The Dangers of Passion and the Nature of Acedia

…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…