Discourse 37

On the things that by the knowledge of discernment I learned the truth of its passions. 37. For when many battles were fought on the right and on the left, and I stood myself between both, many violent changes, and I received countless demonstrations from the opposite side, and I was given great hidden helps, and I took the victory of my station, a violent battle of the hours, by this experience I learned: that the foundations of all goods, and the release of the soul from the captivity of the enemies, and the way to life and light, these two are: the struggle of solitude in one place, and continuous fasting. This, then, is what places a fitting measure on his stomach like a wise man, by an immovable steadfastness of continuity. From here: the suppression of the senses. From here: the wakefulness of the mind. From here: the taming of the passions of the natural appetites that are in the body. From here: the tranquility of the thoughts. From here: the pure movements of the intellect. From here: the diligence towards the works of excellence. From here: high and sharp understandings. From here: measureless tears of the heart. From here: a bright endurance, which is completely distant from the practices of the forms of creation. From here: a light and sharp discernment for the distance.

From here: the deep abyss of the one who plunges and comprehends the secrets of all depths; the power of the commands; the hidden movements of the self; the distinctions of spirits and of the holy powers; the true visions and the false images. From here: the fear of the ways and paths in the sea of thought, which cuts off to tranquility; the flame of the error of the one who burns every Qewasdiyos, and passes over all fears; the boiling of the flesh of all desires; and which flees from contemplation and destroys the memory of all passing things, along with other things and other final things; and in the intervals: the clarification of the true human being, the renewal of the self, and the resurrection with Christ in the kingdom—from here. Whoever among these two hears, let him know that it is not only from these that he diminishes himself, but he shakes the foundation of all the virtues by the simplicity of these two virtues. And just as all these have their beginning in the self, these are the heads of all divine works, and the door and path to Christ, for whoever takes hold and perseveres in them—thus the end and the beginning from them, towards these two which are opposite to these, the empty speech of the body and the belly without law, says to the beginning of all that is opposite to those of whom it was said, the place makes itself.

its beginning is from her, with one: for before his senses are subdued, he dwells from the bonds of silence. And what then from these? From here: drunken encounters without purpose; a near end from falls; weariness; and harsh waves that are stirred from the hollow of the eyes; strong flames that in the body are entangled; light laws in the mind; thoughts that cannot be confused, which hasten toward the fall; a pause from the love of his labor; a slow, slow cessation of the distinctions of stillness; a complete abandonment of the canons of his conduct; a renewal of the first things that were cut off; and teaching about the last new things that he did not know. These from changing and constant hearings, and many small visions without will, through a constant journey from place to place and from location to location, are received by him. Just as pains are, by the grace of God, from when he was still in the soul, through the forgetfulness of memories that had perished from the mind, again begin to be stirred toward movement. And to the soul, toward deeds, they begin to be distressed. With the last things, not all of which have come to me. These: from that first one, are opened to him for the endurance of sickness. And what in that other?

This then: what is the work of swine? And what is their work? That without limit they fill the belly, and at every hour to fill it, and that there be no interval for tasting like rational beings. And what then? From here: six natural and heavy things: great heaviness of the body, with loosening of the shoulders. Stiffness of the remainder from the services; weariness from the sides of them. Baseness from the prostrations of custom; with depth and coldness of thought. A thick mist without distinction; of moisture and great darkness of thoughts. A thick cloud and darkness spread over the whole soul. Great cessation in every work of God, both together and in reading. From that which does not taste the sweetness of the understanding of words. Many complaints from necessities. A mist not to be dispelled, which dwells in the mouth of the whole world; much stupor which strikes the limbs. Fantasies and visions all night long, by means of wet dreams and images that disturb and inflame the passions; which seize the soul that is caught, and fulfill in it their desire openly. And his sleep and his whole body, which is drenched by the multitude of the phlegm of shame, which drives away from him as from a spring.

and these not only at night, but also by day, the body that is always in motion and disturbs the mind. And as if from the actions, when it has denied itself fasting, and the sweetness of the passions that it works in its whole body, with an unendurable heat that has no rest. Thoughts that are agitated, images of the beauty of faces that are formed before it, fleetingly at all its times and are disturbed, and it becomes that it is weary in its petitions without ceasing, and it surrenders to them in enmity and meditation, because of the distinction that has ceased. And this is what was said to one of the great philosophers: that whoever strengthens his body with great things, places his soul under the yoke. And even if there is a time when he remembers himself, and desires that he be saved, he cannot, because of the hot movements in the body, which by the bond of its passions, forcibly draw the soul to their will. As the eloquent and high-voiced Mar Theodorus of Tarsus said, the Tarsian: because of the body’s softness and tenderness, the sensation of pain sharply afflicts the soul, and death presses upon it, and the judgment of God powerfully cries out.

the soul, then, which is accustomed to rest in the tranquility of those who are worthy, is at ease in its own place and in the pastures of its thoughts, when there is no disturbance standing in the way. The cessation of superfluity is the mother of the passions. The restraint of superfluity and the nurture without division, and the joy without tranquility, good life, and satiety without nausea. For bodily pleasures strengthen the passions and cause them to prevail over the soul. It says, then, as if from its roots they uproot it. And along with all these, it still disturbs the belly by means of gluttony and without the order of the hours. And it does not wish that by means of a little suffering of hunger, mastery should be established over itself, so that it might be led by a short path to the healing of the passions. These are the fruits of the confidence that comes from the belly, and these are the fruits of the lack of restraint in remaining in one place in stillness. For it is known, as if to him who knows these times and circumstances, that he who is bound to us at all times, in these two times more than usual, the nature is disturbed and the passions afflict it. And it becomes more troubled. This one, then, from the hole of the eyes and from the ease of the belly, even he is overturned, so that an addition may be made to that which is pure.

the soul, then, which is accustomed to rest in the tranquility of those who are worthy, is at ease in its own place and in the pastures of its thoughts, when there is no disturbance standing in the way. The cessation of these times is high in it, thoughts of the righteous, the righteous, as if it were possible for a thought to be troubled concerning nature, by means of an excessive disturbance, and to imprint upon the soul a fall. For this reason, it is fitting and also for us, that the one who knows the adversary knows these times, and also that the soul may be known to itself, and to its weakness, and to the power of its purity, which is not sufficient to withstand the assaults of the movements that come from these times, and to the subtle thoughts that cast the dust of the world before its eyes, so that it cannot see its standing, and to be supported before events. And by means of the helps of those of many times, it has sorrowfully borne from it, so that it may now become wise. And it does not permit the soul to be released to do the will of its desire, and to sin from hunger, and also to be greatly distressed. Or that it be moved from the place of stillness, and be led to where it is led to events such as these, when causes and composite forms compel it to go out from the desert to the outside. These, whose signs are clearly of Satan. If you are oppressed in the desert, you are not healed. For you do not see a woman in the desert, nor anything that injures your conduct, nor unpleasant sounds. What have you to do with the roads of Egypt, to drink water from the Nile? Trust in what the earth says.

Give your mind to the small things, in your silence, so that great things may not be required of you. In tranquility, you will have laws for these matters of the skulls, which the Spirit placed as a foundation in its vessel. From that, nothing is lacking for you to be buried by great snares. What then, that cannot go out and return within five paces from the door of its cell without being caught, how can it be that it goes out from the desert? Or that it approaches the boundary of the village? And that which cannot even be cleansed from the dust so as to look outside its confinement, how can it go out from itself? What then, that cannot even be caught in the deep evening of forgetfulness, because it is agitated by the passions, how can it, before the time of rest, be agitated in its thoughts? And that which is even ashamed to be satisfied by the currents, how does it call to the great things? And that which cannot even be caught in its own body so as to be preserved, how can it be agitated towards foreign beauties? First, be cleansed from the small things while it is fitting, and then give cause to be driven towards the great things. And that which, concerning the life of the sacrifice, has not even a little been wasted in order to be patient in that, how can it be moved from the afflictions that lead towards death, that which loves?

Thus is the contest of discernment: the wise do not permit themselves to be disturbed by the great waves of the passions. Rather, the preservation of the small things that are revealed—that is what keeps them from falling into the great tumults. First, from that prayer which remains in the petition of the mind, and then it calms it: concerning this, of the body and the known sacrifices, which are naturally base. And beforehand, thought is prepared: that from before the time, it begins with small and simple things, and with something small. And after the fall of its preservation, it begins with that which is not wearisome. And beforehand, it is purified: the small one fills his eyes, so that he may be left in his body nakedly, or in the simplicity of each one of his members, when he is seen from the vessel, or even simply he relaxes his senses, when the need of the body goes out, or when he enters confidently and with assurance, his hand into his vessels and moves in his body, and then other and yet other distractions come upon him. When beforehand the vigilance of the mind is loosed, and by one of these disturbances it is shown, and then the door is opened upon him to the great things. His thoughts, however, are like water, as in a mirror. And as much as they are pressed from every side, they flow in their order.

Thus the whole contest: they are able to produce a small opening; from the place where the passions go out, when they make many doors and breaches. For that sentinel stands at the watch and the time, and he sits and waits for them, day after day, before his chosen ones, and looks at them: which ground will open for him against them through one of their movements, or through the gentleness of one of those which he has arranged, and immediately he guards against them those which are his own. At times, even nature itself, for even it loves rest, and loves coarse food, and loves justice, and loves deliverance, and loves laxity, and the source of afflictions, and the sea of turbidity. At other times, the adversary changes great labors and the causes of the quiet of the heights into small labors which show themselves in these small things which are nothing, which can produce or be dissolved into great agonies, and labors difficult for correction, and perplexing battles and great tumults. For what, by a small exit, has not a sweet sleep been disturbed? Or wisdom, how vigilant it is! And how far-seeing you are, seeing everything from a distance! Blessed is everyone who has found you, who from the sleep of childhood has been freed, which is trafficked in by a small gentleness of great heights. And one wise man has spoken well: that at times, by the desire of the flesh, the spiritual one is moved and set in order.

He sits in that hour, that which was not equal to the fear of God. A man, however, like one who mocks the thought, laughs at it because of this. He gives an answer, saying: "Not from that which I feared, but from the trial itself does the fearful one flee. How many times does the smallness of the little things bring about the fall of the great ones?" Because of this: "For by that which I was moved and struggled, I sat down and examined myself, that I might be watchful." This man is one who, even again, in that which is not equal to the fear of God, is confident. This is philosophy, indeed: that a man, from the little things that are shown to him watchfully, makes great remedies for himself. And he does not sleep until that event comes and reaches him, but he takes hold of the causes from before the time, and by a will that is equal to the clouds, he quickly anticipates and sacrifices that which is great. For fools consider the small life that is near to be heavier than the kingdom that is far away. It is better to go out in poverty to the streets to beg than to be healed on the bed of life in the kingdom, in the humility of the body. For the wise consider death dearer to them than to be disgraced without the vigilance over their desires. "Be watchful over your life," says the philosopher. After the body, it is for us, for death is true: the sleep of the mind is its kingdom.

The philosopher of the House of God, Basil, says: He whose small things are humble, do not trust him in his great things. Those things for the sake of which you desire to live, for the sake of those things do not let yourself be cut off.