost the reward for it. A perforated purse does not keep gold, nor does vainglory keep the treasure of virtue. As the wind wipes away the footprint, so the spirit of vainglory wipes away virtue. Vainglory is a rock hidden beneath the water; struck against this, you have lost the cargo of virtue. A foolish man makes his wealth public, and a vainglorious monk makes his virtues public. The virtue of one who is vainglorious is a blemished sacrifice, and it shall not be offered upon the altar. Acedia weakens the tone of the soul; but vainglory gives nervous energy even to the broken. There are times when the vainglorious man, by attempting things beyond his strength, brings upon himself the greatest disgrace. The demon of vainglory is grievous. For what you do in order to overthrow him, he himself again turns into a principle of vainglory against you. Therefore, one must pay attention to contrary stratagems.

The demon of vainglory is opposed to the demons of impurity; and it is not possible that they should both attack someone at once. For the one is the provider of honor, while the others are providers of dishonor. Therefore, when those are overcome, it flees; but when one is defeated by them, it returns. Whoever is carried along by the lightness of empty glory will never grow wings toward the love of true glory. Vainglory is truly a thorn. For in whichever direction it falls, it always sets its sting upright.

On Pride

we have become aware of this, let us hold ourselves as being empty of every good thing, useless and castaway, always provoking God to anger, and finally as those placed as a stumbling block to our brethren. For the medicine for vainglory is the contempt of glory; but for pride, it is blessed humility.

Pride is a swelling of the soul, full of pus. The proud man either attributes the good things he does to himself and not to God, or he despises those who do not perform good works. For the malice of pride is twofold. ^B

*From Climacus* A monk is properly known by an eye of the soul that is in no way distracted or suspended, and by an immobile sense of the body. A monk is one who provokes enemies to battle like wild beasts, and irritates them when they flee from him. A monk is a perpetual ecstasy of mind, and a grief of life. A monk is he who is imbued with the qualities of the virtues, just as another is with pleasures. The messenger of pride is the presence of vainglory. Pride must be fled from, just as a deep precipice that cuts off every path of salvation. Altercation is a proof of pride; but pride is a sign of the sterility and poverty of the soul. A proud monk, even with the devil removed, is sufficient unto himself for his own destruction. A weak and rotten ladder casts down the one who climbs it, and the ladder of pride casts down the one who rides upon it. Pride is a tall tree, yet rotten, having very fragile branches, which easily cast down the one climbing them. Other vices lie in wait for men who are lazy and languid; but pride lies in wait rather for the diligent and industrious. For this reason Christ also said: "When you have done all those things which you are commanded, say, We are unprofitable servants" (Luke XVII, 10). As if to say: "When this beast attempts to enter into your souls, then by means of these words close the doors against it." ^C The other passions revolve around human nature; but pride has overcome even angelic power. ^D

^A Pride brings terrifying phantasms to the soul. A fall lays snares for pride, and it becomes its own curb. But before the fall, watch with all your might to escape the nets of pride. He who thinks humbly of himself is a disciple of Christ, who said: "Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart" (Matt. xi, 29). But the proud man is an imitator of the devil, who was cast down because of pride.

Weaken the flesh against fornication; but humble the soul against pride.

A monk is an unending light in the eye of the heart. A monk is an abyss of humility, in which he casts down and suffocates every evil spirit.

Occult labor destroys vainglory; as for pride, it is destroyed by ascribing one's good works to God, while counting oneself as nothing.

Remember your former life and your ancient transgressions, and consider how God endured for you to live while you were such as you were; and not only that, but that He fed you and protected you; and you will certainly think humbly, unless you are utterly insensitive and hardened.

Say to the haughtiness that troubles you: "Depart from me. For who am I? And what great thing have I accomplished?" For among the saints, some were stoned, some were sawn in two, and others were put to death for Christ by ten thousand kinds of death (Hebr. xi, 37).

It is impossible to cross the sea without a ship, and to obtain salvation without humility.

Yoke justice with pride, and on the other hand, sin with humility; and you will see the yoke of sin running and winning before the yoke of justice, not through its own power, but through the strength of the companion humility; and the other again being reduced, not through the weakness of justice, but through the heavy weight of pride.

You have as examples the Pharisee and the Publican. Although humility does not consist strictly in ^D the fact that one who is a sinner considers himself a sinner (for that is the equity of judgment and the acknowledgment of one's own infirmity); but it consists in this: that one who is righteous considers himself a sinner, and imagines nothing great about himself in his mind.

The sinner conquered the righteous man, the Publican conquered the Pharisee...

the Pharisee. The one displayed the works of righteousness, saying, "I fast twice in the week," and the rest; ^A but the other uttered only a word of humility: "God, be merciful to me a sinner," and the word prevailed over the works. And the spirit of pride exhaled such a treasure, and through his tongue, as through a window, it carried out the wealth that had been stored up; but poverty, because of humility, was changed into wealth.

Pride is rather to be feared by the righteous man. For conscience burdens the sinner, ^B which always accuses him and does not permit him to lift up his head; but the righteous man is lifted up by his accomplishment, if he is not watchful. And just as pirates especially attack a ship laden with goods, so also the devil does not attack sinners quite so much, but he attacks those who are just most vehemently.

The goal of the monk is to keep his heart pure from every evil affection; if he does not attain this, he goes astray.

The fountain, and root, and head, and bond of every virtue is discernment; which anyone will acquire for himself ^C if he communicates whatever he proposes to those who have already traversed the path of virtue. Thus, he will never imprudently slip into evil as if it were good.

The enemy of solitude is anyone who burns with the love of pleasure.

When the enemy wishes to bind certain persons to a shameful affection of love, he tests both this one and that one, so that one of them, or at least the other, may be found suitable.

Those who are given to lust are for the most part easy-going, humane, and merciful.

Egestions during sleep arise from various causes. For they are wont to arise from nature, or from weakness of the kidneys, or from relaxation, or from the softness of clothing and bedding, or from gluttony, or from drunkenness, or from passion, or from inflation ^D because an emission has not occurred for a long time, or from the condemnation of one's neighbor, or from the envy of demons. The first and second of these are free from all reproach, since they are also without images; but the others, except for the last, are accounted as a fault; and this last one not only has no reproach, but even confers confidence. For he who becomes distinguished is envied.

One ought not to revolve obscene nocturnal images in the mind during the day. For the demons propose this to themselves, so that by the memory of these things they may defile even those who are awake.

He is the most given to lust who very often confesses his own uncleanness not without a sense of pleasure.

This also is the craftiness of demons, that those who

are conversing with harmful people may not be immediately harmed, but after a time, and not with those same persons; so that, imagining the harm comes from elsewhere, we might meanwhile take no precautions against them. The same sin is wont to be judged differently in different people—based on age, place, manner, and other things. If the Lord, in His providence, had not bridled the impulse of the female with the curb of modesty, but the female herself freely approached the male, certainly no flesh would be saved. Certain pious men, when they see an elegant form, seize this as an occasion to glorify God, in that He has fashioned such great beauty from such vile matter; and they weep, partly from joy, and partly because such splendor is contaminated by base pleasure. And it is truly wonderful how that which is a pit for some becomes an occasion for crowns for others. They do the same thing also regarding melodious songs; for hence they are moved to admiration of the magnificence of God, and to an ardent love for Him. The demons of fornication wage war against those who live in solitude, so that they may drag them down into the cities, as if they were living in solitude in vain. They often do not trouble the monks who dwell in cities, so that, as if they were not at all harassed by war, they might remain in them. Where they are attacked, there they also surely wage war. For when they are not attacked, they do not wage war either. In the case of many monks, whenever they converse with women, the evil one causes them to weep and groan, and to give marvelous exhortations concerning the memory of death and chastity; so that by these things those wretched women are baited, and run to the wolf as if he were a shepherd, and once familiarity and confidence have been established, they fall into the pit. Let us avoid that fruit which we have promised to abstain from eating; lest, by seeing it, we come to desire it. For from seeing comes loving, as those who are knowledgeable in such things say. It is possible to pass from lechery to chastity, even if some say it is impossible to become chaste after having tasted of sin: for all who are holy are simply chaste. ^{A B C D}