Catecheses 1 part 3/23

For he who has entertained even a little something outside the divine will, and does not at once, driving out the assault of the thought, become repentant, but rather, accepting it, holds fast the notion, has it reckoned to him as sin — even if in ignorance he reckons it to be an evil.

For when the law came — that is, the teaching of the holy Scriptures — the evil that was held in ignorance revived, and sin was found to be in me, but I became dead and a stranger to the good.

It is therefore necessary to discern well all the thoughts that come upon us, and to set against them the testimonies from the divinely inspired Scriptures and from the teaching of the spiritual and holy Fathers; and if we find them in accord with these and of equal force, we must with all our might hold fast to them and confidently bring them into deed;

but those not in agreement with the word of truth, we must with much wrath send away from ourselves, even as it is written:

Be angry, and sin not.

For as a defilement and a sting of death, so must one flee the incursion that arises from the passionate thoughts.

Great, therefore, is our need of watchfulness, great of diligence, great of the searching of the divine Scriptures.

For, making plain to us the benefit that comes from them, the Saviour said:

Search — and with much exactitude and faith hold fast the things spoken — so that, knowing accurately from the divine Scriptures the will of God, you may be able to discern the good unerringly from the worse, and not to obey every spirit, nor to be carried along with harmful thoughts.

Be fully assured, my brethren, that nothing is so easy for our salvation as to follow the divine commands of the Saviour.

Nevertheless, we have great need of many tears, of much fear, of much endurance and persevering prayer, that even the power of one lordly word may be revealed to us, so that we may know the great mystery hidden in a few words, and may lay down our souls even unto death and for the sake of one jot of the commandments of God.

separating the soul from every bodily desire and sensation;

and not only that, but it also becomes as a flaming fire, rousing the eagerness of our soul and making us to despise all the grievous things of this life, and to count as joy every temptation that comes upon us, and to desire and embrace the death that is fearful to other men, as life and as the procurer of life.

Therefore, I beseech you, let us at last come to our senses, my brethren, and rousing one another by the exhortation of the word, let us run diligently toward zeal for and imitation of the good; let us hasten eagerly, and with fervent readiness let us separate ourselves from the world by detachment, and let us be united by humility to the saints from the beginning of the ages.

Let us put off the old man by cutting away the earthly will and by mortifying the earthy mind; let us put on the new Adam, Jesus Christ, through pure and immaterial prayer, having cleansed ourselves with unceasing tears.

Let us cause ourselves to be renewed hour by hour and day by day through repentance, that we may be taught both to make war and to wrestle against the demons, our foes who ever war against us.

For he who has not yet acquired the aforesaid weapons cannot stand in the time of war; rather, he is wounded at every hour.

For being stripped of those weapons, he cannot pass his life in peace and freedom, since the war within our very selves is not like the wars and weapons that are without, but is far more dreadful than the former.

For men fighting against men sometimes wage war with weapons, and sometimes withdraw and cease; they cast down their arms and take part in sleep and food with all security, and often shut themselves within fortresses, and some entrust the watch to others; whence one, by taking to flight, is saved, and another, though captured, is perhaps not put to death, but having exchanged freedom for a glorious servitude, appears more distinguished and grows richer still.

But here it is not so; rather, the war is unceasing, and it is necessary that Christ's soldiers be perpetually clad in their own armor.

For it is not possible in night, or in day, or in a single moment of time for this war to cease; but even while we are eating and drinking and sleeping and doing whatever we do, we are in the very heat of battle.

For we have fleshless enemies, who continually stand face to face with us, even though they are not seen by us, and they watch carefully to see whether they can find any unguarded part of us, that they may plant their darts in it and put us to death.

And there is no one who can protect himself by sensible walls and fortifications, or hide himself even for a single hour and take a little breath by himself, or take to flight and be saved, nor can one receive this war on behalf of another; but upon all men lies every necessity of fighting this war, and either, having conquered, one lives, or, being struck down, one dies—of this there is no doubt.

A wound unto death is every unrepented and unconfessed sin, and one's falling into despair, which belongs to our own choice and will.

For if we do not betray ourselves to the pit of negligence and despair, the demons will in no way at all be able to prevail against us.

But even after we have been wounded, if we so will, we become more courageous and more experienced through fervent repentance.

For after being wounded and dying, to rise again and to make war belongs to the most noble and exceedingly brave, which is a thing of great worth and full of wonder.

For to keep ourselves unwounded is not within our power, but to be immortal or mortal is within our power.

For if we do not despair, we shall not die; death shall not have dominion over us, but we shall always be strong, fleeing for refuge in repentance to our almighty and man-loving God.

Wherefore indeed I exhort both myself and all of you to display all diligence, all the courage of endurance and steadfastness through good works, that walking through all the commandments and precepts of Christ, we may with eagerness of soul attain unto the eternal mansions, borne along by the Spirit, and may be counted worthy to stand before and to worship the one and undivided Trinity, in Christ Himself our God, to whom be the glory and the might unto the ages of ages.

And that without tears it is impossible for anyone to advance to purity and dispassion.

Since, fathers and brethren, you read the God-inspired writings concerning the lofty deeds of our holy father Symeon the Studite, which he set forth for the benefit of many, moved by the divine Spirit—along with his other supernatural achievements, he also wrote and taught this, expressed in these very words, even as he himself throughout his whole life kept it inviolably, saying:

Brother, never communicate without tears.

When the hearers heard this—for many were present, not only laymen but also monks renowned and famous for virtue—they marveled at the word, and gazing at one another, they said, as though half-smiling, with one accord and with a single voice:

Then we shall never communicate, but let us all remain uncommunicating!

When I, the wretched and miserable one, heard these things, and privately called to mind those very men who had said them and their words, and was grieved, I wept bitterly, in the anguish of my heart saying thus within myself:

Did they then, being truly so disposed concerning the matter and reckoning from their soul that this is impossible, say what they said?

For assuredly, unless a man makes it his daily and nightly labor to weep before Christ our God, then not even when he desires to partake of the divine mysteries will he be able in any way to mourn or weep according to God and to let fall drops of tears.

For how could it, unless by some ineffable dispensation or by concurrence from some cause it should rarely come upon someone?

Which does not even seem wonderful to me, seeing that many, even at the very departure of their soul, have wept and shed tears together (though I think not many, but exceedingly few and easily numbered).

But if they reckon this too to be altogether impossible—namely, to partake with tears each day of the awesome mysteries—alas for their ignorance, oh the insensibility, woe is me for the folly of those who say such things, and their negligence and their hardness of heart!

For if they had judged themselves, they would not have been judged by their own words;

if they had cared for repentance, they would never have belched forth that this is impossible;

if they had pursued fruitful practice, they would in no wise have been left wholly untasting of such a good, of such a gift of God;

if they had acquired the fear of God in their heart, they would have testified that it is possible to mourn and weep, not only at the time of partaking of the divine mysteries, but also at every hour, if it be possible.

Tell me, O most excellent brethren, why is this impossible?

Those, then, who are in such a state, how can they weep and mourn and always communicate with tears?

But also the priests themselves who celebrate the divine and bloodless liturgy, how are they able to weep? This very thing, then, of being hard, as you say, and difficult to move to compunction—whence, tell me, if you know, did it come to them?

But if you do not know, then lowering yourselves a little from your loftiness without shame, and inclining your ear graciously, do not disdain to learn from me, the least of all.

And if it be revealed to the least, let the first keep silence.

Whence then, one asks, comes the one hard and the other easily moved to compunction? Listen.

From choice—the one good, the other base;

and from thoughts—the one evil, the other of like kind;

and from deeds—the one contrary, the other God-loving.

And if you please, consider, and you will find that all who have been from the beginning of the ages were so through these three alone; for many became evil out of good men, and out of evil men good.

For whence—that I may enumerate them from on high—did Lucifer fall?

Whence did Cain become a fratricide?

Was it not that, by evil choice preferring himself to his Maker and following evil reasonings, he became given over to envy and wrought the murder?

And whence did Saul seek to seize and to kill David, whom he had formerly honored as himself and loved exceedingly as a benefactor?

Was it from nature or from evil choice?

It is plain that it was from evil choice;

for no one became evil by nature, since God is not the maker of evil works, but of very good ones, being indeed exceedingly good—and this not by position and choice, but by nature and in truth.

Besides these, whence was it that the one thief, crucified together with the Master Jesus Christ, said:

If you are the Son of God, save yourself and us; while the other rebuked him, saying:

We indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of what we did, but this man has done nothing amiss?

Whence, tell me, did the one utter these things and the other those?

and the one was justified, while the other was condemned?

Was it not from the choice and reasonings of each—the one good, the other evil?

For it was from these that the one, having acquired unbelief, and the other faith, said:

Remember me, Lord, in your kingdom.

For when two men renounce the world—men of the same craft, of the same race, of the same age, sometimes even brothers, of the same mind and manner, evil, I say, and hard, unmerciful, most cruel, lovers of the flesh and lovers of money, who have alike pursued every kind of vice and wickedness—and when they enter together into the arena of ascetic discipline, the one of them sets aright every virtue at once, by the fervor of his faith and purpose, making a cutting-off of all evils; but the other becomes worse than, or the same as, he was before he renounced the world.

Whence, then, were the things of virtue not likewise set aright in them, just as the things of vice had been brought to their height?

choosing the meaner and more dishonorable of the tasks, not contradicting or murmuring when commanded, but eagerly performing all things, and ever pursuing the lowest place, and reckoning himself meaner than all, and, in a word, doing all things with knowledge, as many as the divine Scriptures clearly teach us, that having obtained mercy and forgiveness of his former evils, he may find boldness before God?

But he who does the contrary of all these things, by the purpose of an evil soul, remained the same evil man he was even before he renounced the world—not to say worse than he was.

Thus it is not from nature, as some suppose, but from choice that every man becomes either humble and easily moved to compunction, or hard of heart and hardened and incapable of compunction.

For when, tell me, will he be pricked in his soul and let a tear fall from his eyes—he who almost all day goes about here and there, and cares neither for silence of lips, nor for prayer, nor for reading and stillness, but at one time converses with his neighbors in the assemblies, and not only deprives himself but also those with whom he converses of benefit, and at another time disparages and reviles the reverent among the brethren, and sometimes even the superior himself?

When will he acquire compunction—he who busies himself with all the affairs of the monastery, and not only the affairs of the monastery, but even the life of each and every one?

And sometimes he says to some of the brethren:

Did you learn what befell that humble so-and-so? And again:

Have you heard of the misfortune of so-and-so?

Such a man, then, when will he ever call to mind his own evils, that toiling he might let fall a tear from his eyes?

And he who even goes out of the assembly at the time of the reading of the divine Scriptures, and sitting near or far off converses with certain persons—now the one, now the others, putting forward unprofitable chatter and speaking thus:

Have you heard, he says, what the superior has done to such-and-such a brother?

Furthermore, if I tell you what such-and-such a humble man has done, what will you have to say?

And so, the man who talks of such things and worse, who busies himself and is busied with idle chatter of this kind—when will he ever come to an awareness of his own sins and weep for himself?

For the man who gives no heed to the divinely inspired oracles, who sets no door about his lips, who does not turn his ear away from vain hearing, who is not mindful of the last accounting and of the fearful judgment-seat of Christ—before which naked and laid bare we must all present ourselves and give an account of the things we have done in life—how then, even if he should live more than a hundred years in the monastic habit, will he ever gain a tear or fervently mourn for himself?

How will the man who lays claim to the first places in the standing-order of the church and in the seating at table, and who is always contending and grieving over such matters, ever grieve for his own soul and weep bitterly before God?

And there is the man who makes excuses for his sins, alleging weakness though he is strong, vigorous, and young, in the standing-order of the church, and who measures himself against the more reverent brethren who have labored much and grown old in ascetic discipline, saying:

'Am I inferior to this man or that?'

seeing that such a one stands leaning on his staff and stands only when he departs—thus putting himself on a level with those men, though he is perhaps unworthy even of the lowest place. When will he ever come to recognize his own weakness, so that, groaning from his soul, he may be pierced to the heart and shed tears from his eyes?

For vainglory, having delivered him over as a slave to sloth, no longer permits him to persevere with patient endurance in anything.

And thus, entering senselessly—or rather, unfeelingly—into the divine assemblies together with spiritual and God-fearing men, he goes out from there without profit, perceiving in himself no change whatever for the better, none of that change which is given by God through compunction to those who strive. He rather thinks it enough for himself merely not to be absent from the appointed assemblies—I mean matins and vespers and the hours that are chanted—supposing that in this simple way he attains to the achievement of the virtues and the perfection of the perfected, unto the stature of Christ.

But they take no care at all lest the things done in secret, or meditated in the hidden depths of the heart, escape them; they suppose they will be saved without any other labor—I mean prayer, and silence of the lips, and vigil, and self-control, and spiritual poverty, and humility, and love—content with the mere meeting that takes place in this simple way at the assemblies.

For God does not look upon the face, nor upon the mere outward composure of manners, nor upon our loud cries, brethren, but upon a heart that is contrite and humbled and quiet and that bears the fear of God within it.

'Upon whom,' He says, 'shall I look, but upon him that is meek and quiet and that trembleth at my words?'

And what shall I say concerning those who come forward unworthily and make requests to their superiors?

There are some who care only for outward reverence, so to speak—or rather, all those who gape only after gain and glory and the things of the present—

'Are not we too worthy, honored father,' they say, 'to serve the monastery and the brethren?

Or is only such-and-such and such-and-such a man worthy of this or that ministry, and does that man know how to manage affairs better than we?

Put us to the test, if you will, and you will find us doing and managing the affairs of the monastery better than they do.' But there are others who, through negligence and slothfulness, have given themselves over to abandon from the very moment of their renunciation, alleging bodily weakness—men who came from the world only yesterday and the day before, laden with a thousand evils, who, before they have submitted and sweated and labored at the work of God, go and take their stand, as has been said, leaning upon their staves alongside those who have labored much.

And if his neighbor says to one of these:

'Go, brother, to your accustomed place and stand there chanting with the brethren,'

he replies: 'From here I hear more attentively, and I chant better than from the place where I customarily stand.'

But if the brother again insists and says to him:

'You cannot stand here, brother, without the direction of our superior,' upon hearing this he straightway goes off and begs the superior, alleging bodily weakness and infirmity, until he attains his own purpose.

'And this is so that, father,' he says, 'I may hear the first precentor and may stand in the first choir-row, or in the second, near such-and-such a man'—thus setting himself on a level with one who has labored much.

And once he has attained his purpose, from then on he can never stand in the choir.

Little by little, such a one, eager to number himself among the first in every other matter as well, feigns outward reverence, affects a decorous composure, is zealous to go out and meet the friends of the great and the rulers who come to the monastery, and repeatedly goes off to the brothers whom they visit, in order to become known to them—alleging that he is profited by the conversations and interpretations of divine Scripture spoken by those men.

So then he begins to run about the monastery, going from cell to cell and saying to each one:

'Believe me, brother, I love you so much that if I do not see you, I do not reckon that day as living at all.'

Now if there is found one, among those to whom he goes and says these things, who fears God, he answers and says to him:

'May God remember your love, my brother.

For what good do you see in me?'

And he says: 'And what good do you not have?'

But the spiritual brother speaks to him, according to the grace given to him, of the things that make for the salvation of the soul; and, so far as in him lies, thrusting aside his praises, he sets the brother right.

But if he is not found to be such a man, but on the contrary is carnal and unstable, he is at once puffed up within himself by that man's praises, and answering says to him:

'And what is better than love, O father and brother?

And blessed is he who has acquired it'—and other such things as he knows will win over the flatterer and stir him up to further praise of him.

Then, as though bewitched by these counterfeit praises, and made vain through lightness of mind, such a one, if he belongs among the well-to-do, straightway does not even let the other withdraw, but requires him to feast with him; and welcoming him with food, he receives in return empty praises, which are dissolved into thin air but procure no ordinary harm to his own soul.

But if not that, then after the many and unprofitable conversations he says to him:

'Do not blame me at all, brother.

Love knows: I have nothing worthy of you, that you might partake of food with me.

But since you have acquired such a disposition and love toward us humble ones, we may from now on share in common and in friendship whatever the Lord shall provide us for food, and rejoice together with you.'

From then on, therefore, an indelible preoccupation falls upon both of them, and they do not cease seeking out means whence there may accrue to them, through an abundance of food, a firmer establishment of their supposed love.

In this way, then, having bound himself to all men under the pretext of love—or rather of deceit—now himself inviting another, now being invited in turn by each of the others, he never lacks a table and an abundance of dainties to satiety for his indulgence; and thus he becomes a swine, and is bound fast to pleasures, and continually serves his belly—for I am ashamed to speak also of the parts below the belly.

Wherefore, being daily stuffed with a will from these common feasts, when evening comes, after the office of compline, he goes off to his cell and says to the one who serves him:

'Come, prepare something warm and give me to drink and to refresh my thirst.'

That one, then, as being accustomed to it, is found at once ready-willed and a most active servant, inasmuch as he too feasts along with him and drinks the wine yet more heartily and to excess, the darkness rewarding him by letting him escape notice.

And after drinking once, he is roused again to an appetite for food, and secretly stolen away, as it were, by the sweetness of the food, imperceptibly he is glutted and makes his belly gross and hard to manage and unyielding to the impulse of the soul.

Then the thought says to him:

The other thought answers back and says to him:

'And how can you stand for prayer when you are stuffed full and heavy-laden?

Rather then, when you have your body nimble, you will pray well.'

If he awakes, he does not get up, but says:

'It is early yet; I will sleep a little longer.'

And as he thus keeps putting it off, the assembly of matins arrives, and then, rising up, he goes into the assembly, having his conscience as a rebuke of his negligence and slothfulness.

As we said before, then, as is his custom, going frequently to the cells of his friends and beloved fathers, he sits until late supping together, drinking together, and conversing with them;

and thus coming into his cell, he becomes useless not only for the evening prayer but indeed also for the assembly of matins, being able neither to think nor to accomplish anything spiritual at all.

But also, in his own cell, if another comes and visits him, he likewise drags out the night, at times reviling and condemning the lives of others; and this man remains, losing away the whole time of his life in surfeiting and drunkenness and cares that are not good.

But for what reason have I gone through all these things?

That I might show you, brethren, that the man who drags out such a life can never bring down a tear from his eyes.

For how can the man who is forever serving his belly and continually worrying, like the Gentiles, about what he shall eat tomorrow and what he shall drink, and who is a slave to the pleasure of his gullet as to a mistress?

But let us grant that he even abstains from the things mentioned, and neither goes to another's cell nor receives another in his own cell, nor gives himself over to fullness of belly and drinking and idle talk, but shutting the doors remains within his cell entirely alone.

What profit, then, is it to him, if his work is not spiritual and done with knowledge, but he sits reading in order to memorize something, so that he may have this to recite at the time of assembly or in the presence of friends, so as to appear learned?

But let us suppose that it is not for this reason, but for the sake of profit and of hearing the word of God, that he reads the divine Scriptures; then, rising up, he stands for prayer.

And let his prayer be, if you please, two or three or ten or a hundred psalms, and his prostrations likewise, as many as you would say he makes; then, having thus fulfilled everything, he lies down and nothing more.

What profit, then, tell me, is it to him from such work alone, if the fruit of prayer and of reading does not blossom forth in his soul through the tears of repentance—which fruit is dispassion, the acquisition of humility together with meekness, and knowledge with the wisdom of the Spirit?

For to everyone who with knowledge performs the spiritual work of God's commandments, there comes without any doubt, in proportion to his toilsome labor, the acquisition of the things mentioned.

But if to one who works and toils in appearance only the things mentioned do not blossom forth, then his work is not according to God, but is only for the pleasing of men, and with good reason he falls short of the better things.

Thus, then, each of the aforesaid men, always passing his life in this way, will he ever be able—like the man who from the beginning of his renunciation has given himself wholly to endure and suffer all the afflictions that are according to God, as we said above—to acquire a tear or compunction, or to cast off the vice and wickedness and hardness of heart that cling to him from the world, and to acquire humility?

Whoever he may be, he deceives himself who thinks or even lays down such things as law.

For the man who is humble in heart and has yet more humble thoughts and a contrite mind, and who chooses more earnestly to follow the divine Scriptures, and who endures every tribulation and bears every temptation, and moreover numbers himself among all the most lowly—that is, reckoning up his own deeds and his evils, and blaming himself daily, and seeing himself a sinner—such a one advances swiftly, and by the divine grace, whenever he has no man to instruct him, is taught the things that make for salvation, banishing little by little from his soul the vices and wickednesses that are in him from the world, and introducing the virtues in their place.

But the man who is full of uncleanness and self-conceit alike, and who is unwilling to be humbled beneath the mighty hand of God, and to uncover the things of his heart to a spiritual father, and to cleave to him, and to do and to suffer all that leads with understanding to virtue and to God and perfects the man who is according to God—such a one becomes worse than he was in the world, the material spirit having turned back and taken up its dwelling in him together with the seven spirits of wickedness.