On the Eight Evil Spirits

1On the eight spirits of malice (under the name of Nilus of Ancyra). By the same author, on the eight spirits of malice. Chapter 30. On gluttony. The beginning of fruit-bearing is the flower, and the beginning of practice is self-control; he who masters the stomach diminishes the passions, but he who is defeated by foods increases the pleasures. ‘Amalek is the first of the nations, and gluttony is the first of the passions’ (Num 24:20). The fuel of fire is wood, and the fuel of the stomach is foods. Much wood raises a great flame, and a multitude of foods nourishes desire. A flame dims when the fuel runs out, and scarcity of foods withers desire. He who seized a jawbone slew the foreigners (Judg 15:15), and easily burst the bonds of his hands. The casting away of the jawbone brought forth a spring of water (Judg 15:19), and gluttony, having been abolished, gave birth to practical contemplation. A tent-peg, passing through, destroyed the hostile cheek (Judg 4:21), and a word of self-control put passion to death. Desire for food gave birth to disobedience, and a sweet taste cast man out of paradise (Gen 3). Costliness of foods delights the throat, but nourishes the sleepless worm of licentiousness. A needy stomach prepares one to keep vigil in prayer, but a full one brings on much sleep. A sober mind comes in the driest diet, but a moist life immerses the intellect in the deep. The prayer of one fasting is like an eagle’s chick flying upward, but that of one drunk with food, weighed down by satiety, is dragged down; the mind of one fasting is a bright star in clear air, but that of one drunk with food is covered in moonless darkness; mist covers the sun’s rays, and a thick exhalation of foods darkens the mind.

Chapter 2. A mirror having become soiled does not distinguish the form that falls upon it, and the intellect, dulled by satiety, does not receive the knowledge of God. Land turned to dry waste bears thorns, and the mind of a glutton sprouts shameful thoughts. It is not possible to find spices in mud, nor the fragrance of contemplation in a glutton. The eye of a glutton pries into banquets; but the eye of the self-controlled pries into the assemblies of the wise. The soul of a glutton counts the tombs of the martyrs, but that of the self-controlled imitates their lives.

A cowardly soldier shudders at a trumpet signaling war, and a glutton at self-control being proclaimed. A gluttonous monk, tributary to the belly, though scourged, is exacted a daily tribute. A swift traveler will quickly reach a city, and a self-controlled monk a peaceful state; a slow traveler will camp out in the wilderness in the open, and a gluttonous monk will not arrive at the house of dispassion. The vapor of incense perfumes the air, and the prayer of the self-controlled perfumes God’s sense of smell. If you give yourself to the desire for foods, nothing will suffice to fill the pleasure; for the desire for foods is a fire, always receiving and always burning. A sufficient measure filled the vessel, but a bursting stomach does not say, ‘Enough.’ The stretching out of hands routed Amalek (Ex 17:12), and exalted deeds are mastered by fleshly passions.

Chapter 3. Destroy utterly from yourself everything breathing evil, and mortify the members of your flesh strongly. For just as a slain enemy will cause you no fear, so a mortified body will not trouble your soul. A dead body knows not the pain of fire, nor does the self-controlled know the pleasure of a dead desire. If you strike an Egyptian, hide him in the sand (Ex 2:12), and do not fatten the body upon a defeated passion; for just as what is hidden grows in rich soil, so the passion sprouts up again in a fat body. A withered flame relights itself when it takes hold of dry brushwood, and a quenched pleasure is rekindled in satiety of foods. Do not pity a body lamenting weakness, nor fatten it with costliness of foods; for if it grows strong, it will rise up against you and stir up implacable war against you, until it takes your soul captive and hands you over as a slave to the passion of fornication.

A well-reined horse, a needy body, will never cast down its rider; for the one yields when choked by the bit and obeys the charioteer’s hand, while the body is tamed by hunger and wakefulness and does not buck away from the thought that rides upon it, nor…

2It will neigh when moved by a passionate impulse.

Chapter 4. On fornication. Self-control gives birth to temperance, but gluttony is the mother of licentiousness; oil nourishes a lamp’s flame, and the company of women kindles a torch of pleasure. The violence of waves distresses an unballasted ship, and a thought of fornication distresses an incontinent mind. Fornication will take satiety as an ally; for it will abandon him and stand with the enemies, and in the end will make war together with the foes. He who loves stillness remains unwounded by the enemy’s arrows, but he who mingles with a crowd receives continual wounds.

The sight of a woman is a poisoned arrow; it has wounded the soul and deposited its venom, and the longer it lingers, the more putrefaction it works. He who guards against these arrows does not visit public festivals, nor does he go about gaping at the feasts; for it is better to remain at home and devote oneself to prayers than, thinking to honor the feasts, to become the enemies’ by-product. Flee the company of women if you wish to be temperate, and do not give them boldness to be bold toward you ever. For at first they either have or pretend reverence; but later they dare all things shamelessly.

At the first meeting they keep their gaze down, speak gently, weep sympathetically, comport themselves reverently, sigh bitterly, ask about chastity, and listen eagerly; the second time you saw them, and they lifted their eyes slightly upward; the third, and they pay attention shamelessly — you smiled, and they laughed unrestrainedly; then they adorn themselves and show themselves to you openly, shaping their gaze to proclaim the passion, raising their eyebrows and rolling their eyelids, baring their necks and preening with their whole bodies, speaking words that soften toward passion and practicing a voice that charms the hearing, until through all these they besiege the soul. These become hooks baiting you toward death, and many-tangled snares drawing you toward destruction. Let them not lead you astray, having used gentle words; for a malignant venom of beasts is hidden in them.

Chapter 5. Approach a burning fire rather than a young woman, being young yourself; for having approached fire and been pained, you will quickly leap away, but having been made soft by womanish words, you will not easily depart. A plant standing by water flourishes, and the passion of licentiousness flourishes in the company of women.

He who fills his belly and promises to be temperate is like one who claims to bridle the working of fire in straw. For just as it is impossible to check the rush of fire running in straw, so it is impossible to stop an uncontrolled impulse burning in satiety. A pillar is supported by its base, and the passion of fornication rests upon satiety. A storm-tossed ship hastens to harbor, and the soul of the temperate seeks the desert; the one flees waves of the sea threatening danger, the other forms of women causing painful destruction. An adorned form sinks one worse than a wave; for from the wave it is even possible to swim away, out of longing for life, but a woman’s form, having deceived, persuades one to despise even life itself. A desert bramble escapes the flame of fire unharmed, and the temperate man separated from women has not been inflamed by the passion of licentiousness; for just as the memory of fire does not burn the mind, so a passion has no strength when its fuel is absent.

Chapter 6. If you pity an enemy, he will become your foe, and if you spare a passion, it will rise up against you. The sight of a woman provokes the licentious toward pleasure, but the temperate — even there — toward the glorification of God; if the passion grows calm in the company of women, do not trust it when it promises dispassion. For even a dog wags its tail when left with a crowd, but having come outside, it displays its own wickedness. When the memory of a woman comes to you without passion, then consider that you have reached the bounds of temperance. But when her image rouses you to contemplation, and her arrows encompass your soul, then consider that you are outside virtue. But do not even so linger over such thoughts, nor converse long in your mind with a woman’s form; for the passion is fond of turning back, and has danger near. For just as measured smelting purifies silver, but prolonged smelting easily destroys it, so a lingering fantasy of a woman corrupts a temperate habit; nor converse long with the face that appeared, lest it kindle in you a flame of pleasure and set fire to the threshing-floor of your soul; for just as a spark lingering in chaff raises a flame, so a remaining memory of a woman kindles desire.

Chapter 7. On love of money. Love of money is the root of all evils (1 Tim 6:10), and it nourishes the remaining passions as evil branches, and will not let what has blossomed from it wither.

3He who wishes to cut down the passions, let him cut out the root; for while love of money remains, pruning the branches profits nothing — even if they are cut, they will immediately blossom again. A rich monk is a laden ship, easily sinking in a squall of waves; for just as an overloaded ship is tormented by every wave, so the rich man is submerged by anxieties. An ungreedy monk is a well-equipped traveler, finding lodging in every place. An ungreedy monk is a high-flying eagle, swooping down for food only when need compels.

Such a one is higher than every temptation; he laughs at present things, is lifted up on high, departs from earthly things, and roams together with those above; for he has a light wing, not weighed down by anxieties; tribulation came, and he left the place without grief; death stood by, and he departs cheerfully; for he bound his soul to no earthly bond.

But the rich man is fettered by anxieties, and is tied like a dog to a chain; even if he is forced to move away, he carries the memories of his possessions as a heavy burden and a useless load; he is stung by grief and pained violently at the thought; he has left his possessions and is scourged by grief. And if death comes, he piteously leaves present things, gives up his soul, and does not turn his eye from his affairs; unwilling, he is dragged like a runaway slave; he is separated from his body but not separated from his affairs — the more so as the passion holds back those who drag him.

Chapter 8. The sea is not filled, receiving a multitude of rivers, and the desire of the money-lover is not filled with money; he has doubled his money and desires to make it double again, and never ceases doubling, until death stops this fruitless haste.

A sensible monk will attend to the need of the body, and fill the want of the stomach with bread and water; he will not flatter the rich for the pleasure of the belly, nor enslave a free mind to many masters; for the hands suffice to serve the body and to fill its natural need continually. An ungreedy monk is an unhindered athlete and a light runner, swiftly reaching the prize of the upward calling. A rich monk rejoices in many revenues, but the ungreedy in crowns of achievements.

A money-loving monk works hard, but the ungreedy devotes himself to prayers and readings. A money-loving monk fills chests with gold, but the ungreedy stores treasure in heaven. ‘Accursed is he who makes an idol and sets it in secret’ (Deut 27:15), and likewise he who has the passion of love of money; for the one worships a counterfeit, useless thing, while the other carries about an image of the fantasy of wealth.

Chapter 9. On anger. Anger is a maddening passion, and easily drives out of their senses those who have knowledge; it makes the soul bestial and makes one avoid every encounter. A violent wind will not move a tower, and thumos does not snatch away a wrathless soul. Water is moved by the violence of winds, and the irascible man is troubled by senseless thoughts. An angry monk saw someone and gnashed his teeth. The rising of mist thickens the air, and the movement of thumos thickens the mind of the angry man. A cloud slipping beneath darkened the sun, and a thought of rancor darkened the mind. A lion in a cage stirs continually, and the irascible man in his cell stirs thoughts of anger. A pleasant sight is a calm sea, but nothing is more pleasant than a peaceful state; for in a calm sea dolphins swim about, and in a peaceful state god-befitting thoughts swim. A long-suffering monk is a quiet spring, offering all a gentle drink; but the mind of the angry man is continually troubled and will not give water to the thirsty — and if it gives, it is muddied and useless; and the eyes of the irascible are troubled and bloodshot, messengers of the troubled heart. But the face of the long-suffering is rightly composed, and his eyes are gentle, looking downward.

Chapter 10. A man’s gentleness is remembered by God, and a wrathless soul becomes a temple of the Holy Spirit. Christ lays His head to rest in a long-suffering spirit, and a peacemaking mind becomes a dwelling of the Holy Trinity. Foxes dwell in a rancorous soul, and beasts make their lair in a troubled heart. A reverent man flees a shameful lodging, and God flees a rancorous heart. A stone falling in troubled water, and an evil word troubled a man’s heart. Remove thoughts of anger from your soul, and let thumos not encamp in your heart, and you will not be troubled in the time of prayer; for just as the smoke of chaff troubles the eyes, so…

4…does rancor trouble the mind in the time of prayer. The thoughts of the irascible are the offspring of a viper, and they devour the heart that bore them. The prayer of the irascible is an abominable incense; and the psalmody of the angry is a graceless sound. The gift of the rancorous is a sacrifice swarming with ants, and it shall not approach altars sprinkled around. The irascible sees troubled dreams, and the angry imagines the onsets of beasts. A long-suffering man sees visions — encounters with holy angels — and the rancorless trains himself in spiritual words, and in the night receives the solutions of mysteries.

Chapter 11. On sadness. A grieving monk knows not spiritual pleasure; sadness is the dejection of the soul, and it is composed of thoughts of anger; for thumos is the appetite for revenge, and the failure of revenge gave birth to sadness; sadness is a lion’s mouth, and easily swallows the grieving one. Sadness is a worm of the heart, and devours the mother that bore it. A mother giving birth to a child is in pain; once she has given birth, she is released from the pain; but sadness, once born, stirs up much pain, and remaining after the birth-pangs, it pains not a little. A grieving monk knows not spiritual joy, just as one burning with fever knows not the taste of honey. A grieving monk will not move his mind toward contemplation, nor send up a pure prayer; for sadness is a hindrance to every good. A fetter on the feet is a hindrance to running, and sadness a hindrance to contemplation. A captive of barbarians is bound with irons, and a captive of the passions is bound with sadness. Sadness has no strength when the other passions are absent, just as a bond has none when those who bind are absent. He who is bound by sadness has been conquered by the passions, and carries his bond as the proof of his defeat. For sadness is composed upon the failure of fleshly appetite; and appetite is yoked to every passion. He who has conquered appetite has conquered the passions, and he who has conquered the passions will not be mastered by sadness. The self-controlled does not grieve at the failure of foods, nor the temperate when he misses licentious folly, nor the wrathless when he falls short of revenge, nor the humble when deprived of human honor, nor the ungreedy when he meets with loss — for they have strongly turned aside from the appetite for these things; for just as one wearing a breastplate does not receive an arrow, so the dispassionate is not wounded by sadness.

Chapter 12. A shield is safety for a soldier, and a wall for a city; but dispassion is safer for a monk than both;

for an arrow rushing with a whir has often pierced a shield, and a multitude of warriors has demolished a wall, but sadness will not prevail against dispassion. He who masters the passions has mastered sadness, but he who is defeated by pleasure will not escape its bonds. He who grieves continually and pretends dispassion is like one who is sick and feigns health; for just as the sick man is revealed by his complexion, so the passionate is exposed by sadness. He who loves the world will grieve much, but he who despises what is in it will rejoice continually. The money-lover who has suffered loss will grieve bitterly, but he who despises money will be without grief. The glory-lover will grieve when dishonor comes, but the humble will receive it as a companion. A smelting-pot purified base silver, and godly sadness purifies a heart in sins; continual smelting diminishes lead, and worldly sadness diminishes the mind. Darkness dims the working of the eyes, and sadness dulls the contemplative mind; the sun’s light does not pierce the depth of water, and the contemplation of light does not illumine a grief-stricken heart; sweet to all men is the sunrise, but even at this a grieving soul is displeased. Jaundice takes away the sense of taste, and sadness takes away the soul’s perception. But he who despises the pleasures of the world will not be troubled by thoughts of sadness.

Chapter 13. On acedia. Acedia is the weakness of the soul; and the weakness of a soul that does not have what is according to nature does not stand nobly against temptations. For what food is to a healthy body, that temptation is to a noble soul. The north wind nourishes crops, and temptations confirm the endurance of the soul. A waterless cloud is driven by the wind, and a mind without endurance is driven by the spirit of acedia. Spring dew increases the fruit of the field, and a spiritual word exalts the state of the soul. A current of acedia drives the monk out of his house, but he who has endurance rests continually. The acedia-stricken puts forward visits to the sick, but fulfills his own purpose. An acedia-stricken monk is keen for service, and counts his own satisfaction as a commandment; a slight breeze bent a weak plant, and a fantasy of going abroad drew the acedia-stricken. A well-rooted tree was not shaken by the violence of winds, and…

5A well-rooted tree was not shaken by the violence of winds, and acedia did not bend a firmly-supported soul. A wandering monk is brushwood of the desert; he rested a little, and is carried along again unwillingly. A transplanted plant bears no fruit, and a wandering monk will produce no fruit of virtue. A sick man is not content with one food, and an acedia-stricken monk is not content with one work. One woman will not suffice for a lover of pleasure, and one cell will not suffice for an acedia-stricken monk.

Chapter 14. The eye of the acedia-stricken stares intently at the windows, and his mind imagines those who visit; the door creaked, and he leapt up; he heard a voice, and peeped through the little window, and does not leave it until he grows numb sitting there. An acedia-stricken reader yawns repeatedly, and is easily carried toward sleep; he rubs his face, stretches his hands, turns his eyes from the book and stares at the wall; turning back again he read a little, and unfolding it pries into the ends of the chapters, counts the pages, tallies the quires, finds fault with the writing and its ornament; and afterward, folding it, he put the book under his head and sleeps a sleep not very deep — for hunger then wakes his soul and attends to its own concerns. An acedia-stricken monk is reluctant toward prayer, and will never utter words of prayer; for just as a sick man cannot bear a heavy burden, so the acedia-stricken will not do God’s work diligently; for the one has been deprived of the strength of his body, and the other has had the sinews of his soul loosened. Endurance heals acedia, as does doing all things with much persistence and the fear of God. Set a measure for yourself in every work, and do not depart before you complete it, and pray sensibly and vigorously, and the spirit of acedia will flee from you.

Chapter 15. On vainglory. Vainglory is an irrational passion, and easily entwines itself with every work of virtue. A line drawn on water is confounded, and the labor of virtue is confounded in a vainglorious soul. A hand covered by the bosom has become white, and a hidden deed shines more brightly than light. Bindweed entwines a tree, and…

6…when it reaches the top it dries up the root, but vainglory grows up alongside the virtues and does not depart until it cuts out their power. A cluster of grapes dragged along the ground rots easily, and virtue is destroyed when propped upon vainglory. A vainglorious monk is an unpaid worker; he endured the toil but did not receive the wage. A pierced money-bag does not keep what was thrown in, and vainglory destroys the wages of virtues. The self-control of a vainglorious man is the smoke of a furnace, and both will be dissolved into the air. Wind obliterates a man’s track, and the almsgiving of a vainglorious man is obliterated. The cast of a stone does not reach heaven, and the prayer of a man-pleaser will not ascend to God.

Chapter 16. Vainglory is a submerged rock; if you are wrecked upon it, you have lost your cargo. A wise man hides a treasure, and a sensible monk hides the labors of virtue. Vainglory counsels praying in the streets, but he who fights it prays in his inner chamber. A foolish man publishes his wealth, and stirs many to plot against him. But you hide your own, for you are on a road among robbers, until you reach the city of peace and use your own securely. The virtue of a vainglorious man is a shattered sacrificial victim, and it shall not be offered upon God’s altar.

Acedia loosens the sinew of the soul, but vainglory strings the mind that has fallen away from God; it made the weak man strong and the old man stronger than the young — only if many witnesses of what happens are present; then fasting is light, and wakefulness, and prayer, for the praise of the many stirs up eagerness. Do not sell your labors for human glories, nor betray the coming glory for praise. For human glory lodges in dust, and its fame is extinguished upon the earth, but the glory of virtue remains forever.

Chapter 17. On pride. Pride is the swelling of a soul, full of pus;

7if it is lanced, it will burst and cause much disgust. A flash of lightning announces the sound of thunder, and the presence of vainglory proclaims pride.

The soul of a proud man ascends to a great height, and from there casts him into the abyss. He who has turned himself away from God is sick with pride, and ascribes his achievements to his own power. Just as one who stepped on a spider’s web and fell through was brought down below, so he who trusts in his own power falls.

Much fruit bends the branches of a tree, and a multitude of virtue humbles a man’s mind. Rotted fruit is useless to the farmer, and the virtue of a proud man is of no use to God. A prop bears a fruit-laden branch, and the fear of God bears a virtuous soul. Just as the weight of fruit shatters a branch, so pride casts down a virtuous soul.

Do not give your soul to pride, and you will not see fearful fantasies. For the soul of a proud man is abandoned by God, and becomes the demons’ delight. By night he imagines a multitude of beasts approaching, and by day he is troubled by thoughts of cowardice; sleeping he leaps up continually, and awake he cowers at the shadow of a bird. The sound of a leaf startled the proud man, and the sound of water broke his soul. For he who a little before was arraying himself against God and refusing His help, is later terrified by worthless phantasms.

Chapter 18. Pride cast an archangel down from heaven, and made him fall upon the earth like lightning. But humility raises a man to heaven, and prepares him to dance with the angels. Why do you soar, O man, being clay and by nature rottenness, and lift yourself above the clouds? Consider your nature, that you are earth and ash, and in a little while will dissolve into dust; just now grave, and in a little while…

8…a worm. Why do you lift up your neck, which in a little while will rot? It is a great thing for a man to be helped by God; he was abandoned, and recognized the weakness of his nature. You have nothing which you did not receive from God; why then do you boast in another’s gift as your own? Why do you glory in God’s grace as your own possession? Recognize the Giver, and do not exalt yourself much; you are God’s creature, do not reject the Creator; helped by God, do not deny the Benefactor. You ascended to the height of a way of life, but He guided you; you accomplished virtue, but He worked it. Acknowledge the one who exalted you, so that you may remain firm in the height; recognize your fellow human, that he is of the same substance. Do not through arrogance deny the kinship.

Chapter 19. That one is humble and measured; but the same Creator fashioned both. Do not despise the humble; for he stands more securely than you; he walks upon the earth and does not fall quickly; but the lofty one, if he falls, will be shattered. A proud monk is a rootless tree, and will not withstand the assault of the wind. A walled city is an unpretentious mind, and he who dwells in it will be inviolate. A breeze lifts a straw, and the assault of madness lifts the proud; a bubble that has burst will vanish, and the memory of the proud perishes. The word of the humble is a poultice for the soul, but the word of the proud is full of arrogance. The prayer of the humble bends God toward him, but the petition of the proud provokes God. Humility is the crown of the house, and keeps the one who ascends safe. When you ascend to the height of virtues, then you have great need of security. For he who falls from the ground quickly rises, but he who falls from on high risks death. A precious stone shines in a setting of gold, and a man’s humility is brightened by many virtues.