1) Christianity is the building of our salvation in the Lord Jesus Christ. Since a person cannot be saved without God, and God cannot save a person without the person’s own participation, the Christian faith teaches, on the one hand, what God has done for the salvation of man, and on the other, what man himself must do to attain salvation.

The latter constitutes the subject of Christian moral instruction. Those seeking salvation, enlightened by faith, must have a thorough understanding of what faith requires of them—how they should live and act as Christians.

2) Such knowledge can be acquired through reading and listening to the Word of God, the writings of the Church Fathers, sermons and teachings delivered from the pulpit, and from one another in fellowship with fellow Christians. But the surest way to achieve this is through a general overview of the Christian life, in which the various rules of Christian living are set forth in order, with each rule subordinated to the others, and as completely as possible. In this way, the rules of life can be more easily assimilated and more accurately understood.

If one were to bring together all the rules that apply to life, it would become apparent that some exempt themselves from certain requirements of Christianity, give others a distorted meaning, and limit still others to the conditions of external circumstances—and, in general, there is great confusion in the concepts of the proper Christian life and the proper moral conduct of a Christian. All this stems from the fact that the rules of Christian morality are learned piecemeal; taken separately, one rule may indeed seem very strict, while another may seem to allow for diverse interpretations and applications. The easiest way to correct this error is through a complete presentation of the entire body of Christian moral teaching. St. Basil the Great, in his time, also noted a similar confusion in concepts regarding the moral life, when “everyone arbitrarily presented their own thoughts and views as the true rule of life, and entrenched human customs and traditions led to some sins being excused, while others were punished indiscriminately; they took offense at some, seemingly minor ones, while others were not even deemed worthy of a mild rebuke.” And therefore, to remedy this ailment, he deemed it necessary “to select from the divinely inspired Scriptures everything by which a person pleases or displeases God, and to present all the prohibitions and commandments scattered throughout various passages—for the sake of the easiest understanding—collectively in the rules, so that it might be easier to wean people from acting according to the habits of their own will or according to human tradition” (Works of the Holy Fathers, vol. 9). This present outline of the true Christian life is offered for the same purpose.

3) The Christian life is characterized by faith; therefore, Christian moral teaching must be characterized by doctrine. Just as in life, faith and works of faith are intertwined, interrelated, and mutually supportive, so too in teaching—doctrine and moral instruction must not lose sight of one another. Dogmatic theology has always strayed into unnecessary digressions and subtleties when it did not adhere to moral goals; and moral theology has taken improper directions when it was not illuminated by dogmatic theology—and, most importantly, it then differed in no way from philosophical moral theology.

This last remark does not imply that speculative moral philosophy, based on natural principles, has no place at all in Christian moral teaching. On the contrary, it is indispensable. Christianity restores our nature and restores it to its proper order. Our nature, therefore, serves as the starting point for Christianity’s influence upon it. The same applies to moral teaching: the description of what a person ought to be by nature serves as an explanation of why this or that is required of him if he wishes to attain his true state, which is the goal of Christian moral teaching. Our exposition adheres to this principle throughout.

4) There is no need to say much about the sources of Christian moral teaching. They are the same as the sources of doctrine. It suffices to note that here, in addition to the Word of God and the consistent teachings of the holy Church Fathers, one must be guided especially by the ascetic writings of the ascetic Fathers, the lives of the saints, and church hymns, in which Christian virtues are glorified.

Christian psychology could serve as the most suitable aid for outlining Christian moral instruction. In the absence of such a discipline, we had to make do with our own concepts of psychological phenomena, guided by the teachings of the ascetic Fathers.

5) Our treatise consists of two parts: the first contains general reflections and principles regarding the moral and Christian moral life; the second sets forth the Christian life itself, as it ought to be, or proposes rules for the Christian’s life both as a Christian and as a person who sometimes finds himself in various circumstances and situations.

I. The Foundations of the Christian Life

These principles outline:

A) the foundations of the Christian life;

B) the defining characteristics of Christian activity as a moral endeavor;

B) depict the consequences and fruits of a good Christian life and of a life opposed to it.

The Christian Life

a) is rooted in the incarnate household;

b) is sustained, revealed, and bears fruit in a living union with the Church;

c) follows a predetermined pattern arising from the two preceding points.

1. The Root of the Christian Life in the Incarnate Household

Without this economy, Christianity, the Christian life, and salvation are inconceivable. It was predestined from eternity and came into effect in its own time through the One of the Most Holy Trinity, who, for our sake as human beings and for our salvation, descended from heaven, was incarnated by the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and became incarnate as Christ the Lord. From Him come the Christian life and salvation, and by Him all that is necessary for this is established and provided. All of this is the Incarnate plan of salvation.

In essence, it is the restoration of what had fallen: “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Matt. 18:11). “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). And this is why “the Word became flesh” (John 1:14).

Just as the foundation of Christianity—this salvific divine institution—is laid in the Incarnation of God the Word, so the foundation of the Christian life is laid in faith in this Incarnation and in partaking of His power. “Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life” (John 3:36), and, “whoever believes will be saved” (Mark 16:16). Faith in the power of the Incarnate Savior is “a gift from God” (Eph. 2:8). But the motivation to seek it and to cherish what has been found arises from the rational conviction that there is no other salvation except through it. It is with this very conviction that the exposition of Christian doctrine must begin, as a guide to the Christian life leading to salvation. At the same time, it is made clear that leading one to the conviction of the necessity of the Incarnation for our salvation will not constitute an introduction to the comprehension of this mystery. That “God was manifested in the flesh”—this will forever remain the “mystery of godliness” (1 Tim. 3:16).

We are led to the conviction of the necessity of God’s Incarnation for our salvation not by comprehending this mystery, but by the rational recognition that the conditions of our salvation could not have been fulfilled by anyone other than God incarnate.

We fell through the original sin of our first parents and found ourselves in an inescapable state of ruin. Our salvation must consist in our deliverance from this ruin.

Our ruin consists of two evils: first, in provoking God’s wrath by violating His will, in losing His favor, and in subjecting ourselves to a legal curse; second, in the corruption and disruption of our nature by sin, or in the loss of true life and the experience of death. Therefore, for our salvation, the following are necessary: first, the appeasement of God, the removal of the lawful oath from us, and the restoration of God’s favor to us; second, the quickening of us, who are dead in sin, or the bestowal of new life upon us.

If God remains unappeased toward us, we cannot receive any mercy from Him; if we do not receive mercy, we will not be granted grace; if we are not granted grace, we will not be able to attain new life. Both are necessary: the lifting of the curse and the renewal of our nature. For even if we were to receive forgiveness and mercy in some way, but remained unrenewed, we would derive no benefit from it, because without renewal we would remain constantly in a sinful disposition and would constantly pour forth sins from ourselves; and through our sins we would again be subject to condemnation and disfavor, or we would all remain in the same ruinous state.

Both are necessary; but neither can come to pass without the incarnation of God.

1) The removal of the guilt of sin and the legal curse from us—that is, our justification—cannot take place without the incarnation of God

To remove the guilt of sin and the curse of the law, full satisfaction of God’s justice—which has been offended by sin—or full justification is required. Full justification, or the full satisfaction of God’s justice, consists not only in offering a propitiatory sacrifice for sin, but also in enriching the forgiven person with works of righteousness, so that these may fill the time of life spent in sin and left empty after forgiveness. For the law of God’s righteousness requires that a person’s life not only be free from sin but also be filled with works of righteousness, as the Lord demonstrated in the parable of the talents, where the servant who buried his talent in the ground is condemned not for using the talent for evil, but for doing nothing with it. But—

a) Only the God-man, or God incarnate, could offer a sufficient sacrifice for sin

Whether we heed the feelings of the sinner standing before God with a clear awareness of God’s righteousness and his own sinfulness, or contemplate God, Who would desire to have mercy on this sinner, —in either case we will see a kind of barrier blocking the descent of God’s mercy upon the sinner and the ascent of hope for mercy from the sinner’s heart to the throne of God’s mercy. The Lord does not grant mercy unjustly, or when His righteousness has been offended and left unsatisfied. God’s truth and justice demand that the unrighteous bear the punishment due for their wrongdoing; otherwise, merciful love would become indulgent leniency. In the sinner’s soul, the sense of God’s justice is usually stronger than the sense of God’s mercy. Therefore, when he approaches God, this sense not only renders him unworthy before Him but overwhelms him with utter hopelessness. Consequently, in order to bring the sinner closer to God and God closer to the sinner, it is necessary to break down this barrier; it is necessary for some other kind of mediation to arise between God and man, one that would hide man’s sin from the eyes of God’s justice and God’s justice from the eyes of the sinner; a mediator through whom God would see the sinner as acquitted and worthy of mercy in the very face of justice itself, and man would look upon God as already appeased and ready to show mercy to the sinner; a sacrifice of atonement is necessary, one that, by satisfying God’s justice and appeasing the sinner’s soul, would reconcile God with man and man with God.

What, then, is this sacrifice? What does it consist of? And how can it possess such immeasurable power of atonement?

This sacrifice is death—the death of a human being. It is first prescribed by God’s justice as the punishment for sin; it is offered to God by the repentant sinner, who cries out: “Take my life, but have mercy and save me,” even though he immediately feels that his death is not powerful enough to save him.

Whose death, then, will it be?

1) It is evident that such a propitiatory sacrifice cannot be my death, nor that of another, nor of a third person, nor indeed of anyone from the human race: for my death, and that of another, and of a third, and of every person in general, is a punishment for sin and offers nothing propitiatory. Moreover, we—human beings—all without exception need this sacrifice ourselves, and while still alive, we seek mercy and justification through it; and in order to attain salvation, we must, while still alive, be justified and forgiven for its sake. Therefore, the death of a person who has been removed from the circle of humanity—while still remaining human—can be the atoning sacrifice for sin. But how is this possible? Only if he does not belong to himself, is not a distinct, independent person like every other human being among people, but belongs to another higher being who would take him into His own person, hypostatically unite with him, or become incarnate and die his death. This would be a human death, belonging to no one among the human race.

2) If, however, my death—or that of another, a third person, or indeed any human being—cannot serve as a propitiatory and justifying sacrifice, yet human death remains the condition for mercy and justification, then neither I, nor another, nor a third person, nor indeed any human being can be forgiven and justified except by appropriating someone else’s death. And in that case, that death itself—in the other person dying a human death from whom it is borrowed—must not be the consequence of guilt or in any way connected to it; otherwise, it would be impossible to justify others through it. Therefore, again, since it is a human death, it must not belong to a human person, for any death belonging to a human being is a punishment; but must belong to another person who would be holy with the most perfect holiness. That is to say, a human death that atones and justifies is possible only if some most holy being, having taken a human being into its own person, dies in that person’s place, so that, by removing human death from under the law of guilt, it may confer upon it the possibility of being appropriated by others.

3) Furthermore, if the pardon and justification of a human being are possible only through the appropriation of another’s innocent death—and those in need of pardon and justification are, in fact, all people who live, have lived, and will live, the entire human race in all times and places—then for their pardon and justification it would be necessary either to arrange as many innocent deaths as there are people, or even as many as there have been acts of sin, or to provide a single such death whose power would extend to all times and places and cover all the acts of sin of all people. From the all-merciful and all-wise God, who arranges our salvation, only the latter is possible. How, then, could this come about? How can a human death, insignificant in and of itself, acquire such all-encompassing power? Only if it belongs to the One who exists everywhere and always—to God; that is, when God Himself deigns to assume human nature into His own person and, by dying that death, endows it with universal and eternal significance, for then it will be a divine death.

4) Finally, this death, whose power extends to the entire human race and to all ages, must, in terms of its value, correspond to God’s infinite truth, which has been offended by sin, and possess boundless significance, just as God is boundless—a significance it can attain only by being assumed by God or by becoming the death of God; and this will happen when God, having taken upon Himself human nature, dies its death.

These principles are not mere figments of the imagination, but are derived from what is stated in the Word of God regarding the incarnate plan of our salvation. For our salvation has already been accomplished and is ready for anyone who desires to accept it. The Son of God and God Himself became incarnate, offered a sacrifice of atonement to God for our race through His death on the cross, took away the guilt of sin from us, and reconciled us to God. The teachings of God’s Word on this matter are brought together to make it clear that the incarnation of God the Word is not an excess of God’s mercy; but, although it is a free act of God’s good pleasure, it is nevertheless one without which our salvation could not have taken place. By virtue of this plan of salvation, God righteously shows us mercy and saves us. This is what the Word of God says about this: “There is one... God and one Mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself as a ransom for all” (1 Tim. 2:5–6). Through Him, the “dividing wall of hostility” (Eph. 2:14) has been torn down, and peace has been established between God and man (Rom. 5:1, 5:10–11). God offered Him as a sacrifice of atonement through faith in His blood, to demonstrate His righteousness in the forgiveness of sins... so that they might know that He is “righteous and justifies” (not without cause), but “the one who believes in Christ” (Rom. 3:23–26), and thus righteously “reconciles” the world to Himself in Him, “not counting people’s sins against them” (2 Cor. 5:19). In Him, we too—who are “by nature children of wrath,” hopeless (Eph. 2:3, 2:12)—are delivered from weariness and weakness of soul (from despondency caused by hopelessness) (Heb. 12:12–13) and having risen to hope and “the hope of salvation” (Gal. 5:5; 1 Pet. 1:3; Heb. 7:19), have boldness and sure “access to the Father… into the innermost sanctuary behind the curtain” (Eph. 2:18; Heb. 6:19), we have the freedom “to enter the sanctuary by means of His blood… through the new and living way that He has opened for us through the curtain, that is, His flesh” (Heb. 10:19–20). For “Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the Law, having become a curse for us” (Gal. 3:13), and He has “canceled the written code of requirements against us by nailing it to the cross” (Col. 2:14).

And for this purpose He:

1) “He is descended from the seed of Abraham” (Heb. 2:16), so that He might “have something to offer to God” (Heb. 8:3), “in every respect made like His brothers, so that He might be... their high priest… for the atonement of sins” (Heb. 2:16–17);

2) “suffered as a righteous man for the unrighteous” (1 Pet. 3:18), “endured the cross for the joy set before Him” (Heb. 12:2), “though He knew no sin, He became sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Cor. 5:21), for “such a high priest was fitting for us—holy, blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens” (Heb. 7:26);

3) He does not “offer Himself repeatedly”—otherwise He would have had to suffer repeatedly—but “appeared once for all with His sacrifice to take away sin” (Heb. 9:25, 9:26) and by this “one offering of His body He sanctifies all” (Heb. 10:10); “having entered the Most Holy Place once for all, having obtained eternal redemption” (Heb. 9:12); “Since He lives forever, He has an unchangeable priesthood, and therefore He is able to save to the uttermost those who come to God through Him, since He always lives to make intercession for us” (Heb. 7:24, 7:25; 1 John 2:1, 2:2);

4) We have been “bought with such a price” (1 Cor. 6:20)—not “with silver or gold… but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot” (1 Pet. 1:18, 1:19), “which speaks better than Abel’s” (Heb. 12:24) and purifying us more thoroughly than “the blood of goats and calves, and the ashes of a heifer” (Heb. 9:13, 9:14), for with it “Christ appeared before the very face of God on our behalf” (Heb. 9:24) and by this offering removed the curse from us, “having become a curse for us” (Gal. 3:13), and thereby revealed both the boundless righteousness of God (Rom. 3:25) and “the riches of His grace” (Eph. 1:7).

b) Only the works of the God-Man can make up for the time of life spent in sin with works of righteousness

b) Only the deeds of the God-Man can make up for the time of life spent in sin with deeds of righteousness

For a person’s justification, it is not enough merely to remove the guilt of sin from him; it is also necessary to make up for the lack of righteous and good deeds in his life. By living in sin (meaning both continuous sinning before conversion and occasional sins after conversion), a person not only neglects righteous and good deeds and wastes time on what is not proper, but also fills that time with positive acts of unrighteousness and evil, which are subject to corresponding punishment. When the guilt of sin is removed from him through mercy and forgiveness, and the corresponding punishment for it is set aside, then only what is unrighteous and impure is erased from his life; his life is restored so that it is as if these unrighteousnesses and impurities had never been in it. But the time of life spent in sin, though thus freed from the burden of sin, does not thereby yet acquire the deeds of righteousness and goodness with which it was necessarily meant to be filled according to its original purpose. Since God’s righteousness requires that a person’s entire life be filled with righteous and good deeds, one who has been pardoned and justified is not yet fully righteous before God; for this, the emptiness in his life must still be filled with righteous and good deeds.

How is this possible? It is evident that the person who has turned to God, repented, and been forgiven cannot accomplish this by striving to increase his own good deeds. For whatever he may do in this regard, he will be doing only what is required of him at the time he is doing it, and thus cannot make up for past omissions. Thus, this making up for the deficiency of the deeds one ought to have done—just like the previously described requirement for a sacrifice of atonement—is possible for him only by appropriating such deeds from others or the deeds of another person.

Who, then, can be such a person for us, from whose abundance we might borrow deeds to make up for their deficiency in our own lives?

He must be a human being in order to perform human deeds, so that these deeds might make up for the lack of such deeds in human life. But such deeds must not be obligatory for him, nor must they be his own deeds or belong to him; otherwise, they cannot be appropriated by others to make up for the lack of such deeds in their own lives. How, then, is this possible? Only if some being were to take on human nature and, by uniting it with its own person, were to perform human deeds through its own powers—without being bound by its nature to perform them—so that, possessing them within itself as a free abundance, it might have the power to enrich others with them. But who could be such a being—one capable of assuming another nature and performing its deeds through its own powers, even though these deeds are not required of it? No creature can be such. Every creature has its own purpose and its own sphere of activities, which must fill every moment of its existence and life. Therefore, it has no time to perform deeds for others or on behalf of others. This is possible for it only by neglecting its own duties: for that would be the same as saving others while destroying itself. Apart from creatures, there is only God, who is independent of all things. Thus, our enrichment with deeds of righteousness and goodness—to make up for their lack in our lives—is possible only when God deigns to take upon Himself human nature and, through its powers, to perform human deeds of righteousness and goodness. For only such deeds, being free from obligation, can be received by others as the free bounty of God incarnate.

Moreover, since the life of every human being—the lives of all people, both present, past, and future—depends on such deeds, their abundance must be so great as to satisfy everyone, and their power must extend throughout all times and to all humanity. But the power of any created being, just as the significance of its deeds, cannot extend beyond the limits of its nature and can in no way rise to such power and scope as to encompass all of humanity. Therefore, the works of righteousness and goodness necessary to make up for the deficiency of such works in every person’s life—so that they may have such immeasurable and eternal significance—must be accomplished by human power, but by a Person who is, by His very nature, eternal and infinite, that is, by God; and this is possible only through the hypostatic union of the Godhead with humanity in a single Person, or through the Incarnation of God.

Such is our Lord Jesus Christ, as portrayed by the Word of God. It presents Him in all His fullness, saying that the Father “was pleased to have all the fullness dwell in Him” (Col. 1:19). Of course, this fullness refers to the blessings of our salvation, including the fullness of righteousness and goodness to cover our iniquities and evils. “There was no sin in Him” (1 John 3:3, 3:5), and He did not commit any such thing (1 Peter 2:3, 2:5). For He did only the will of God, that is, all righteousness. Even as He took upon Himself the work of our salvation, He said to the Father: “I am going to do Your will, O my God” (Heb. 10:9)—and, having come to earth, at the very beginning of His ministry, He said to John the Baptist: “Let it be so now; we must fulfill all righteousness” (Matt. 3:15)—and He fulfilled it, testifying before all that He had not come to do His own will nor to seek it, but had but one desire—to do “the will of Him who sent Me” (John 5:30, 6:38)—to the point that this very work was His only food and drink (John 4:34), “being obedient even to the point of death” (Phil. 2:8). Since there was never a moment when He was not doing something—and He always did what was right—what a wealth of righteous and good deeds did He accumulate?

But for whom and for what purpose? For those who believe in His name, for He Himself had no need of this, being by nature infinite truth. This was a rich inheritance for those who sought His righteousness (Eph. 1:18). From this fullness, “we have all received” (John 1:16) and are “filled with the fruits of righteousness” (Phil. 1:11). It is with this very fullness of righteousness that St. Paul wishes everyone to be filled, and he even affirms that all already possess this fullness in the Lord (Col. 2:10) and that, having received this “gift of righteousness,” they “will reign in life” (Rom. 5:17)—that is, they will inherit the kingdom of heaven. That is why this apostle testifies about the Lord that He is for us “righteousness, sanctification, and redemption” (1 Cor. 1:30). Redemption here means the forgiveness of sins; righteousness means the covering of our iniquities with His righteousness; and our sanctification is composed of both. And the apostle calls blessed those whose “transgressions have not only been forgiven,” but whose “sins have also been covered” (Rom. 4:7). By what? By the riches of Christ’s righteousness. Thus it came to pass that “just as through the transgression of the one, condemnation came upon all men, so through the righteousness of the One, justification of life came upon all men” (Rom. 5:18).

Therefore, let us conclude that only the death and the abundance of righteousness of the God-man can atone for the guilt of the human race through the offering of a fitting sacrifice and make up for its lack of righteousness. Consequently, the justification of the human race is impossible without the incarnation of God.

2) But our renewal—that is, the gift of new life to us—is also impossible without the incarnation of God

For the salvation of man, as noted at the beginning, it is not enough merely to justify him before God; it is also necessary, after justification, to make him strong enough to resist sin and to stand firm on the good path he has begun, and for this purpose to completely regenerate him, to give him new life, and to abolish within him the principle of a life worthy of condemnation. For as long as this nature remains within him, he will not cease to commit evil deeds and, consequently, will never be freed from the curse and condemnation. And this will continue endlessly. Thus, without the renewal of our nature, even justification itself is of no use. What, then, is to be done? We must root out this evil principle within him. And how is this done? By granting him a new, powerful life capable of supplanting that evil principle.

In the Fall, man lost his true life and began to live a different kind of life, which must be called a false life when viewed from the perspective of man’s purpose. Having begun at the head of the human race, it then spread to all its members, so that our entire race became one enormous body living a false or untrue human existence. It is evident that in order to renew this body of humanity, which is corrupted to its very root, it is necessary to infuse into it from the outside the principle of true human life, just as a completely diseased human body is renewed by a transfusion of blood from a completely healthy organism; it is necessary, by likening humanity to a tree, to graft it from another tree full of healthy life, so that, under the influence of its life-giving sap, it may be reborn from within and begin to produce new, living shoots; a new head of humanity must arise—a new progenitor of humankind—so that, being born of him or reborn through the true principle of life borrowed from him, they may, in union with him, form a new body of humanity, full of true human life.

Who, then, can be such a head? Such a head of a truly renewed humanity, this progenitor of new, true human beings, must obviously be a human being, in order to be able to give people new life—not just any kind of life, but human life itself; for the people who are to receive new life from him can live only a human life, and consequently can be revived only for it and through it. But this human life within him must be pure, sound, and unblemished; therefore, it must originate from a human being, yet in an extraordinary human way: for no such life can be untouched by the corruption common to all humanity. And not only that, but having been transformed and renewed at its very origin—in the composition of our nature and in all its powers and functions—it must then remain forever unchanged in this state. Such a beginning and such unchanging permanence and steadfastness are possible in it only when it is completely removed or separated from ordinary human autonomy and self-determination and does not belong to itself, but is borne and governed by another being possessing creative power and divine immutability—that is, by God; that is, when God, having creatively transformed and renewed the principles and elements of human nature, forms a human being from them for Himself and, having clothed Himself in that human being, lives and acts in a divine-human manner. But this is precisely what constitutes the incarnate “house-building,” which represents the incarnation of God the Word—so necessary for our salvation.

Moreover, this new life at the head must possess such fullness that, while giving birth to a new humanity, it does not become depleted but remains ever full, so as not merely to give birth to new members, but, having regenerated all, to then sustain them in their temporal and eternal existence. Since it cannot be such by its very nature—being created—it must receive this quality from another, uncreated Person, or from the very Source of all being and life, from the ever-existent God; this is accomplished through the Incarnation, in which God assumes human nature into His own Person and, having clothed Himself in it, imparts to it the ever-living, inexhaustible fullness. Finally, this new progenitor, bringing all into new life, must keep all in unity—both among themselves and with Him—so that all, living a single life and under a single head, may form a single living, harmoniously united body. And the original purpose of humanity was for all of it to be one in every respect and to live a single life. But sin entered and divided everyone, so that all of humanity came to resemble a heap without any living connection or cohesion. The new humanity, through the new progenitor and head, is destined to restore this lost unity within itself. Therefore, human nature in this progenitor, while remaining human, must not belong to itself, but to another Person—who is everywhere present, all-encompassing, and eternal—so that He may unite within Himself people of all times and places, protect them, and guide them toward the ultimate end, subjecting them to the demands of this end and of all other creatures existing in the world. That is to say, this progenitor, being the progenitor of humankind, must be not merely a human being, but God in human nature—or the God-man—which is the very essence of the Incarnation.

Such is our Lord Jesus Christ, God from God, the Word, who was with God from the beginning (John 1:1); the Son of God, who abides in the “bosom of the Father” (John 1:18). Without leaving the Father’s bosom, He deigned to take on our flesh, or our human nature (John 1:14), through His birth of the Ever-Virgin at the appointed time for our “redemption” and “adoption as sons” (Gal. 4:5).

By renewing human nature within Himself, He became the “beginning” (John 8:25) of new people who live a true human life, the “author of this life” and its giver (Acts 3:15). “In Him is our true life” (John 1:4), the fullness of this life, from which—as from a spring—we are all meant to draw (John 1:16); and through it, He “gives life to those whom He wills” (John 5:21).

And so He became the new Adam, the new progenitor, and all who come to Him by the appointed way and are reborn through Him are His offspring (1 Cor. 15:45–48). He is the head, and they are His body (1 Cor. 12:27), born of Him (Col. 2:19), “of His flesh and of His bones” (Eph. 5:30). He is the tree, and they are the branches (John 15:5).

For this reason, everyone who comes to Him, after repentance and renunciation of all that is past, receives Holy Baptism, in which—by virtue of faith and the resolve to serve the Lord—the old self is put off and the new self is put on; after which the old self dies within him and the new self begins to live, “created according to God, in righteousness and true holiness” (Rom. 6:3–6; Eph. 4:24). For here believers are clothed with Christ, Who is “our life” (Col. 3:4) and gives us the strength to live in such a way that “we no longer live for ourselves, but for the Lord who died for us and was raised” (2 Cor. 5:15), so that we no longer live for ourselves, but Christ lives in us (Gal. 2:20), with whom “our life is hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3).

Thus, “if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Cor. 5:17), reborn “by water and the Spirit” (John 3:3, 3:5), for which reason all such people, as those “born of God,” are called “children of God” (John 1:12–13) and “receive the status of sonship” (Gal. 4:5). And this is the new humanity, “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light” (1 Pet. 2:9) and brought “from death to life” (1 John 3:14).

This is the first foundation of the Christian life—faith in the incarnate plan of our salvation in our Lord Jesus Christ, a conviction so deep in its power that it admits not the slightest wavering or division of thought, and which, with firm hope, stands unshakably on the truth that “there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:11–12). The choice is either to cling to the Lord and Savior or to perish. For whoever is not with Him, no matter what he does, “does not gather… but scatters” (Luke 11:23). No one “can do anything worthy of salvation unless he abides in the Lord” (John 15:4–6). This is the door leading into the temple of salvation! “Behold, the stone,” the foundation laid for the spiritual edifice of the temple of salvation, so that the Lord and Savior may dwell within it (Matt. 16:18).

2. The second foundation of the Christian life, inseparable from the first, is a living union with the body of the Church, of which the Lord is the head, the life-giver, and the mover

Our Lord Jesus Christ, God and Savior, having fulfilled on earth His divine providence for us, ascended into heaven and sent down the Holy Spirit from the Father; then, with Him, by the Father’s good pleasure, through the holy apostles, He established the Holy Church on earth under His headship and united within it all that is necessary for our salvation and a life in accordance with it. Thus, through her, those who now seek salvation receive from Him both redemption with the forgiveness of sins and sanctification with new life. In her, “all divine powers for life and godliness... and noble and great promises have been granted,” and if, by virtue of this, we strive to adorn ourselves with every virtue, then, without a doubt, “we are granted abundant entrance into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Pet. 1:3–11). The Holy Church is the new humanity, descended from the new progenitor, Christ the Lord.

During His time on earth, the Lord merely promised to establish the Holy Church upon the rock of the firm confession of His incarnate plan for the world. But its actual establishment, according to the Father’s will, He accomplished with the Holy Spirit through the holy apostles, establishing and safeguarding it with dogmas, commandments, sacraments, liturgical rites, canons, and proper guidance; and in all this, He showed the true path to the Kingdom of Heaven, which He prepared for the faithful and to which He was pleased to call us all.

In the Holy Church, everything comes from the Lord Jesus Christ with the Holy Spirit, according to the Father’s will, through the holy apostles, and everything contained therein must be upheld and fulfilled by all who enter it and become its members, in accordance with all the aforementioned points or aspects of the Church’s structure. All of this is indeed upheld and fulfilled by all who are in living communion with her, as a result of which they are one—“one body and one Spirit” (Eph. 4:4)—both in the confession of faith or the upholding of “sound doctrine” (2 Tim. 1:13), and in living according to the commandments or in fulfilling God’s will, and in sanctification through the sacraments, and in approaching God in prayer, and in submission to the canons and established leadership. Those who act in this way “walk worthy of the calling to which they have been called… making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace” (Eph. 4:1–6). But those who depart from this separate themselves from the Church inwardly, and if they do not heed her admonishing voice—which is addressed to them maternally for their instruction—they are excommunicated from her outwardly as well and join the ranks of the pagans (Matt. 18:17).

Those who are in the Church, her true children, preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace and therefore remain in a living union with her; those who join anew vow to unite with her and are truly united upon entering her; those born within the Church are reborn to new life and are then nurtured and grow in her spirit and in all her ordinances. All such are living members of the Church and, through the Holy Spirit, partake of all spiritual blessings—both promised and eternal—from her Head. Those, however, who depart from the established order of the Church, though they are counted among the Church, do not stand in a living union with her; therefore, they are not alive, but are dead or lifeless. They are kept within the Church in the hope that they will come to their senses, break free from the snare that holds them, and hasten to restore the union with the Church and with the Lord—her Head—which they have broken, and once again join the ranks of the saved. Everything preserved by the Church is not something that can be left to chance, but rather something without which salvation cannot take place. For it is the realization, or the practical manifestation, of the incarnate building of the Church, without which there is no salvation. Therefore, whoever is alien to the Church is alien to Christ the Lord and to salvation in Him.

So, what must one who is determined to work out his salvation and begin to live a Christian life do? To embrace membership in the Church, if one has not yet done so; to revive it, if one had it but lost it; and then to preserve it wholeheartedly and abide in it; and one’s life will be sustained, mature, and grow toward perfection in the Lord Jesus Christ. This is among the indispensable conditions of the Christian life.

This requirement naturally flows from the closest union between the Lord and the Church, and between the Church and the Lord. In the Word of God, this union is presented as a metaphor for the union of the head with the body. It says that “Christ is the head of the Church” (Eph. 5:23), “the head of the body, the Church” (Col. 1:18), and that the Church “is His body, the fullness of Him who fills all in all” (Eph. 1:22–23), which, according to St. Chrysostom, means that the Church is filled with Christ and that He fills all her members, so that in her “Christ is all and in all” (Col. 3:11).

“As the head, He is also the Savior of the body, the Church” (Eph. 5:23); “He nourishes and warms her, as she is... from His own flesh and from His own bones” (Eph. 5:29–30), loves her, and for her sake “gave Himself up to sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that He might present her to Himself as a glorious Church, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she might be holy and blameless” (Eph. 5:25–27); “The Church, in everything, is subject to Christ” (Eph. 5:24).

The body, by its very nature, is not a single member, but many; yet all are “members of one body; though many, they are one body—so also is Christ” (1 Cor. 12:12, 12:14), or so is the body of the Church, of which Christ is the head. Christ the Lord gave to His Church “some as apostles, some as prophets, some as evangelists, some as pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ” (Eph. 4:11–12). These are the principal members (leaders), but all the others are also appointed to serve the entire body of the Church, so that no one may be idle, just as in an animal’s body there is not even the smallest part that is idle. For this purpose, each one receives his or her gift: “to one… is given the word of wisdom, to another the word of knowledge...; to another faith..., to another the gift of healing...; to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy; to another spiritual discernment, to another the gift of tongues, and to another the interpretation of tongues” (1 Cor. 12:7–10). Therefore, it is appointed that each one, having received a gift, should use it to serve all, “as a good steward of the grace of God: if anyone speaks, as the very words of God; if anyone serves, as by the strength that God supplies, so that in all things God may be glorified through Jesus Christ” (1 Pet. 4:10–11); “If anyone has a gift of prophecy, let him prophesy in proportion to his faith; if anyone has a gift of service, let him serve; if anyone is a teacher, let him teach; if anyone encourages others, let him do so; if anyone distributes, let him do so with simplicity; if anyone leads, let him do so with diligence; if anyone serves as a benefactor, let him do so with cheerfulness,” and so on and so forth (Rom. 12:6–8).

Through such cooperation among all members, the entire structure of the body, being brought into harmony, grows into the Holy Church in the Lord, in whom all are “being built together into a dwelling place of God in the Spirit” (Eph. 2:22). For this reason, all are exhorted—“to live in love, growing in every way into Him who is the Head, that is, Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work” (Eph. 4:15, 4:16).

"In this very 'body' we were baptized... and we were all made to drink of one Spirit" (1 Cor. 12:13)—that is, through baptism we entered into it and were united in it spiritually, committing ourselves to unity of mind, will, feeling, and action—“so that there may be no division in the body” (1 Cor. 12:15–25).

Judging by this, the Church is a maternal womb that conceives, forms, nurtures, and perfects every Christian: just as in the womb of nature, various creatures are sown, sprout, grow, mature, and bear fruit to the glory of God. Just as there is no life or living beings outside of nature, so too, outside the Church, there is no spiritual life and no people living spiritually. Therefore, being in the Church, in living communion and union with her, is an indispensable condition for those who desire to live by the Spirit and to prosper in the Christian life.

3. The Norm of Christian Life

By “norm” we mean here a rule which, by defining man’s purpose and the means to achieve it, provides guiding instructions on where and how one should direct one’s life. The foundation for such a norm lies in the creation of man in the image and likeness of God and in the breathing of the breath of divine life into his face. But the Fall came and disrupted it. It disrupted it, but did not destroy it. For when the incarnate work of restoration of the fallen was accomplished, then man—forgiven and renewed by His power—received a new standard for his spiritual and moral life; yet this standard was based on the original standard, which had been corrupted by the Fall, restoring it, supplementing it, and presenting it in its most perfect form.

Thus, we must first outline aa) the original standard of human moral life, and then, in relation to it, establish bb) the standard of Christian moral life.

1) The Original Standard of Human Moral Life

In clarifying the norm of the moral life, it is necessary, as stated above, to determine a) the purpose of human life and b) the means that God has granted to man to achieve it, and from both of these to c) derive a general guiding principle for the moral life. Therefore—

a) What is the purpose of human life?

Man’s ultimate purpose lies in God, in communion or a living union with God. Created in the image and likeness of God, man is, by his very nature, in a certain sense of the divine order. Being of the divine order, he cannot help but seek communion with God—not only as his source and archetype, but also as the supreme good. That is why our heart is satisfied only when it possesses God and is possessed by God. Nothing but God can calm it. Solomon knew much, possessed much, and enjoyed much; but in the end, he had to acknowledge all this as vanity and a breaking of the spirit (Eccl. 1:8, 1:17–18, 3:10–11, 8:17). There is only one rest for man in God. “What do I have in heaven, and what do I desire on earth from You? My heart and my flesh have perished, O God of my heart and my portion, O God forever” (Ps. 72:25–26). “In God is life,” teaches Basil the Great. “Separation and estrangement from God is an evil more unbearable even than the future torments of Gehenna, the most grievous evil for a human being, just as the deprivation of light is for the eye and the taking of life is for an animal.” And further: “What was the supreme good for the soul? Abiding with God and union with Him through love. Having fallen away from Him, it began to suffer” (Works of the Holy Fathers: Basil the Great, vol. 4). That is why we are exhorted: “Seek the Lord… seek His face earnestly” (Ps. 104:4). The prophet Moses set the vision of God’s face as the pinnacle of his desires, even after God had already revealed through him and in him so many extraordinary acts of His goodness and omnipotence: “If I have found favor in Your sight, show Yourself to me, that I may see You clearly” (Ex. 33:13), he prayed. With what fear did the prophet David cry out to the Lord: “Do not cast me away from Your presence” (Ps. 50:13), knowing that “those who turn away from Him will perish” (Ps. 72:27). With what longing did he always turn to God: “My soul thirsts for God...” (Ps. 62:2); “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, O God” (Ps. 41:2). With what warmth did he find rest in Him alone: “It is good for me to cling to God” (Ps. 72:28).

But our good does not lie solely in this single striving of all desires toward God. An unquenchable thirst, an insatiable hunger, a need without fulfillment—these are sorrow, sickness, and torment. In seeking God, we wish to find Him, to possess Him and be possessed by Him, to be sincerely united with Him, to be in Him and to have Him within us (St. Macarius the Great). It is precisely in this living, inner, and direct communion between God and man, and between man and God, that man’s ultimate goal lies.

This communion is depicted in this way in the Word of God. Thus, God Himself says of some: “My Spirit shall not always strive with man, for he is but flesh” (Gen. 6:3), while promising to others: “I will dwell in them and walk among them” (2 Cor. 6:16). “Take heed,” says St. Chrysostom on this passage, “to who dwells within you! You bear God within yourself.” The Savior promises a most intimate indwelling of God in the human heart when He says: “We will come to him and make our home with him” (John 14:23). St. John the Theologian teaches that when someone abides in love, not only does he abide in God, but God also abides in him (John 15:10). For the Holy Fathers, living communion with God amounts to the deification of man. Thus, St. Gregory the Theologian describes man as “a living being who, through his striving toward God, attains deification.” Theodore, Bishop of Edessa, teaches the following about the purpose of man: “The purpose of our life is bliss, or, which amounts to the same thing, the Kingdom of Heaven or the Kingdom of God, which consists not only in beholding the royal, so to speak, Trinity, but also in receiving the Divine influence and, as it were, partaking in deification, and in this influence finding the fulfillment and perfection of all deficiencies and imperfections. This is the nourishment of the intellectual faculties—that is, the filling of deficiencies through that divine influence.” In St. Macarius’s Discourses, one can find a reminder of the soul’s living communion with God in almost every discourse. Thus, in Discourse 46, he teaches, “that God created the human soul to be His bride and partner, and that He might be with her in a single fusion and a single spirit” (§ 6). Therefore, “if the soul clings to the Lord, then the Lord, moved by mercy and love, comes to her and clings to her, and thus the soul and the Lord become one spirit, one fusion, and one mind” (§ 8). “It is necessary for a person,” he says elsewhere, “not only to be in God, but also for God to be in him.”

One might think, however, that a living union with God means the soul’s disappearance into God, with the suppression of its autonomy and freedom. No, although the soul is indeed under divine influence in this, touches God in a certain way, and is imbued with His power, it nevertheless does not cease to be a soul—a rational and free being—just as red-hot iron or coal, imbued with fire, do not cease to be iron and coal. It is only through this communion that the soul acquires the fullest and swiftest power to act according to God’s will—freely, yet unquestioningly. On the other hand, it is also incorrect to think that if communion with God is set as man’s ultimate goal, then man will attain it later, at the end, for example, of all his labors. No, it must be a constant, unceasing state of being for a person, so that as soon as there is no communion with God, as soon as it is not felt, a person must admit that he stands outside his purpose and his calling. The state in which a person realizes that the true God is his God, and that he himself belongs to God—that is, when he says in his heart to God: “My Lord and my God” (John 20:28), like the Apostle Thomas, and to himself: “I am God—I am God” (Isaiah 44:5)—such a state is the only true state of a person; it is the sole decisive sign of the presence within him of the beginning of a truly moral and spiritual life.

Thus, those who set man himself as man’s ultimate goal are far from the truth, no matter how grand the names they use to adorn it—such as the development of spiritual powers or the striving for self-improvement. With such a goal, people become divided by concern only for themselves and grow accustomed to turning everything into a means, not even excluding God Himself, whereas in reality man, like all creation, is a means in God’s right hand for the purposes of His Divine Providence. “The Lord has made everything for His own sake” (Prov. 16:4). Therefore, “in Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28), “for from Him and through Him and to Him are all things” (Rom. 11:36). It is unjust to make the welfare of one’s neighbors—that is, of people—the ultimate goal of man, even in the sense that all his concern should be directed toward the well-being of society. Contributing to the common good is unquestionably a human duty, but it is neither the first nor the exclusive one. If this is made the primary duty, then every person will turn their thoughts and heart toward others rather than toward God, and, consequently, all together will form a society of people closed in on themselves but spiritually estranged from God. This would be a body without a head. On the contrary, through communion with God, all people, uniting in this single purpose—not merely in thought but in deed—are joined together, and all, filled with a single spirit and a single strength, form a single, living, and harmonious body. Only under this condition can a true and reliable union among people be established. This is the goal!

b) The question is: What is the path to this goal, or how is man suited to it?

Non-rational creatures fulfill their purpose without even knowing it, by virtue of their very nature or constitution. Human beings—rational and free creatures—must themselves become aware of their goal, discern the path leading to it, and freely choose to follow that path unwaveringly in order to reach their goal and fulfill their purpose. From this it follows of its own accord that, once 1) the meaning of moral freedom and its true use have been specified, once 2) the path it must choose has been defined, and 3) the grounds upon which it must do so are specified, then the totality of all these concepts will reveal how man is suited to his goal, toward which he must strive with his whole being, and, consequently, everything required of him to be faithful to his calling—or, which is the same thing, to be in communion with God—will be made clear.

1) Having deemed man worthy of living communion with Himself, the Lord granted him freedom so that this communion might be carried out in a manner worthy of God—that is, He granted him the power to direct his internal and external actions in accordance with the vision of the goal or at his own discretion. For man must first master himself in order to then surrender himself to God. God, having fashioned the human being, entrusted him to himself, so that he might do as he pleases with himself and with his own powers. “You yourself created man from the beginning and left him to the power of his own will” (Sir. 15:14).

Freedom belongs to the human person and constitutes his defining characteristic. A person must govern his own thoughts, desires, feelings, and the corresponding actions. In this sense, he is his own ruler. The powers closest to consciousness constitute his inner council, through which he resolves all his affairs and undertakings. Demands come to a person from various directions—both from without and from within—but, despite the full force of their influence, they never take effect until a conscious decision is made by the person himself . It is in this very decision or consent to an action that the essence of freedom lies. No force can wring it out by compulsion. A single word—“I do not consent”—disarms all authority and all violence.

This is how man is portrayed throughout the Word of God. Here, the most essential instructions for him are presented to his freedom and choice. Thus, Moses, having shown Israel what constitutes life and death, blessing and curse, persuades them: “Choose life, that you and your descendants may live” (Deut. 30:19). “Choose for yourselves,” Joshua says to the same people, “whom you will serve” (Josh. 24:15). We hear the same from Sirach: “I have set before you fire and water; stretch out your hand toward whichever you choose. Life and death lie before man, and whichever he chooses will be given to him” (Sir. 15:16–17). And the Savior, having come to earth, does not restrict freedom but offers a choice: “Whoever wishes to follow Me” and so on (Matt. 16:24); “If you wish to be perfect...” (Matt. 19:21). He does not force His way into the house of the soul, but “I stand,” He says, “at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice...” (Rev. 3:20). “God does not compel us,” says St. Chrysostom. “He has given us the power to choose between good and evil, so that we may be good of our own free will.” The soul, as queen over itself and free in its actions, does not always submit to God, and He does not wish to make the soul virtuous and holy by force or against its will. For where there is no free will, there is no virtue. It is necessary to persuade the soul so that, of its own free will, it may become good.”

Freedom grants man a certain independence, but not so that he may act capriciously, but so that he may freely submit himself to the will of God. The voluntary submission of freedom to the will of God is the only true and uniquely blessed use of freedom. The will of God is the principle by which man must direct his actions. He must be guided solely by it in his personal decisions. Only under this condition will his freedom attain scope and breadth, for there is nothing free either within man himself or outside of him. Everything is ordered according to the definite laws of the Divine Will, which, beyond this, alone remains completely free. Therefore, the only fitting arena for freedom can be the will of God. By submitting to it, human freedom becomes, as it were, unlimited, or enters a certain boundless realm: “I have walked in the open spaces, for I have sought Your commandments,” says the prophet David (Ps. 118:45). “Behold what inexpressible mysteries are wrought in the soul,” says St. Macarius the Great (Discourse 46), “how the thoughts of its mind expand and extend in length, breadth, depth, and height throughout all visible and invisible creation.” On the contrary, if freedom is exercised in any other way, on the one hand, suffering becomes a blessing for the person; on the other hand, freedom itself falls into restrictive bonds. The whole person, in his composition and powers, as well as the entire order of the things surrounding him, is imprinted with the law of the Divine Will. If a person, endowed with such powers and living in such a world, begins to act according to principles alien to God’s will, he will inevitably come into conflict both with himself and with the world: he will disrupt his own well-being and be subjected to calamitous influences from without; that is, he will inevitably suffer hardship and pain. Moreover, the very exercise of his freedom will be limited. By willfully deviating from God’s will, a person inevitably falls into certain bonds and loses a significant portion of the perfection available to him. “If a person is free,” asks Saint Tikhon, “is he then free to do whatever he wants?” And he answers: “No. Freedom does not consist in living as one pleases. This is not so much freedom as it is slavery—utter and grievous. Those who disobey God fall under the heavy yoke of the tormentor—the devil and sin—become the poorest captives of the passions, and are bound by a lawful oath” (St. Tikhon, vol. 11). Thus, man—a free creature—by turning away from God’s will, falls into the realm of darkness, enveloped by God’s wrath, where he comes under the power of Satan, sin, and passions, which rage within him and in others.

2) Thus, the path we must freely choose in order to fulfill our calling is made clear: namely, the path of God’s will. Only God, who was pleased to create us as rational and free beings and who gave us this lofty purpose—to be in living communion with Him—can show us the true path by which we may attain this communion with God and abide in it. “For who among men knows the counsel of God? Or who can discern what God desires? … Who can know His will?” (Wisdom 9:13–18), unless He Himself reveals it. This proclamation of God’s will to rational creatures—or the instruction on how they should govern their internal and external actions to please God— is God’s commandment, or the moral law—“The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul; the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple; the precepts of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart; the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes...” (Ps. 18:8–11). Therefore, steadfast adherence to God’s law, willing obedience to His commandments, and faithful fulfillment of His just requirements are the only sure path to communion with God. Only “the one who does these things will live by them,” the apostle teaches (Gal. 3:12). “If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments,” the Lord said to a zealous seeker of God’s favor (Matt. 19:17), and to all in general He promised: “Whoever has My commandments and keeps them—he is the one who loves Me... “If anyone loves Me, he will keep My commandments; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him” (John 14:21, 14:23).

That is why the Word of God calls the law “a way, a light, a lamp… shining in a dark place” (Ps. 118:32, 118:35, 118:105; 2 Pet. 1:19), and those who keep it receive the blessings that can flow only from communion with God. A man who keeps the law flourishes like “a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever he does prospers” (Ps. 1:3). That is why God Himself, with such care and, so to speak, a certain persistence, has always revealed His will to people and given them His commandments. He inscribed His first law in the conscience, by which “the Gentiles, who do not have the Law, do by nature what the Law requires, being a law to themselves” (Rom. 2:14). “The soul is truly a great, divine, and wondrous work!”—says St. Macarius the Great (Discourse 46). “When God created it, He fashioned it such that no vice was implanted in its nature; on the contrary, He created it in the image of the Spirit’s virtue, implanting in it the laws of virtue—prudence, wisdom, love, and other virtues,” so that, as St. Chrysostom notes in one passage (see Brief Instruction, November 6), so that no one might plead ignorance of the law. Then, when, as a result of the Fall, this this inner law was obscured, and a law arose within us that opposed God’s law, the Lord sent the written law to restore, purify from impurities, and clarify this inner law in people’s minds, and to provide them with the surest guidance toward piety and pleasing God. Finally, when even this law—while clarifying the demands of God’s will, illuminating human life in its relation to the law, and, like a mirror, reflecting its image, which is almost always impure and disfigured—only exposed people’s lawlessness rather than correcting it; merely pointing out the way but not giving the strength to walk it—then the merciful Lord promised to reveal another way to people and to give them a new law. “I will give them a new heart and a new spirit... I will put My laws in their minds and write them on their hearts; I will be their God, and they will be My people” (Jer. 32:39, 31:33). And indeed, He has granted and continues to grant this “law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:2).

3) Despite the importance of the law, however, it remains, as it were, outside the realm of freedom. For a free being to follow the path of the law, a voluntary union between the two must first take place; and for this to happen, there must be grounds upon which the free being voluntarily binds itself to the law. A being involuntarily drawn to a certain kind of activity is no longer free, just as a law without compelling grounds for its observance is not a law.

It is self-evident that these grounds cannot lie either in freedom itself—for freedom must first accept them in order to submit itself to the law by their power—nor in the law itself, for the law lacks autonomy and independence. They must be sought in the source of freedom and the law—in the will of God, who has bestowed freedom and prescribed the law. In other words, the grounds on which a person must voluntarily submit his freedom to God’s law are the very same grounds on which God’s will is sacred to us.

God’s will, however, must be sacred to us simply because it is God’s will. God is our King. We must obey everything He has decreed—unquestioningly, yet willingly. The very name “God” should compel us to bow before His command, for He is the Lord of all. Therefore, when a commandment is given or a judgment is pronounced upon any people in the Word of God, it is always stated: “Thus says the Lord.” For “who can speak against Him?”—as Job says (Job 23:13).

Such unconditional and yet free obedience to God arises naturally within us 1) on the one hand, from the awareness that God is our Creator and Provider. Our life comes from God, our strength comes from God, our lot, and all that we have also come from God: how then can we not obey Him? Therefore, the 24 elders, having bowed down before God the Almighty, sang: “You are worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power; for You created all things, and by Your will they exist and were created” (Rev. 4:11). The prophet David prays: “Give me understanding, and I will learn Your commandments.” Why? Because “Your hands have made me and fashioned me” (Ps. 118:73). He further confesses to God: “I have not forgotten Your law… I seek Your righteousness.” Why? For “I am Yours… my soul is in Your hand” (Ps. 118:94, 118:109). 2) On the other hand—out of the awareness that He Himself is our Judge and Rewarder. Although God has granted us freedom and, consequently, a certain degree of independence, He nevertheless wants us to certainly fulfill our purpose—namely, through His commandments. Therefore, He does not allow us to follow the desires of our hearts with impunity, but pursues us with judgment to bring us to obedience. “He will not let anyone... fall into wickedness,” says Sirach (Sir. 15:20). Therefore, although He says, “if you are willing” (Matt. 19:17, 16:24), He also adds: “If you do not want to, nor will you listen to Me, the sword will be girded. For the mouth of the Lord has spoken these words… My wrath will not cease against those who oppose Me” until they submit (Isa. 1:20, 1:24; Wis. 12:28). These two feelings—which, however, are not always clearly recognized—imprinted on the heart from all sides, form within it a reverential fear or a sense of our complete dependence on God, which compels us to voluntarily submit to the decrees of God’s will, or the law. In our souls, it is precisely this sense of total dependence on God that serves as the sole foundation for the submission of our freedom to the law. Therefore, whenever this sense weakens, people give themselves over to lawlessness; and conversely, those who give themselves over to lawlessness console themselves with a certain independence from God. They say to the Lord: “Depart from us; we do not wish to see Your ways. Who is worthy that we should serve Him?” (Job 21:14–15). “The Lord does not see; nor does the God of Jacob understand” (Ps. 93:7). “Darkness surrounds me, and walls enclose me… the Most High will not remember my sins” (Sirach 23:25). Likewise, St. Basil the Great says that all evil arises from the fact that people abandon the great and true, one and only King of all and God… and prefer to rule in defiance of the Lord rather than be subject to His rule themselves. In general, the Word of God identifies the source of wickedness as forgetting God (Deut. 32:18) and turning away from God (ibid., 15).

But even this sense of complete dependence is merely an intermediary link, so to speak, between law and freedom. The very combination of freedom and law is, in turn, brought about by our voluntary submission to the law—or to the will of God. Despite all reasons to do so, God does not bind us by force, but leaves us free so that we ourselves may submit and offer our freedom to Him as a sacrifice—the only offering a person can make of his own accord that is worthy of God. The true nature of a moral and pious life consists in the sacrifice of one’s freedom to God; or, in other words, it consists in the resolve to direct one’s internal and external actions solely according to God’s will. It is by this resolve that a person’s moral life begins and is sustained. The Word of God depicts it both as an oath and as a voluntary offering to God: “I have sworn,” says David, “and pledged to keep the decrees of Your righteousness… Accept, O Lord, the voluntary offering of my lips” (Ps. 118:106, 118:108); sometimes in the form of humility before God and turning to Him, as in the case of Job: “If you turn back and humble yourself before the Lord, and remove iniquity far from your dwelling… the Almighty will be your Helper” (Job 22:23–30; Hos. 6:1); or under the guise of seeking the Lord: “Seek the Lord, and when you find Him, call upon Him; when He draws near to you, let the wicked forsake his ways and the man of iniquity his thoughts, and let him turn to the Lord” (Isa. 55:6–7); and finally, in the context of finding refuge in the law and in God: “My eyes fail for Your salvation and for the word of Your truth” (Ps. 118:81–82).

Let us conclude from this that when a person, feeling his complete dependence on God, resolves to walk steadfastly and continually in God’s will—or God’s law—he will reach his goal or fulfill his purpose. For it can be said to everyone: Resolve to keep the law, and you will remain in constant communion with God. At the same time, as a person submits himself to God, God becomes one with the person, and the person becomes one with God. For thus says the Lord Himself: “They shall be My people, and I will be their God; for they will turn to Me with all their heart” (Jer. 24:7). The holy prophet David says: “My portion, O Lord, is to keep Your law” (Ps. 118:57); that is, desiring to have God as his own forever—or, which amounts to the same thing, to be in communion with Him—the holy prophet resolves to always keep His holy law. In the case of Job, this is depicted as boldness before God. He says that whoever turns to the Lord and humbles himself before Him has Him as his Helper and will himself “take courage before God, looking joyfully toward heaven” (Job 22:26); but the wicked—“how can he ever take courage before Him?” (Job 27:10).

From this, the standard of moral life in general can be expressed in the following rule:

c) Do God’s will in order to be in communion with God, or remain in communion with God through the active fulfillment of His holy will

c) Do God’s will in order to be in fellowship with God, or remain in fellowship with God through the active fulfillment of His holy will

This rule is proclaimed continuously throughout the entire Word of God, and its fulfillment is presented as the source of all good, while its failure to fulfill it is the source of all evil. God promises Abraham a blessing—not only to him but also to his descendants after him—on the condition of righteousness: “Walk before Me in righteousness” (Gen. 17:1); God chose the people of Israel, and this people committed themselves to Him, crying out with one voice: “All that the Lord has spoken we will do and obey” (Ex. 24:7). And the Savior says: “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of My Father in heaven” (Matt. 7:21).

2) The Standard of the Christian Moral Life

The standard of the moral life in general is represented by the essence of the First Covenant, or the spiritual life of man in his original state. Like an obedient child, he would walk humbly in God’s will and thereby remain in His favor and abide in constant communion with Him. Man already possessed everything necessary to achieve this goal, namely: freedom—pure and unhindered; an awareness of the law—a definite and evident sense of the fear of God; and a dependence on God—strong, and therefore an unshakable resolve to walk in God’s will. Just as man was established in his proper place through creation itself, so he would have remained in that place by the powers and means granted to him by the merciful Creator and Provider.

But when man fell, he was subjected to comprehensive disruption—both within himself and in his relationships. Communion with God was severed: bound by an oath, man dares not look up at the heavens; free initiative is fettered by sin and passions; the law has been obscured; the sense of dependence has weakened, and along with it, the resolve to walk in God’s will has weakened to the point that man himself has no way of returning to it. He is held in the bonds of sinful slavery by the prince of darkness—the devil.

Meanwhile, even after the Fall, man remained human. His calling and purpose are still communion with God; the path to this goal remains the same—walking in God’s will, to the fulfillment of which he must commit himself out of a sense of his dependence on God. And yet, of all this, man cannot fulfill a single requirement on his own. In every respect, he requires divine, extraordinary help. Therefore, the Triune God—the Father—through His Only-Begotten Son and the Holy Spirit, was pleased to establish on earth a kingdom of grace, in which man’s most extreme spiritual needs are fully met. Here, man—who has fallen away from God—is reunited with Him through the Lord Jesus Christ as the sole Mediator, who reconciles God with mankind and mankind with God, and leads the reconciled to the source of true life; man’s weakened free will is restored by Divine grace; the deficiency in keeping the law is made up for by faith in Christ the Savior; the sense of dependence on God and the resolve to walk in His will are revived through repentance. As a result of repentance, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, Divine grace descends upon a person in the sacraments; this grace, by regenerating him, unites him with the Lord Jesus Christ, and through Him and in Him with God.

These are the most essential conditions for a truly Christian life. It is so evident that the most important aspects of it are: 1) communion with the Lord Jesus Christ, in whom the source of true life is revealed to a person; 2) on the path to communion with Christ the Savior and in communion with Him, the following are necessary both within the person himself and, in part, on the person’s part: a) repentance and b) faith—as well as, from above, Divine grace, which initiates, forms, and perfects a new life in Christ within the person’s very being; c) Divine grace. An explanation of these aspects of the Christian life will also reveal 3) the standard of the Christian moral life.

a) Fellowship with the Lord Jesus Christ

1) Fellowship with the Lord Jesus Christ

Now, there is no other way for a person to enter into a living union with God except through Jesus Christ. “No one can come to the Father except through Me,” says the Lord (John 14:6). Therefore, “there is one God and one Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus” (1 Tim. 2:5), through whom “we have one access… to the Father” (Eph. 2:18). Man, having fallen away from God, suffered three evils: he was subjected to God’s curse , became disordered within himself, and fell under the power of the devil—three evils that, by their very power, keep man in a state of separation from God, so that drawing near to God is possible only by removing these evils. The Lord Jesus Christ has delivered us from all of them:

He removed the curse from us by His death (Gal. 3:13), for “He was sacrificed for us” (1 Cor. 5:7), and “we have been sanctified by the offering of His body” (Heb. 10:10). “In Christ, God reconciled the world to Himself” (2 Cor. 5:18–19) and, through Him, granted people “the boldness to enter His presence” (Heb. 10:19). Therefore, the apostles implored everyone, on behalf of God, to be reconciled to Him in Christ Jesus (2 Cor. 5:18–20).

He has healed our brokenness, becoming for us the power of salvation (Rom. 1:17; 1 Cor. 1:24); filled with this power, we are strengthened (1 Tim. 1:12) and can do all things (Phil. 4:13). He gives life to “us who were dead in our trespasses” (Eph. 2:5), and “sets us free… from the law of sin” (Rom. 8:2; John 8:36). And in general, without Him we “can do nothing” that is truly good (John 15:5).

He has destroyed the works of the devil, “deprived him who holds the power of death” (Heb. 2:14), condemned this “prince of this world and cast him out” (John 12:31, 16:11); therefore, He brings all believers out of darkness into His marvelous light and from Satan’s realm to God, clothing them “with the full armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the devil’s schemes” (Eph. 6:11).

But this “unsearchable riches of Christ” (Eph. 3:8) is hidden in Him Himself. He is for people “righteousness, sanctification, and redemption” (1 Cor. 1:30), “life” (John 1:4; Col. 3:4), and the sole source of all “heavenly blessings” (Eph. 1:3, 1:10); in Him we are “made alive together… seated in the heavenly places” (Eph. 2:5–6), “adopted as sons of God” (Rom. 8:4–17); but in such a way that only those who enter into living communion with Him and are so closely united to Him—like members to a body (1 Cor. 6:15) or like branches to the vine (John 15:5)—truly partake of all the blessings reserved for us in Christ and revealed in Him to fallen humanity. Therefore, fellowship with the Lord Jesus Christ is commanded and portrayed as the sole and supreme blessing. Thus, the Lord Himself says to the apostles: “Abide in Me, and I in you” (John 15:4). God the Father, through the apostles, calls us precisely “into the fellowship of His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 1:9); the apostles call believers “partakers of Christ” (Heb. 3:14); they pray to God “to dwell in their hearts through Christ...” (Eph. 3:17); they grieve for those “who have strayed from Christ” and are distressed “until He is once again formed in them” (Gal. 4:19, 5:4); they testify of themselves that they no longer live for themselves, “but Christ lives in them” (Gal. 2:20), and they command everyone to “clothe themselves with Christ” (Rom. 13:14), setting as the very goal of this divine building: “that we may be in His true Son, our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 John 5:20).

Thus it is revealed that the only means of communion with God is communion with the Lord Jesus Christ. The Savior Himself revealed this mystery to the holy apostles, saying, “I am in My Father, and you are in Me, and I am in you” (John 14:20). Therefore, He taught that the Father loves only those who love Him (the Son), comes to them, and together with Him “makes His home in them” (John 14:23, 16:27), and He prayed to the Father: “that they may be one, just as You, Father, are in Me and I am in You, that they also may be one in Us” (John 17:21). Believers are made partakers of this mystical communion with our Lord Jesus Christ through the holy sacrament of baptism. Here they become members of the Body of Christ and are clothed in the Lord, as the Apostle teaches: “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ” (Gal. 3:27), and at the same time partake of the blessings that the Lord has obtained for us: justification and regeneration. The one who is immersed in baptism is buried with Christ and receives the power of His death—the forgiveness of sins (Rom. 6:3). The baptized person emerges from the font into a renewed life, as a new creation, “so that we may no longer be slaves to sin,” which from now on no longer has dominion over him or reigns in him (Rom. 6:3–14). The apostle speaks of these blessings: “But you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor. 6:11).

2) The gifts conferred on this occasion, however, signify the most profound changes that must take place in the heart of the one approaching the Lord before baptism and which, in fact, lay the foundation, the beginning, and the seed of a truly Christian life. These changes are repentance and faith, as the Savior Himself required of all who come to Him, saying, “Repent and believe in the Gospel” (Mark 1:15). They are brought about in the soul by Divine grace—which precedes them. In baptism and (chrismation), grace enters into the Christian’s heart and then abides there constantly, helping him to live a Christian life and to grow from strength to strength in the spiritual life.

b) Repentance

a) Repentance

The root cause of a wretched life, as revealed in our consciousness and experience, is the weakening within us of the fear of God—or the sense of dependence on God—a weakening that sometimes reaches an extreme degree: the complete loss of this sense. The driving force of sinful life within us is self-love or self-indulgence—in other words, selfishness, self-centeredness. When selfhood is crushed, the fear of God—or the sense of dependence on God—is revived in a person through repentance. A person lives in a state of separation from God when he lives only for himself and does not think about God or heaven, or, in the words of David: “does not set God before him” (Ps. 53:5, 85:14). Such a person is usually concerned only with his own affairs: whether knowledge, art, a position, family, or—even worse—the enjoyment and gratification of some passion; he does not think about the life to come, but tries to arrange his present life so as to live peacefully and, as it were, eternally; he does not turn inward, and therefore does not know his own condition or the consequences that will result from his life, but always considers himself to be something great and is constantly driven forward by vain concerns; He does not love others but treats them only as propriety demands; therefore, he is ready to offend them if it does not cast him in a bad light; he sometimes performs good deeds, but they are all products of the soul (Epistle of the Eastern Fathers, Chapter 3), imbued with his general spirit of self-love, which robs them of their true value. Everyone who has turned to God confesses all this, but those who have not yet turned remain in this state; no matter how strictly they may sometimes appear to examine themselves and their lives, they cannot convince themselves that their deeds are worthless and evil. Satan, who possesses a person through sin—which dwells within the person alongside his self—strikes his spirit in all its powers as if with a lethargic sleep. Therefore, he suffers from blindness, insensitivity, and apathy.

A person in such a state cannot come to his senses on his own until the light of divine grace shines into his sinful darkness. Satan casts darkness upon him and entangles him in his snares, from which no one can escape without guidance from above (2 Tim. 2:26). “No one can come to Me,” says the Lord, “unless the Father who sent Me draws him... “Everyone who has heard the Father and learned from Him will come to Me” (John 6:44, 45). Therefore, the Lord Himself “stands at the door and knocks,” as if saying, “Arise, you who sleep, and rise from the dead” (Rev. 3:20; Eph. 5:14).

This calling voice of God comes to the sinner either directly, straight into the heart, or indirectly, primarily through the Word of God, and not infrequently through various external events, in nature and in his own life and that of others. But it always strikes the conscience, awakens it, and, like a flash of lightning, illuminates (clearly reveals to the mind) all the lawful relationships of man that have been violated and perverted by him. Therefore, this work of grace always manifests itself through intense spiritual unease, confusion, fear for oneself, and self-contempt. However, it does not compel a person by force, but only halts him on the path of vice, after which the person is entirely free to either turn to God or sink back into the darkness of self-love. In the parable of the prodigal son, this state is expressed by the words: “coming to his senses” (Luke 15:17).

In a person who has heeded (rather than resisted) the action of grace, which calls and enlightens his inner darkness, a special ability is revealed to vividly perceive revealed truths—as if a certain special hearing and receptivity of the heart: “their eyes are opened” (Acts 26:18), and “the Spirit of wisdom… in the knowledge of the truth” (Eph. 1:17) is at work. Examples of this are found in all those who are converted (e.g., Mary of Egypt, Eudokia, and others). Revealed truths can be studied even without the assistance of grace, but then, as they accumulate in the mind, they usually do not penetrate deeply into the heart. Under the influence of grace, however, the heart is nourished by them, taking them into itself, fully assimilating and retaining them within, becoming, as it were, an insatiable sponge. Moreover, since revelation consists of the Law and the Gospel, when the seeker receives these revealed truths with the heart, he experiences two kinds of changes: some are painful and disheartening, while others bring relief and comfort to the soul. However, depending on the condition of the convert, first and foremost, the Law bears down upon him with all its weight and torments him as a guilty person. A series of changes of this kind in the heart constitutes the totality of penitential feelings.

In this process, the recognition of sins occurs first and foremost. The law shows a person all the actions required of him—that is, God’s commandments—while his conscience presents a whole range of actions contrary to them, with the certainty that they need not have occurred, that they are all a matter of his own free will, and that he has often committed them while fully aware of their illegality. The consequence of this is a person’s inner condemnation for all omissions and transgressions: the person feels thoroughly guilty before God, without excuse, and beyond defense. From this, furthermore, painful, sorrowful, and crushing feelings about sins crowd the heart from various sides: self-contempt and indignation at one’s own wicked willfulness, because one is entirely to blame; shame that he has brought himself to such a humiliating state; agonizing fear and anticipation of impending evils because he has offended the almighty and most righteous God with his sins; finally, a confused sense of helplessness and hopelessness completes the defeat: a person would like to shake off all this evil, but it seems to have become inseparable from him; he would even wish to die so that he might rise again in a better state, but he has no power to do so. It is then that a person, from the depths of his soul, begins to cry out: “What shall I do… what shall I do!”—just as the people cried out in response to John the Baptist’s rebukes (Luke 3:10, 3:12, 3:14) and at the words of the Apostle Peter after the descent of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:37). Here, everyone—even if he were a ruler or some other most distinguished person in the world—feels that he is caught up in God’s judgment and is completely subject to His power, that he is “a worm and not a man, a reproach of men and despised by people” (Ps. 21:7)—that is, the whole human self is reduced to dust, and the awareness of one’s duty to God, or the sense of dependence on Him—complete and inevitable—is revived.

Such feelings are immediately ready to bear fruit, that is, to inspire submission to God, or in this case, to lead one to reform and begin a new life according to God’s will. But at the same time, a sense of God’s wrath and His oath weighs heavily upon a person from above, while within, the awareness of one’s powerlessness to overcome oneself—due to the strength of passions and a corrupted will, already tested time and again—leaves one disarmed. Therefore, one stands as if struck dumb, not even daring to make a single movement. It is here that timely help comes to him: on the one hand, faith; and on the other, a grace-filled power that assists in the doing of every good deed.

c) Faith

b) Faith

A sinner, crushed by the law’s stern condemnation, can find no comfort anywhere except in the Gospel—the message about Christ the Savior, who came into the world of sinners to save them. Without Jesus Christ—the Lord of sinners condemned by the law—it would be impossible for them to escape despair; that is why it is proclaimed that the Savior came specifically for them. “I have not come,” He says, “to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance” (Luke 5:32); and again: “The Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10). “This is to whom the comfort of the Gospel is preached,” teaches Saint Tikhon, “to the poor—that is, to those who acknowledge their spiritual poverty, find no righteousness within themselves before God, and see only wretchedness; to the contrite in heart—that is, to those whose hearts are pierced like an arrow by sorrow over their sins... ‘The Law is our tutor... leading us to Christ’ (Gal. 3:24). By revealing our guilt and weakness, it compels us to seek another means and, as if taking us by the hand, leads us to Christ; for in the anguish of conscience there is no other refuge except Christ, Who “Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree” (1 Pet. 2:24) and Who, “though He knew no sin, God made Him to be sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Cor. 5:21)... For evangelical faith to take root in the heart, one must first recognize one’s own weakness and keenly feel God’s wrath, His oath, His judgment, and the condemnation reserved for sinners. Then, in a heart purified and prepared by this fear as by fire, faith begins to take root through the Holy Spirit.”

Just as parched earth absorbs the rain and as one weary from the heat is revived by refreshing moisture, so too does a soul tormented by its conscience drink in the good news of the Gospel, and a contrite heart listens with joy to the comforting messages of faith.

Here, everything is preceded by the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ, or the knowledge of the plan of salvation in Him—that which the apostle asked of the Ephesians: “that you may know” (Eph. 1:18). Such knowledge is a necessary condition for the birth of faith or the starting point from which its formation begins, for how can one believe without knowing the object of faith? Therefore, the apostles were sent to teach people through preaching—that is, to show them what the truth is (Matt. 28:19). “How can they believe,” says the apostle, “unless they hear from a preacher?” (Rom. 10:14). For those who thirst for salvation, this knowledge is accompanied by delight; it consumes them entirely, captures their full attention, and leaves them with a desire to hear more, to learn more, and to know more. The Athenians, as well as Agrippa and Festus during the Apostle Paul’s sermon, offer a faint semblance of this (Acts 17:32, 26:28–32).

But this alone is not yet faith. True knowledge, when sincerely accepted, is followed by a heartfelt conviction in the truth of the Gospel—that the salvation of mankind has indeed been arranged as preached, and that there is no other basis for human salvation, nor can there be, except in the Lord Jesus Christ. This heartfelt conviction constitutes the distinctive characteristic of faith. Many understand intellectually the plan of salvation, but not all of them have faith. A true believer is so committed in his heart to faith in Christ that he not only confesses Him without fear but also stands by this confession even unto blood: it is more precious to him than life itself.

The pinnacle of the perfection of faith is the most vivid personal conviction that the Lord has saved me just as He has saved everyone else; just as He has removed the curse from everyone, so He has removed it from me; just as He is the Life of everyone, so He is my Life. “The true believer,” says Saint Tikhon, “confesses with the apostle: ‘I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me’ (Gal. 2:20). The Son of God loved the whole world and gave Himself for the whole world, but the Apostle Paul attributes this great act of grace to himself. And Saint Damascene sings: “You have saved me, a man… You came to me, seeking me, the one who had gone astray” (Tone 3, Hymn 4). “In such faith lies the very essence of Christian bliss,” for from it is reborn in the heart a genuine sense of salvation in the Lord, a feeling of freedom from God’s curse and wrath, and an awareness of one’s own reconciliation with God in the Lord Jesus Christ. “Such faith,” says Saint Tikhon, “frees one from sin, oaths, and hell; it brings with it spiritual joy, rejoicing in the Lord and Savior, in His goodness and love for us personally, and peace and tranquility of conscience, as the Apostle says: ‘Having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ’ (Rom. 5:1).” As for what took place in the hearts of the Galatians under the influence of this faith, the Apostle says this: “For what was your joy then? I testify to you that, if it had been possible, you would have even plucked out your own eyes and given them to me” (Gal. 4:15).

All the saving works of faith mentioned in Holy Scripture belong to this very faith. Its chief fruit—and, as it were, the foundation of all the others—is justification. “It (St. Tikhon) mysteriously unites the believer’s soul with Christ, as a bride with her bridegroom (Hos. 2:20; 2 Cor. 11:2). In doing so, Christ removes from such a soul the curse, condemnation, and all the defilement of sin, and in its place bestows upon her blessing, purity, and holiness (1 Cor. 1:30). Like a bride, He clothes her in the pure crimson robe of righteousness, so that before His eyes and those of His heavenly Father she may appear pure and, like a king’s daughter, “adorned and adorned” with spiritual finery (Ps. 44:10). Contemplating this blessing, the prophet, in spiritual joy, exclaims from the depths of the soul that has been deemed worthy of this: “Let my soul rejoice in the Lord, for He has clothed me with the robe of salvation and wrapped me in the garment of joy; He has set a crown upon my head like a bridegroom and adorned me with beauty like a bride” (Isa. 61:10). It is necessary, however, that just as such a gift of faith is bestowed specifically in the sacrament of baptism—where, as Chrysostom says, both righteousness and adoption as sons are given to us at the moment of immersion—so here too is imprinted the ultimate sense of faith, that is, the actual experience of salvation and justification in the Lord; for one cannot experience what does not exist. Consequently, in baptism itself—received with faith—faith is brought to completion.”

d) Grace (cooperative)

c) Grace (cooperative)

A person, as it were, destroyed by the judgment of the law, comes to life as he enters the realm of faith, finding joy in his heart; he lifts his head, which had been bowed down by sorrow, and regains his strength after having been weakened. The more faith grows, the more deeply rooted within him becomes the confidence in the possibility and fruitfulness of his efforts to fulfill the law with God’s help; at the same time, a good intention is formed and strengthened to commit himself resolutely to serving God by walking in His law. Until a person is assured of God’s mercy and help, he cannot make a firm resolution to live according to God’s will (1 Pet. 1:3). Therefore, when the sense of trust in God and of God’s blessings—poured into the heart through faith in the all-merciful death of the Lord Jesus—assures him that God will not despise him, will not reject him, and will not forsake him with His help as he fulfills the law for the Lord’s sake; then, grounded in this feeling as on a rock, a person makes a resolute vow to leave everything behind and devote himself entirely to God, without any restrictions; he is inspired by a zeal for all-encompassing purity and holiness, with a hatred of sin, yet with a fear that looks to divine strength and help... It is here that a turning point in the will takes place: a person finds himself in the same state as the prodigal son when he said, “I will arise and go” (Luke 15:20).

This resolute intention, however, is merely a prerequisite for living according to God, not life itself. Life is the power to act. Spiritual life is the power to act spiritually, or according to God’s will. Man has lost this power; therefore, until it is given to him again, he cannot live spiritually, no matter how many resolutions he makes. This is why the outpouring of grace-filled power into the believer’s soul is absolutely necessary for a truly Christian life. A truly Christian life is a life of grace. A person may rise to holy resolve, but in order for him to act upon it, grace must be united with his spirit. Through this union, the moral strength, marked only by the initial inspiration, is imprinted on the spirit and remains with him forever. It is precisely in this restoration of the spirit’s moral strength that the work of regeneration, accomplished in baptism, consists; there, both justification and the power to act “in a manner worthy of God, in righteousness and holiness of the truth” (Eph. 4:24) are bestowed upon a person. Thus, the truly Christian life begins at baptism, which is called “the bath of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit” (Titus 3:5), a new birth (John 3:5), and the baptized person is called “a new creation in Christ Jesus” (2 Cor. 5:17).

From that time on, the grace that has taken up residence in a person remains within them, helping them to be “faithful to the Lord until death,” so that they may receive “the crown of life” (Rev. 2:10); for all believers are “kept by the power of God through faith for salvation ready to be revealed in the last time” (1 Pet. 1:5). Having received this power, a person walks confidently in the fulfillment of the divine law, or walks like a lion, trusting, under the unceasing shelter of divine grace, submitting to its guidance “with both joy and fear” (Ps. 2:11) and striving in works pleasing to God, feeling his strength in God while deeply aware of his own powerlessness. From then on, the believer’s entire life unfolds in the following order: with humble submission and eagerness, he receives the grace-filled means of sanctification—the Word of God and the sacraments—and grace, during this time, works in him in manifold ways to enlighten and strengthen him. From this point on, as earthly life continues, the spiritual life of the Christian gradually grows and matures, advancing from strength to strength “by the Spirit of the Lord” (2 Cor. 3:18), “until we all reach... the measure of the full stature of Christ” (Eph. 4:13). Therefore, there is, in fact, not a single action that he performs without grace and which he does not consciously attribute to it. These actions truly belong to grace—both at the outset, for it inspires them, and upon their completion, for it gives them strength. “For it is God who works in you both to will and to act according to His good pleasure” (Phil. 2:13). All that is required of a person is a fervent desire to remain within this order of divine preservation, to live a morally good life, and to resolutely surrender oneself to God’s guidance.

Everything that is here attributed to Holy Baptism is accomplished in the sacrament of repentance for those who come to the Lord to be cleansed of sins committed after baptism.

The nature of the action of grace—both that which precedes and that which abides in a person—along with their distinction and the relationship of the latter to the free will and sin that tempt a person, is described in detail by Blessed Diodochus, Bishop of Photiki. Works, vol. 3, especially chapters 76 through 90. The same is found in The Catechetical Lectures. But nowhere is this subject more fully expounded than in the Discourses and Sayings of Macarius the Great.

3) The Standard of the Moral Christian Life and Its Character

Thus, the ultimate goal of man invariably consists in communion with God. Therefore, when he fell away from God and could not restore communion with Him on his own, by God’s grace the God-man—Jesus Christ—appeared so that through Him man might enter into communion with God. Thus, the ultimate goal became communion with God in Christ Jesus—our Lord. “No one comes to the Father except through Me,” says the Lord (John 14:6).

The path appointed for man to reach this goal is invariably walking in God’s law, in His commandments, or in God’s will. “Whoever keeps them will live by them” (Gal. 3:12). Therefore, when man became a transgressor of the law, he could hope to attain his goal only by appropriating the righteousness of another. This appropriated righteousness makes up for the lack of righteousness in our lives and enables us to draw near to God. “For what the law could not do, in that it was weakened by the flesh, God did by sending His Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, to condemn sin in the flesh, so that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit” (Rom. 8:3–4). This fulfillment is accomplished through faith in Christ. Therefore, we must say: the path to the goal for a person remains the same—the fulfillment of the law—but it is now completed by faith. All of a person’s sins before conversion and all stumbles after conversion are blotted out by faith, so that our entire life, in the sight of God, is righteous solely through justification by faith in our Lord Jesus Christ.

The attainment of the goal must invariably be an act of human freedom. Therefore, when, through sin, a person lost the perfection of his freedom and fell under the yoke of sin and the devil, he could not return to a state in which he could proceed toward the goal except by the breaking of these bonds through divine grace and by receiving it as aid—to resist and overcome his enemies. Even now, a person acts of his own accord for good, but only by the grace of God. He is “strong through God” (2 Cor. 10:4). Thus, a person now proceeds freely toward his goal, but with a freedom that has been restored and is continually strengthened by grace.

The foundation of a moral life is invariably a sense of dependence on God, and its essence lies in the surrender of one’s freedom to God. Therefore, when all this has been destroyed by sin, a person can begin to live according to the Spirit only when the sense of dependence on God is revived within him by divine grace, acting upon him in repentance; and as a result, through faith, the resolve arises to submit his whole self to God’s will, or to offer his freedom as a sacrifice to God. This is attested to and sealed in baptism, where a person renounces Satan, all his works, and all his service, and commits himself in faith to the Lord Jesus Christ; which is why baptism is called “a good conscience” or a pledge (1 Pet. 3:21). Thus, the beginning and character of a person’s moral life consist in the sacrifice of one’s freedom to God in a spirit of dependence on Him, accomplished through a vow at baptism (or repentance), as a result of a change of will brought about by contrite repentance over one’s depravity.

After this, the general principle of the moral life—remaining in fellowship with God through the free and active fulfillment of His will—should be presented as follows: remain in communion with God in the Lord Jesus Christ, actively guided and strengthened by grace, walking in God’s will, which is fulfilled and perfected by faith in the infinite merits of the Redeemer, just as you solemnly promised before the Church at baptism (or the sacrament of penance).

Judging by this principle and by the very nature of a truly Christian life, it must possess the following essential and distinctive characteristics, by which everyone may examine themselves, “if they are in the faith” (2 Cor. 13:5).

A truly Christian life is:

1) United with Christ in God. Having established himself in God with mind and heart through the Lord Jesus Christ, the Christian acts in the presence of God, according to God’s will, for the glory of God, and by the power of God. With his attention and heart, he is immersed in God.

2) Detached from the sensual, or dispassionate. The Christian rises so high above everything within and around him that he is alien to all worldly passions and earthly hopes: “Seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God” (Col. 3:1). Whoever approaches Christianity, placing his hope solely in this life, is “the most pitiable of all people” (1 Cor. 15:19).

3) Self-sacrificing. Having experienced where walking in the will of the flesh and of the mind leads, the Christian, for the sake of pleasing God, rejects with aversion every desire of his own simply because it is his own, and whenever God’s will requires it, treats himself without self-pity—even with severity—both in regard to the natural movements of the heart, mind, and will, and in regard to the passions and demands of the flesh and the world.

4) Militant. By grace, the Christian has already been born into a new life according to God, but the seed of evil lurking within him has not yet been destroyed. Consequently, throughout one’s entire earthly life, “the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh” (Gal. 5:17). Standing on the side of good and enduring the assaults of sin, the Christian, “clothed with the full armor of God” (Eph. 6:11), resists sin and overcomes it.

5) Vigilant and sober. To be ready to face and able to repel the ceaseless, unexpected attacks of spiritual enemies from without and within—especially from demons—the Christian “be sober, be vigilant,” and remains attentive to himself (1 Pet. 5:8; 1 Thess. 5:6). From morning till evening, he stands at the entrance to his heart, guarding against the evil enemies that creep up on his inner peace and purity.

6) Self-discipline. All his powers—both spiritual and physical—are constantly engaged, sometimes to resist his inclinations toward evil, and sometimes to compel himself toward good. These are the two essential directions of a will determined to serve God.

7) Laborious, yet exceedingly sweet. The Christian strives to enter through the narrow gate, yet also tastes “righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit” (Rom. 14:17).

8) Diligent. With the fire of godly zeal, the Christian, “always abounding in the work of the Lord” (1 Cor. 15:58), “forgets what is behind and strains toward what is ahead” (Phil. 3:13), being transformed from glory to glory, so as to reach “the measure of the full stature of Christ” (Eph. 4:13).

9) Strong in God, and therefore fruitful and self-humbling. The Christian feels within himself, as the apostle says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13), and at the same time confesses: “What is there in me that I would not accept?” (1 Cor. 4:7), which is why, despite the abundance of good deeds, they seek and ultimately expect justification from Christ the Savior alone.

II. Characteristic Features of Christian Activity as a Moral Endeavor

These traits are indispensable attributes of morally Christian deeds, which must be present in every Christian deed, great and small, and which distinguish them from similar non-Christian deeds. Since they are not incidentally part of Christian actions, but are determined by the rational and free decisions of Christians and are required by the inner structure of the Christian moral spirit, they take the form of rules and may rightly be called the laws of Christian moral activity in general.

Judging by this, the definition of these characteristics and attributes must be derived from the principles of Christian life set forth above, which determine its inner structure. One need only examine moral activity as such in the light of these principles, and its Christian-moral characteristics will become apparent of their own accord.

In general discussions of human moral activity, the following are identified:

1) The conditions for the morality of actions.

2) The performance of moral acts.

3) The rules for determining the moral merit of actions.

4) The types of morality corresponding to the stages of moral life, whether moving in a good or bad direction.

Christian moral actions are also examined from these same perspectives, but they all have their own distinctive features, which a Christian should be well acquainted with.

4. Conditions for the Morality of Actions—General and Christian

These conditions are: a) self-awareness and b) free volition.

1) Self-awareness

A person who is capable of and obligated to perform moral acts must be in their right mind, or must be conscious of themselves, their present situation, and their relationships. The actions of those who are out of their minds, not in their right minds, or not conscious of themselves do not have moral status—such as the actions of the mentally impaired, those with mental disorders, those immersed in sleep, or those who have not yet awakened from sleep.

Such consciousness, however, must not be merely the kind of general, natural consciousness in which a person distinguishes himself as himself within the sphere in which he exists; but it must also be a specifically moral consciousness, called self-consciousness, in which a person recognizes himself as a person obligated to act purposefully, to perform responsible deeds that are subject to accountability. Why is it that children, who have not yet attained such self-consciousness, are excused for all their faults and, through their good deeds, offer only glimmers of hope, albeit still tentative ones; whereas, conversely, adults are subject to severe reproach when they allow themselves to lose their composure and act in a manner unbecoming of a human being and inconsistent with their position and station?

Applying this last quality to a Christian, one must require of him a certain special self-awareness, namely, a Christian one. That it must be special in him is evident from the fact that in his rebirth he became different—new, not in thought but in deed; therefore, he had to be reborn in his self-awareness as well. What this self-awareness must consist of is evident from the state in which he entered the font of baptism or repentance, the state in which he emerged from it, and what he became within it. He was perishing—and now he is saved; he was wounded—and now he is healed; he was rejected—and now he is accepted into sonship; he acted willfully—and now he has bound himself to obedience through a vow. All of this must resonate in his heart and, taken together, constitute the very essence of what he feels himself to be in Christ Jesus. In this sense of healing and freedom, he must recognize himself as a servant of Christ, working and laboring as it were on His behalf, before Him, and for His sake, to the point where, like the apostle, he can say: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:20). This Christian self-awareness was so strong in many of the early Christians that to all the questions of their tormentors they answered only: “I am a servant of Christ, I am a servant of Christ.”

And here is the first characteristic of Christian morality, or the first attribute of a person acting in a Christian manner: a servant, conscious of being a servant, acts toward his master as a servant; a son, conscious of being a son, acts before his father as a son, so that the loss of this consciousness is at the same time the beginning of their deviation from their proper order. And a Christian, conscious of being a servant of Christ, must proceed to action from this awareness. With the extinction of this consciousness, his actions, even if they do not become evil, lose to a greater or lesser extent their Christian character and fall into the category of acts of general morality. Meanwhile, a Christian is not merely a person of general morality, but one of Christian morality.

If, therefore, all a Christian’s actions derive their character from this self-awareness, then his light must burn in his soul—never going out, never diminishing, but growing—until the very end of his life.

That is why His Eminence Tikhon wrote the following rule for his entire flock: “A brief exhortation that every Christian, from infancy to death, must always keep in mind: remember 1) that at Holy Baptism, through your godfather and godmother, you renounced Satan, and all his works, and all his service, and all his pride, and you did so by a threefold renunciation. 2) Having renounced Satan, you promised—three times over—to serve Christ, the Son of God, together with the Father and His Holy Spirit. Thus, at your baptism, you enlisted in the service of Christ and took an oath, just as soldiers and others enlist in the service of an earthly king and take an oath.

Keep this in mind and instill it in your household, especially in young children, so that, remembering their promise, they may be trained in godliness from an early age.”

2) Free Will

Although a person is conscious of himself as a person and a moral being, not everything that originates from him or occurs within him is attributable to him as a person or is morally significant. Moral actions are characterized by specific properties. First, they are necessarily conscious actions, for they originate from a self-aware person and are attributable to him. How, then, can something be attributed to him if he is unaware of it? For example, the circulation of blood, the nourishment and growth of the body, as well as the habitual movements of the arms, legs, and other limbs. Not every conscious action, however, must be attributed to a person as a person. There are many actions in this category which, although they are consciously perceived by the person, nevertheless occur entirely without his knowledge and are not produced by him. Such are all the natural movements of his faculties and needs. Thus, consciousness must be accompanied by self-activity—that is, self-initiation and self-choice. For a particular act to be attributed to a person, it is necessary that the person have initiated and performed it intentionally; moreover, since this person regards himself as a moral being, the character of morality is transferred to the act itself. This character can be transferred to those actions that occur not by his will, but only when he gives his free consent to them, for in such a case he appropriates them—he chooses them and makes them his own. From that moment on, they become attributable to him—both by himself and by others. Thus, anger arises of its own accord, but once a person has consented to it, he himself begins to feel angry. Conversely, if someone, sensing an involuntary surge of anger or another passion, does not consent to it but strives to overcome it, then these emotions are not imputed to him, even though they are present within him. This act of consent is highly significant in life and, one might say, just as comprehensive—if not more so—as self-initiative. For it encompasses not only what occurs within us or what we produce, but also what others do—independently of us. And another’s affair, in which our consent has been involved in any way, is also attributed to us. It follows from this that everything is morally imputed to a person that they have consciously chosen and to which they have consciously consented. It is evident from this that, in order for a person to maintain the character of a moral agent, it is essential to be the master of one’s own actions, to direct them according to one’s own judgment and purpose, rather than being led by the course of external circumstances or one’s own inner emotional impulses.

But what a confused and pitiful picture of a person’s moral life emerges when viewed from this perspective?! How much is done in ignorance, forgetfulness, and inattention! This is a part lost to good morality, though not to judgment. How much is degraded or likewise stolen away by such instances in which either consciousness is subjected to violence—as, for example, in anger and fear—or self-determination is undermined, as in passions and sinful habits? Meanwhile, external events that incline one toward free initiatives and internal impulses that elicit consent are not always in accordance with the law and are almost always disorderly. Why is human moral activity meager, confused, and even disfigured? The direct cause of this lies in the loss of moral strength. This strength is revived or restored in the Christian through the grace of God. Why, upon entering the arena of moral activity, does a true Christian—conscious of his duty to serve Christ—have but one exclusive goal: to walk in His will? He has made a vow to that end, burns with zeal, and, most importantly, has received strength. Standing on a firm foundation, he confidently directs his actions and steers them all toward the goal set before him, allowing no deviation. This is exactly how he acts!

From the very beginning, he discerns for himself the requirements of Christian law—through reflection, reading, listening, and conversation—as much as he can and as much as he is able.

He structures the entire order of his life—both external and internal—in accordance with this knowledge, at least in its general and principal aspects.

Finally, he governs himself and his actions according to his plan, without being carried away, as has been said, either by the external course of related events or by the internal impulses of his nature.

This is required both by the desire of the heart, which has resolved to serve the Lord in all the ways of life, and by that quality of spiritual grace through which a person reigns within himself and becomes the full master and ruler of himself. The apostles command nothing else when they instruct us to “be sober-minded, be watchful, … take heed to yourselves” (1 Pet. 5:8; 1 Cor. 16:13; 1 Tim. 4:16). For this clearly commands a conscious and prudent management of one’s activities—a self-directed management, though in willing submission to God’s will. What else does the apostle mean when he teaches us to be built up “as a spiritual house, a holy sanctuary” for God? (1 Pet. 2:5; Eph. 2:22). For this means organizing one’s life according to a known plan, leading it in an orderly manner, in gradual elevation and perfection, with the full conviction that it is guided by a heavenly—divine—blueprint, which is the Christian law as depicted in the Word of God by the Lord Himself and the apostles.

5. The Performance of Moral Acts

It has been said that a Christian is the master of all his activities. Now let us see how he conducts each of his affairs separately. First, we will explain how any action is performed in general, and then how a Christian action is structured.

An external action is the fruit of an internal process. Before it manifests itself, it must first take place within. Where a person’s moral activity is reduced to a mechanical interplay of their faculties, the process of forming a moral action internally is explained by various combinations of the actions of reason and will, or by degrees of desire and turns of reasoning. Here, reason and will undergo several turns and, accordingly, change in their activity.

First, they turn to the object or matter at hand; and here reason perceives it and presents it to consciousness in an ideal or real state of perfection, whereupon the will finds it pleasing and desires it; then, when reason declares the acquisition of this object or the accomplishment of the task to be possible both for a person’s faculties and for the person themselves, the will truly craves it and is actively prepared to strive toward it.

Then they move from the object to the means. Here the task of reason is to deliberate, review the means, compare the good with the better, and identify the more suitable ones, which are immediately chosen by the will. This choice, combined with an active desire, gives rise to resolve.

Next, the plan must be carried out: reason gathers various ideas to stimulate and strengthen the will; the will acts, setting in motion the lower powers subordinate to it.

Finally, the task is accomplished: reason gains from this an empirical, practical understanding of the matter, while the will takes pleasure in it, finding peace in the achievement of the goal and experiencing the benefit of it firsthand.

This is the natural path a person takes from the initial thought about a matter to the ultimate enjoyment of it upon completing the task. But this is merely a story—or rather, a form without content. What content, then, should a Christian imbue this form with, or what specific way of carrying out tasks is characteristic of him? Indeed, he too has these four turns of thought—toward the object, toward the motives, toward the means, and toward what should follow the completion of the deed—but all of this has a special meaning, a particular spirit, and a distinct character for him, in accordance with his overarching disposition and purpose. Namely: the Christian is united with God and is zealous to remain in this communion through the active fulfillment of His will by the power of grace, in a spirit of servitude to the Lord Jesus Christ. It follows that all his deeds must, as it were, proceed from God and return to God. This general law is expressed in the following sequence of performing truly Christian deeds: having recognized the legitimacy of a particular action—or, in other words, God’s will regarding it—and having felt an inner obligation to carry it out, a Christian must incline both his will and his heart toward it; then, after seeking God’s help in prayer, with a sense of strength in the Lord (Phil. 4:13), carry it out—always, however, humbly acknowledging the imperfection and insignificance of both this action and all others, and finding final peace only in the Lord and our Savior Jesus Christ.

This is the universal program for every Christian endeavor: a) recognizing God’s will in it; b) directing one’s will and heart toward it; c) praying for help to carry it out; and d) not regarding it or one’s other good deeds as anything special.

1) Recognizing God’s will in the undertaking

A Christian must perform all his deeds with a clear awareness of their rightfulness—or that God’s will is in them—so that he may walk in the light as “a son of light and … of the day, and not of the night or of darkness” (1 Thess. 5:5). The very nature of his baptismal vow obliges him to do this. If, for the sake of salvation in the Lord Jesus Christ, he has surrendered his whole self to God, then along with this he has also surrendered to Him all his deeds, both internal and external. Therefore, he must not allow anything to enter his life about which he is not certain that it pleases God and the Lord. He has been “created in Christ Jesus for good works, …and to walk in them” (Eph. 2:10). Without this, he cannot be certain of God’s favor toward him, cannot stand boldly before the face of God, and cannot “look up to heaven with joy” (Job 22:26)—which, in fact, reveals whether he has reached his ultimate goal or is in communion with God. For, as the Apostle John teaches, “we have confidence before God only when our hearts do not condemn us” (1 John 3:21). That is why it is a direct commandment for him “not to be foolish, but to understand what the will of God is” (Eph. 5:17).

Therefore, the constant rule of his conduct must be this: in every action that arises from your conscience and is to be attributed to you, hasten to discern God’s will, and do not proceed to carry it out unless you have determined with certainty that it is not only not contrary to God’s will but is also pleasing to Him; as for actions not specified by the law, imprint this will upon them yourself, so that in this way your entire life may be in accordance with God.

At this point, anyone might ask: How can one know God’s will in specific situations?

The primary and most important means of discerning God’s will regarding this or that matter is the conscience, enlightened by the Word of God and guided by God’s grace. For this is its very purpose; this is its essential function. Whoever treats his conscience in good faith—not contradicting it, not distorting it, and not stifling it with his own interpretations—can rarely say, “I don’t know what to do.” And if any confusion does arise, it is immediately resolved—as it ought to be—by self-sacrifice and love.

The conscience provides a great aid in shaping or organizing one’s life according to a conscious and clear law, as stated earlier. For if someone has truly clarified all the actions required of him as a Christian, understood the spirit of a truly Christian life, and then, in accordance with that, has established all his conduct in its proper place, at the proper time, on his own behalf, and has stamped everything with the seal of God’s will; if, in doing so, everything unbecoming of a Christian—whatever he has found in his inner and outer life—has been changed and restructured by him with prudence, yet without pandering and without the slightest indulgence of the self and the passions, and especially of the corrupt customs of the age—if all this has been done as it ought to be; then every action he takes thereafter will be nothing other than an expression of God’s will.

Furthermore, a life lived in the true Christian spirit, though not without mistakes—which are always understandable—will enrich one with experience and practical wisdom.

In other cases, to the one who has set his heart on walking in God’s will, the Holy Spirit, dwelling within him at the moment of action, will reveal how to proceed, according to the Lord’s promise to the apostles (Luke 12:12). Only ill will drives this guide away. But “Who is the man who fears the Lord? He will instruct him in the way he should go,” sings David (Ps. 24:12).

Finally, everyone has a spiritual father, and the law commands us to obey him and turn to him for advice. Do as he says—and you will be acting according to God’s will.

Such conduct throughout a Christian’s life instills a character marked by prudent attention to one’s inner and outer behavior, combined with a careful fear of doing anything contrary to God’s will. Boldness, in general, is regarded by all the holy fathers as the beginning of straying from the right path. That is why they advise maintaining a constant, reverent concern for what is good.

(There is a false kind of conscientiousness—scrupulosa; this is not what is meant here, but rather a disease of the conscience.)

In this regard, all people are mainly divided into three classes: some always act according to their own will in everything, unhindered by any rules—that is, they walk the broad path; others restrain themselves in everything by God’s will and walk the narrow path; a third group seeks to maintain an impossible middle ground: these are neither hot nor cold.

Looking at human affairs from this perspective, one must conclude that all those who act without due regard for themselves and the primary purpose of their lives—or who act haphazardly, following established routines and the course of circumstances—are in error. This reveals in them indifference and even contempt for God’s will—negligence.

Those who act without being certain of the rightness of their actions, with a vague and uncertain awareness of whether their actions are in accordance with or contrary to God’s will. For “whatever is not from faith,” says the apostle, “is sin” (Rom. 14:23).

Those who act while in doubt; that is, even as their conscience wavers between one side and the other, they decide to act and carry it out amid this constant wavering. Such people, “whose conscience is weak, defile themselves” (1 Cor. 8:7).

The same is true of those who allow themselves to act rashly, in a state of mental confusion, in the heat of the moment, or under the influence of some new and striking thought, or some feeling—and all the more so, under the influence of passion. Usually they consider themselves to be in the right—for example, those who become angry or jealous without good reason; not infrequently, their position actually turns out to be correct. But aside from the fact that this correctness is a matter of chance, their primary concern is not to please God, but themselves, their passions, and their own disposition.

This is especially true of those who, under various pretexts, seek to exempt themselves from fulfilling God’s known will and, through various delusions, convince themselves that even a lawful act is unlawful. Such people clearly act against their conscience—and their deeds are a clear transgression.

2) Directing the Will Toward a Necessary Deed

This is the second principle in a Christian’s conduct of his affairs. It is worth noting because few consider this point significant, whereas in reality it is by no means insignificant.

As soon as the legitimacy of an action—or God’s will regarding it—is recognized, a Christian must immediately incline his will toward it and set his heart upon it. The former because the will is not always submissive; the latter because otherwise, a task undertaken without heartfelt participation will be a soulless endeavor.

It is true that one who has vowed to please God in all things should feel a greater or lesser readiness to fulfill every known will of His; but such a ready inclination toward good—free and unforced—is always a spiritual blessing, attained through long toil and many feats of virtue. Usually, however, the will is filled with its own inclinations, tendencies, and passions, which prevent it from willingly rushing toward the good and divert it in the opposite direction; at times, it is in a state of inexplicable waywardness, when, despite the full force of obligation, it refuses to do what is right (Rom. 7:20). Therefore, it is necessary to compel oneself toward good, as if by force drawing and inclining oneself toward it, persuading and convincing one’s own soul.

It is evident that much, if not everything, here depends on the heart’s perception of the law, from which arises a sense of duty or an awareness of the moral necessity of an action. Just as the heart’s feeling generally underlies the actions of the will, so too in the moral life does the sense of duty constitute the strongest foundation for directing the will toward action. A person in whom, through the action of divine grace in baptism or repentance, a fervent zeal for pleasing God or for steadfastly walking in God’s will has been imprinted—and who, consequently, thirsts for God’s will—such a person acts immediately as soon as he recognizes his obligation, regardless of any obstacles. Therefore, if, on the one hand, this zeal never cooled or waned, and if, on the other hand, —the moral sense were always so perfected as to keenly and accurately perceive the binding force of actions and were so sensitive to God’s will that even the slightest traces of it were reflected in it—then these two forces could replace all moral instruction and all guides to piety, as was indeed the case with some ascetics. But since zeal in reality varies in people from higher to lower degrees, and the moral sense, by its very nature, is lively and stimulating in one person, dull and sluggish in another, more accustomed to certain deeds in one, to others in another—sometimes accurate, sometimes inaccurate (for there is also a false moral sense)— and in general, a person encounters great unevenness and injustice in his heart (which is why he prays: “Renew a right spirit within me”), by which it is either unduly sensitive toward one thing or unduly cold toward another; therefore, in many cases, he must, as it were, force himself to take on this obligation and instill this feeling in his heart.

Such control of the heart and will is achieved through impulses, or through thoughts and truths of this kind, which have the power to soften the heart—to make it tender and compliant.

It is not difficult to determine where to find such thoughts. How is freedom reconciled with the law? Primarily through a sense of dependence on God. Consequently, all thoughts that appeal to this sense of dependence and set it in motion must be counted among the impulses of the will. What exactly these thoughts are can be seen in the path of a Christian’s conversion. Since this conversion, having begun with a sense of dependence, is revived through repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and sealed by the vows of baptism, these very truths—and others related to them—must have the power to sustain, purify, and renew a waning zeal, as well as the will to do good. Therefore...

Recall the vows of baptism and remember the blessings granted to you therein: justification, regeneration, adoption as God’s children, and the inheritance of Christ. Do not defile these pure garments.

Recall the plan of salvation: how the Only-Begotten Son of God came to earth for your sake, became incarnate, suffered, died, rose again, ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of the Father, interceding for you there; and be careful not to prove ungrateful. Remember also how the Holy Spirit descended upon the apostles and, having established the Holy Church through them, continues to dwell within it to lead believers to Christ, and how He Himself is communicated to you in the sacraments; and be careful not to offend Him with impurity.

Recall your nobility, by which you are honored in creation and rebirth, and at the same time the abomination of sin and the holiness of virtue, for the former defiles you while the latter sanctifies your inner being.

Place yourself in your mind before the eyes of God, your Creator and Provider, Who holds you in His right hand and grants you everything that is within you and all that you possess, Who is everywhere, sees everything down to your most secret thoughts, Who, just as He ceaselessly reveals His goodness and blessings, is equally just and ready to reveal His righteousness at every moment.

Remember the following: death, which is inevitable yet mysteriously delightful; impartial judgment for every word, deed, and thought; hell and eternal torment, which know no measure or end; and the Kingdom of Heaven with its ineffable joys.

One must keep the soul immersed in these thoughts, as if in an atmosphere, and the zeal for pleasing God will not fade. At the very least, when necessary, each of these thoughts can strongly stir it up and restore it to its proper strength. Strive only to bring these thoughts to life within you, rather than keeping them as cold abstractions; to this end, present them to your heart in the way that they can affect it, gather all that is striking, move from one to another, and do not cease your efforts until you have conquered yourself and restored within yourself the proper order and proper submission. It is impossible for such conscientious effort not to bear fruit. There is, however, a thought—unique to each soul and all-conquering—that instantly overcomes the stubbornness of the will. Strive to find it, so that you may steer the ship of your soul with it as a rudder.

In this case, pay particular attention to the specific situation at hand. Whoever quickly clarifies for themselves its connection to the principal law on the one hand and the inevitability of acting on the other places themselves, as it were, in a kind of predicament, which, out of necessity, inspires them and spurs them on. The ability to find in a matter an aspect that is pleasing to the heart—not through sin, but by innocently cultivating a taste for it—belongs to the number of wise dispositions a person should have toward themselves.

In general, one must persuade oneself. However, just as in secular governments they sometimes act through persuasion, and not infrequently through authority that compels one to do otherwise against one’s will, so too can a person employ, in addition to the former, the latter means for the sake of one’s own will and heart—whether you want to or not, whether it is pleasant or unpleasant—do it. For this is God’s will—there is no other way.

3) Prayer as Part of Christian Deeds

There is prayer as one of a Christian’s duties toward God, and there is prayer as an integral part of truly Christian deeds. The presumptuous person relies on himself in everything. A true Christian expects everything from God, which is why he begins, continues, and concludes every deed with prayer. And his entire life, in general, is primarily a life of prayer, as the apostle commands: “Pray without ceasing… praying at all times in the Spirit with all kinds of prayers and supplications” (1 Thess. 5:17; Eph. 6:18).

In doing so, he prays to the Lord for guidance, that through the Spirit of His wisdom He may inspire him as to what exactly is pleasing to Him in the various circumstances of life (James 1:5), just as the prophet David prayed to Him: “Show me Your ways, O Lord, and teach me Your paths. Guide me in Your truth and teach me” (Ps. 24:4–5). Pray for the strengthening of his weak powers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ may grant him “to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, according to the riches of His glory” (Eph. 3:16). Having kindled through prayer a zeal for pleasing God, he feels that all things are possible through Christ who strengthens him, and in this sense of strength he confidently performs good deeds. Finally, through prayer, he offers himself and his deeds as a sacrifice to God, humbly imploring Him to cover with His mercy both this deed and all his other deeds, as well as his entire life. Just as he initially surrendered his whole self to the Lord, so too does he subsequently offer every thought, word, and deed to Him as a “sacrifice of righteousness” (Ps. 4:6), “one that is pleasing to Him” (Heb. 13:16).

Thus, prayer accompanied by a good deed demonstrates that it is a truly Christian deed; a deed without prayer, however, is not Christian. “It is impossible for a Christian life to exist without prayer,” says Chrysostom (St. Tikhon, vol. 2). “The foundation of every good endeavor and the summit of good deeds is constant abiding in prayer, through which we also acquire other virtues,” teaches St. Macarius (Brief Instructions; February 6).

By combining prayer with good deeds and compelling oneself to perform them despite the heart’s resistance, according to St. Macarius, a Christian soon ascends to the heights of virtue and begins to fulfill God’s commandments effortlessly, with joy and delight (Brief Instructions; February 4, November 26).

4) The Invisibility of Good Deeds

The final essential characteristic—and, as it were, the conclusion—of Christian deeds is the failure to see them, as if they were unnoticed. A Christian, having done all these things, says that he is “an unworthy servant” (Luke 17:10), which is why he places his ultimate hope of salvation in the Lord Jesus Christ. “Such is the foundation of Christianity that even if someone has performed all the works of righteousness, he must not rest on them, rely on them, or think that he has already done much” (Macarius the Great, On Love, ch. 30). Therefore, “ ” having tasted Christianity, consider that you have not yet touched it, and this must not be superficial, but as if it were planted and forever established in your mind (Macarius the Great, On Love, ch. 3).

The possibility of such an attitude stems from a vivid awareness of God’s power within us—or of how it accomplishes good deeds in us. If God “works in us to will and to act” (Phil. 2:13), then what is there to see in ourselves as our own, or on what should we fix our attention? Therefore, the God-loving soul, rightly attributing all its deeds to God, constantly feels itself to be insignificant and despicable (Macarius the Great, On the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 8). On the other hand, a soul that is truly God-loving and Christ-loving, even though it may produce numerous virtues, behaves as if it had produced nothing, out of an insatiable longing for the Lord. It never imagines itself to be anything; but the more it grows spiritually rich, the more inadequate it considers itself, inflamed by an insatiable spiritual desire for the heavenly Bridegroom, as Scripture says: “Those who eat of Me will still hunger, and those who drink of Me will still thirst” (Sir. 24:23) (St. Macarius, Discourse 10, ch. 1, 4).

The saving fruit of this is that the Christian ceaselessly begins to live only as a Christian, considering all that has passed as nothing, as the Apostle Paul himself testifies: “I do not consider myself to have attained it; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining toward what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Not that I have already attained this, or am already perfect; but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me” (Phil. 3:12–14).

The Christian life is therefore one of unceasing repentance. At every moment, the Christian lifts up a repentant cry to God for mercy and purification—whether of thoughts, movements of the heart, or some other unnoticed thing. In this way, indeed, every Christian deed comes from God and returns to God. If, in any of the points outlined above, the soul takes anything for itself, it will hinder the formation of a truly good deed. What results will be a mere illusion of goodness. By acting as described, however, the Christian continually surrenders himself to God in all things and, consequently, remains in unceasing communion with Him.

Judging by all that has been written, anyone can see that a Christian’s work is not the same as any other, for there are particular shifts in consciousness, mind, will, and heart that imbue the Christian’s actions with a distinctive character. A Christian has his own state of being, his own attitude toward activity, and his own order for performing every deed, as is evident. Let everyone take this to heart and judge themselves by it. As for others, God will judge them.

6. What determines the moral worth of deeds?

If we look at deeds in the abstract, it is not difficult to determine their worth. A deed that conforms to a commandment is good; a deed contrary to a commandment is evil. For the commandment is holy. It is said: “Give alms”—almsgiving is a good deed, and the opposite is true. But when considering actions—whether performed by us or by others—in and of themselves, in addition to their conformity or nonconformity with the commandments, we must also pay attention to other aspects, such as the purpose and circumstances. In this regard, it has long been accepted that the moral worth of an action is determined by its: a) object, b) purpose, and c) circumstances.

1) The Object in Moral Actions

Each of our actions, whether internal or external—that is, our thoughts, feelings, desires, words, movements, and deeds—has its own object. Most of these objects have been elevated to the status of immutable rules and laws, so that it is impossible not to desire or perform them. They constitute the sphere of aa) our duties. Some objects are presented in the form of bb) advice. Finally, a considerable number remain undefined in terms of their significance. They are neither good nor evil in themselves, for, c) being indifferent, they are considered permissible for everyone. Commandments or duties constitute the foundation, structure, and stability of the moral realm; advice stands above the law (St. Chrysostom); that which is permissible stands below it.

A commanded act—and therefore an obligation—differs from a piece of advice or an indifferent action in that it involves an inner or conscientious compulsion toward it. It can be stated unequivocally that whatever involves such an inner compulsion, or regarding which a person feels himself to be under a moral necessity, is his duty. For such awareness is the work of conscience; and one must certainly obey one’s conscience to the extent that it binds one. On the other hand, what is presented as advice—as the better course—merely inclines one toward it, but does not compel; whereas, with regard to indifferent actions, our moral sense is indifferent—that is, it says nothing about them: act as you wish. But it is more accurate and reliable to distinguish between them according to the guidance of God’s revealed Word, which is the code of spiritual precepts. Whatever is commanded or prescribed there as law, our conscience must unquestioningly commit itself to or accept as a duty; whatever is presented there as counsel must be accepted as counsel; and whatever is left without a defined meaning must be regarded as such.

a) On Duties, or Commandments

The general foundation of the moral necessity inherent in commandments, or duties, is the awareness of God’s will regarding them. Just as no one can oppose this will in the external world, so too in the internal, moral world there must be silent obedience to the divine will. Conscience is by nature united with God’s will; therefore, as soon as it is shown that God’s will lies in this or that, it immediately inclines toward it, stands by it, and compels us not to violate it. However, in prescribing this or that action as a duty, the Lord did not wish to limit Himself to His will alone or to the title of omnipotence, but chose to attach to each such action other, more immediate grounds, flowing directly from the nature of the action itself and its associated circumstances. These immediate grounds are the means through which God’s will is imprinted upon our minds and hearts to the degree appropriate to the matter at hand. Therefore, in interpreting our duties, we may, of course, limit ourselves to the fact that God’s will applies to this or that matter; but it is more fitting or more in keeping with our nature to seek out these immediate grounds as well, for it is through them that God’s will binds us; on the other hand, from the perspective of God’s will, all duties appear equal, whereas they have unequal importance, which can be discerned only through these immediate grounds.

Judged by these immediate grounds—and in part by other relevant factors—our duties, or the actions we feel inwardly compelled to perform, take on different nuances.

The first of these nuances is determined by their origin. In this regard, there are duties of conscience—those promptings for which conscience alone is sufficient, even if there were no external directives. They are called natural, for we are born with them. There are positive duties—those that have subsequently been imposed upon the conscience and have become part of its own set of duties. The force of obligation of the latter depends on the fact that they are perceived by the conscience itself as law and, one might say, from that moment on cease to be purely positive. True, some of them are merely developments of the natural, conscience-based ones; however, even so, those that have no need, so to speak, to take root in the conscience lose nothing of their inherent strength, and some even rise above all the natural ones. Among the positive ones, some are divine and, moreover, direct—such as the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ and His holy apostles, contained in the Word of God and in the Sacred Tradition of the Church—and others are divine but mediated, such as the decrees of the Ecumenical Councils. Others are human—both ecclesiastical and civil. The latter originate from the sovereign, while the former originate from the ecclesiastical hierarchy. Our obligation to both stems from the divine origin of authority and our conscientious submission to it. Those devoted to the Church and the throne accept everything emanating from them with reverence and act as they see fit—that is, in accordance with the obligation they impose.

Customs—both ecclesiastical and civil—constitute a special class of rules in this regard. They draw us to themselves so pleasantly, and our spirit finds such peace in them through a sense of security, protection, and age-old immutability. Customs must be sacred to us: the steadfastness of our lives depends on them; whoever breaks away from them is swept away like the wind. But they do not automatically qualify as lawful and binding rules: for this very reason, it is necessary that they be in full accord with the moral law and the spirit of Christianity; the stronger their influence, the more dangerous any deviation in this regard becomes.

The memory of our ancestors obliges us to silent obedience. Experience shows that the violation of such customs is always closely linked to the corruption of morals. It goes without saying that all the corrupt customs of the age are excluded from this. But in general, one must strictly bear in mind the distinction between custom and commandment, or law. For one whose heart and mind are becoming corrupted almost always begins with contempt for customs, and then, out of ignorance—though not without desire—begins to regard everything as mere custom—that is, faith and morality alike—and thus begins to despise them as well. So one must know its limits. You may still lay a hand on what is external, but do not touch the heart of the moral life or one’s duties.

A second distinction is made regarding the commandments or duties, based on their inner meaning, nature, or content.

In this regard, there are unconditional duties that every Christian must fulfill, no matter who he is or what circumstances he finds himself in; and there are conditional duties, which are binding only under certain conditions. For example, the duties of a father apply only to a married man who also has children. The former arise from the very nature of a human being and a Christian; the latter—from his status and position in the world. One must not, however, think that conditional duties are of little significance. For the person to whom they apply, they have the force of unconditional duties, for they are nothing other than their most immediate application to that person’s daily life. He cannot fulfill the former except through the latter. The latter take precedence for him, while the former are hidden beneath them; therefore, even if he does not have the former in mind, he fulfills them through the latter.

Both the former and the latter can be primary, fundamental, and root causes, or secondary and consequential. The former must be rooted more deeply in the heart, while the latter must be held, as it were, in one’s hands. However, the obligation toward the latter is just as strong as that toward the former; hence the principle that whoever is obligated to perform a certain action is also obligated to employ the means necessarily leading to it. There is, for example, a duty to purify the heart of passions; certain deeds must also be regarded as duties: for otherwise, that duty cannot be fulfilled.

The most remarkable aspect in this regard is the division of duties into those of justice and those of love, or benevolence. God has established this relationship among people so that one person does not infringe upon another’s freedom and rights and gives the other what is due to him. This, as they say, is what justice demands. Whoever fulfills this is in the right; whoever violates it is in the wrong. The wrongdoer may be brought to trial, and redress may be demanded. Demands of this kind constitute the duties of justice. They form the outer boundary of a virtuous life. Whoever violates the law of justice steps outside the realm of virtue; but whoever fulfills these duties must, for the sake of the fullness of virtue, also add acts of love—both toward people and toward truth itself. Love is not limited to justice alone or to what truth requires, but willingly does more than that out of an inner willingness. Whoever acts in this way is morally good, but no one can be compelled to do so. For example, someone who has borrowed money from another and refuses to return it can be forced to do so by authority; but someone who fails to help the needy cannot be compelled to do so. A true Christian willingly does good deeds for others, even when there is no external compulsion, and acts justly toward others not out of fear of punishment, but out of love for the truth and the fear of God. There is also a distinction between different kinds of duties: some prescribe what one ought to do, while others indicate what one ought not to do. “Turn away from evil and do good,” says the prophet (Ps. 33:15). There are also duties toward God, duties toward one’s neighbor, and duties toward oneself. “You shall love the Lord with all your heart—and your neighbor as yourself,” says the Lord.

A third aspect of duties follows from the first two and consists in their varying degrees of importance. From the list of duties presented, it is already evident that not all duties carry the same binding force for us; some are more compelling, while others are less so. This is confirmed both by conscience and by the Savior, when He rebuked the Jews for “neglecting the greater matters of the law”—that which they ought to have done—and for clinging exclusively to that which they were merely required “not to neglect” (Matt. 23:23). Understanding the weight and relative importance of different duties is very important in the moral life. The very orderliness of morality demands this, so that just as outwardly, within the structure of the law, everything is in its proper place, so inwardly, within our hearts, everything has its proper weight. This harmony in the heart has been lost; that is why we must pray that the Lord may renew a right spirit within us. But this is especially necessary so that, as the Lord rebuked the Jews, we do not strain out a gnat while swallowing camels. By attaching too much importance to the insignificant, we can obscure what is most important and thereby distort God’s order within ourselves. In fact, it should be our conscience that determines the importance of our duties, and then a single rule would settle everything: the more compelling the demand of conscience, the more important the duty; but due to the unreliability of our conscience in its present state, such a rule cannot provide a correct solution in very many and very important cases, for we ourselves are often swayed by our passions.

Therefore, it is necessary to establish some external standard for measuring the importance of duties. Judging abstractly, it is evident that 1) the closer a duty is to the essential duties, or the more the moral order is distorted by the violation of a particular duty, the more important that duty is. This general rule, when applied to a specific case, is reinforced by the following two: 2) the more motivations there are for a given action, the more important it is. For if God’s will reaches us through these motivations or grounds, then where there are more of them, God’s will acts upon us more insistently in that regard. For example, respect for one’s parents is more binding than respect for anyone else; 3) the more significant the object of the action is—whether in and of itself or due to circumstances—the more binding it is.

One must, however, bear in mind that when different degrees of importance of duties are indicated, it does not follow from this that one is permitted to belittle any duties in one’s mind or that one is given the freedom to fulfill them or not. Every duty is sacred and must be fulfilled with all diligence, readiness, and without sparing the effort required of it. This is done so that everyone may be guided to be a wise doer in the kingdom of Christ, knowing its order and structure of actions, rather than yielding to the random course of circumstances.

In practice, however, there are great injustices in how people evaluate the duties incumbent upon them. This primarily concerns the relationship between Christianity and natural law, and between the Church and civil society. The commandments that determine salvation stand above all else; for without the salvation of the soul, what significance would all else have? They are followed by the moral laws of conscience; for the former exist precisely to sanctify and bring the latter into effect. Next should come the sacred orders of the Church; for they are the immediate embodiment of the first two, and finally, civil life. For, being of a temporal nature, it must be subservient to faith and good morality, upon which the attainment of eternal bliss depends. But in reality, this is not the case. For those whose hearts are not properly governed, Christianity does not take first place; they give little thought to the Church and its beneficial institutions; honesty and the welfare of family and society are the fundamental principles of their morality. How many are content with this principle and at peace! Anyone beginning to live a virtuous Christian life must, first and foremost, turn their attention to this, take care to correct their feelings, and give every duty its due weight and place.

Another error lies in giving preference to the duties of justice over the duties of love and benevolence. For almost everyone, the former are considered higher than the latter, and thus the true spirit of life—the spirit of love—is, as it were, forcibly expelled from life. The laws of justice constitute, in and of themselves, only an outer fence around the moral realm; one who follows them may not actually be within that realm. For if one is satisfied merely by legality, and if legality does not negate an evil heart, then any righteous person, in fulfilling the duties of justice, may still be morally lawless. True moral life lies in the fulfillment of the duties of love: there lies the root of life. It is with this spirit of love that the duties of justice must also be fulfilled. And one might say that only when they are imbued with this spirit do they enter the realm of morality. After this, can they be placed above the former? If such a rule were generalized, one would have to expect a universal perversion of the moral order. The moral world would be torn away from its center.

There is also a third error in the incorrect balance between our rights and those of others. To a self-centered heart, our rights over others are more valuable than the rights of others over us. For some, this is even a law. But Christians should not act this way. According to the Lord’s word, they must set aside their own rights: if someone strikes you on one cheek, turn the other; if someone takes one garment, give him another; if someone borrows from you, do not ask for it back... do not resist evil at all; let it come upon you... On the contrary, one must have complete respect and reverence for the rights of others. Both a brother’s person and his property are inviolable and sacred to a Christian. If we add to this the fact that a Christian is bound to every possible act of goodwill, with which he must also fulfill the duties of justice, then here is how we can define the order and relationship of these duties: be as zealous as possible in fulfilling the duties of goodwill; with the same spirit, fulfill the duties of justice, setting aside your own rights.

One must acquire the skill of assessing the true importance of duties, especially as they apply to specific cases. This will enable us to easily extricate ourselves from a difficult situation when conflicting obligations arise. For a duty implies the necessity of a specific action. Meanwhile, there are often cases in which a person faces two or more obligatory tasks, of which, however, he can and must perform only one. Such a conflict of duties always causes distress due to uncertainty—what to decide. Whoever understands well the relative importance of duties will have no difficulty choosing what is right. There is no doubt that the apparent incompatibility of duties is merely illusory. For one must always do one thing. One need only determine exactly which one. To those who find the choice difficult, the following advice is offered: 1) First of all, examine whether the duties truly conflict with one another. Is it not our own will, or some passion, that refuses to submit to duty?

2) If, in fact, duties are in conflict with one another, then one must examine whether they are of the same kind. Among duties of different kinds, the higher ones take precedence over the lower ones, namely: unconditional duties over conditional ones, divine duties over human ones, and primary duties over secondary ones.

3) When duties are of the same kind, the grounds, reasons, or motivations are decisive. Where these grounds are stronger, that is the direction one should follow.

4) It often happens that, among the duties at hand, one can be fulfilled first and another later, and it is only haste—and sometimes weakness of heart—that creates a dilemma. Everyone, however, knows from experience that a convergence of duties—and even a conflict between them—rarely leads to an insoluble situation. A conscientious person will easily resolve everything on their own.

But it must also be said that even a few such instances are very distressing and sorrowful for a person who is zealous for the purity of life. Therefore, to prevent such instances, the following advice is given: 1) Organize one’s duties according to a well-known, reliable principle, write out a sort of life plan (as mentioned earlier), and then follow it. In this way, unforeseen circumstances will be rare. 2) Reflect more often on your duties and the various situations in which they must be fulfilled; mentally place yourself in difficult circumstances and consider how you would act in them. This will sharpen your judgment and help you maintain composure in times of distress and make the right decisions in such situations. 3) Consult and converse more often with those who are experienced. 4) At the very moment of need, place yourself in God’s presence or in the position of a dying person, and act as you would if you were standing at the very edge of the grave, ready to appear before the Judge—God.

b) On Advice

b) On advice

In addition to obligatory actions, regarding which we are under a moral obligation, the Word of God offers certain actions in the form of advice—in the sense that whoever follows them does better than those who act otherwise—and toward which we are therefore favorably disposed, though we do not feel bound by necessity. There is no doubt that such advice truly exists.

When a young man came to the Lord with the question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” the Lord replied, “If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” Then, when the young man declared that he had already kept all these from his youth and wished to know what else he had not yet accomplished, the Lord added: “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and come follow Me.” Here we see a clear distinction between the duties necessary for salvation and those actions through which one attains only a higher degree of perfection (Matt. 19, etc.).

This same truth is even clearer in the writings of the Apostle Paul (1 Cor. 7). He was asked about virginity and marriage. He replied that he had no commandment from the Lord to require virginity, but he did give the advice to observe it. He then explains at length how and in what ways virginity is superior to marriage. And he concludes that whoever gives his daughter in marriage does well, but whoever allows her to remain a virgin does better. Here, the apostle distinguishes clearly between a commandment and counsel. These, however, are merely examples of counsel. In reality, there can be countless examples of such counsel in life.

Therefore, it is unjust for a certain branch of Protestantism to introduce the idea that a Christian is absolutely obligated to do everything—that is, as if bound by necessity. There is an obligation even in counsel, but not one such that those who do not follow it become sinners. They are merely less perfect. In this, our conscience serves as a faithful witness: do we not feel a certain conviction within ourselves that such-and-such an action is absolutely required of us, and that by failing to perform it, we are guilty; whereas in the case of this or that—even though it is better—we are not bound to it and will not be guilty if we do not perform it. Whoever does not oppress his debtor but waits silently for the debt to be repaid is doing well. But whoever takes only half the debt from the debtor out of consideration for his need—and all the more so, whoever forgives the entire debt—is doing better.

Patriarch Abraham, upon returning from war, could have taken all the spoils for himself—all the more so since the kings who had helped him agreed to this—and this action would not have been wrong; but when he gave it all away, he did better. Or when he allowed Lot to choose the best place to live, he acted in the best possible way; yet even that would not have been wrong if he himself had assigned him a plot that was sufficient and good, even if not the best. And again, the saints of God whom we reverently honor are so exalted and glorified by God because throughout their entire lives they made it their practice to always choose what was best and most perfect. If the very best were an inescapable law, where would the weak turn, and who could avoid falling into despair regarding their salvation? Meanwhile, when it is left as a counsel, how comforting this is to the weak and timid spirit, and at the same time how inspiring to the Christian who feels sufficient strength within themselves!

It must, however, be reminded to the Christian: heaven and earth were set in motion for you; you have been chosen, sanctified, and have received the strength necessary for life and godliness; surely all this is not without specific purposes and obligations for you? No, Christian, you must diligently perform every good deed possible for you that has even crossed your mind. If, in gratitude to benefactors in ordinary life, people strive to anticipate their every desire, then you, showered with God’s graces and powers, can you refuse—without troubling your conscience—God’s will, which shows you the best path and points the way, not wishing for you to stray from it? When we also take into account the Lord’s words—“Turn the other cheek when struck on one”—or, more generally, “Do not resist evil”—and the apostle’s words—“Seek the things that are above, and set your minds on things above”—it seems impossible not to conclude that it is more fitting for a Christian to choose what is best and most perfect, provided, of course, that it is possible to fulfill it. For neither the Lord nor the apostles granted Christians any leniency in anything; rather, to the extent that they esteemed them as exalted, they obliged them to engage in lofty, excellent, and divine deeds. And if we judge the distinctions between a Christian and others by the nature of their actions, we can say plainly: a Christian is distinguished precisely by the fact that he always chooses what is excellent in his actions. But again, how many weak, timid Christians are there who barely manage to tread the path of righteousness?! Encourage them, instruct them, take them upon your shoulders, and carry them. There are shepherds appointed not merely to watch how they walk, but to lead and carry them... In general, there is no solid basis on which we could be relieved of the obligation to choose the best… In general morality, outside of Christianity—yes; but in Christianity, this must not be the case. Whoever rejects the best demeans Christianity within himself and descends to the level of natural morality.

One need only remember: 1) that this necessarily applies only to the best—as recognized by the best—and to which there is, moreover, full opportunity; for this becomes obligatory even for the weak if it is explained to them; for then the only reason it remains unfulfilled is their own unwillingness and self-pity.

2) This does not apply to the most important counsels—celibacy and voluntary poverty. These are certainly not for everyone. But “whoever can accept this,” says the Lord, “let him accept it” (Matt. 19:12). However, even here there are inner promptings and external directives, which it is dangerous to contradict in the matter of salvation.

c) On Indifferent Actions

There are many actions about which neither our inner law of conscience nor the written law says anything. Such actions are usually considered indifferent, left to one’s own discretion (sitting down, standing up, looking to the right and left, and so on). It is simply impossible to define everything by law, given the infinite variety of moral persons and circumstances. Moreover, it is not entirely in the spirit of a free moral law to bind everyone in every respect. If a person is being educated in the moral life, then, for the sake of cultivating and strengthening their spirit, much must be left to their freedom, so that through this they may exercise their moral faculties or reveal the true spirit of a moral life—just as a father does not dictate his son’s every step with commands. One must only remember in this regard that if one considers a person’s actions in a moral context, taking into account all the circumstances of their conduct, then even here there are indifferent actions—namely, those that are in themselves indifferent and are performed by a person without any particular intention, even without thought; but as soon as these same actions, however insignificant they may seem (for example, a glance), acquire a purpose, they cease to be indifferent. In general, all actions emanating from a person with consciousness and purpose invariably possess a moral quality and are either good or evil.

Is it right to allow indifferent actions within oneself? No, it is not; a Christian must take every care to ensure that everything about him becomes a means to moral ends—even his posture, the movement of his hand, his eyes, and so on. For he has offered himself entirely as a sacrifice to God and has vowed to serve Him all the days of his life. The time devoted to indifferent actions is time lost; therefore, it must be made up for through repentance. Moreover, are there any matters that are indifferent to the heart? It seems not. But the movements of the heart in the moral life are not indifferent. Consequently, even actions that seem indifferent—leaving a good or bad mark on the soul—are, by that very fact, good or bad. What, for example, is wrong with a casual gait, or a casual posture of the body, arms, legs, and so on? Nothing, at first glance. But they always foster a spirit of license in thoughts and desires within the soul; consequently, from this perspective, they are not good. Again, if there is an opportunity to transform an indifferent action into a virtuous one—and a Christian is a merchant who zealously gathers here treasures of deeds for eternal life—then why not turn them to one’s advantage? And what stands in the way of this, other than a lack of zeal and an excess of negligence, which cannot be considered indifferent? Thus, in a Christian, even seemingly indifferent deeds are not indifferent, for they are allowed into his life through negligence and are the fruit of a morally corrupt state. Would it not be better, then, to see to it that we make the most of all of them, turning them into means to our ends? This is a thought of St. Chrysostom, though I do not recall where he expressed it. Here is a whole field of action! Let everyone cultivate it without laziness! I imagine that anyone who has read the preceding lines carefully cannot help but feel how suddenly things become wide and then suddenly narrow again. But the word of the Lord, our Lawgiver, is not false: the narrow gate and the narrow path lead to life. Let us leave the wide path to the free choice of others, and for ourselves, let us choose the narrow one.

2) On the Purpose of Moral Acts

First and foremost, we must resolve the question: what does the purpose bring to the act? Here is the answer:

Actions, which are neutral in themselves, derive their quality from their purpose; that is, from a good purpose they become good, and from a bad one—bad.

A good purpose in a good deed adorns and elevates it, while a bad purpose in a bad deed intensifies its wickedness and immorality. For example, someone who studies the truths of the faith to spread the Kingdom of Christ, or someone who attends church merely to avoid being thought of as irreligious, or someone who condemns another to make themselves look good.

A bad purpose in a good deed erodes its goodness, while a good purpose in a bad deed does not impart its goodness to it. In both cases, the deed is bad. For example, whoever sings or reads in church to display their artistry rather than to edify others turns a good deed into a bad one; and whoever takes credit for someone else’s work in order to help does not turn a bad deed into a good one.

In general, the higher the purpose, the purer and more perfect the deed; and the more corrupt the intention, the more immoral the deed.

These brief principles are sufficient to convince us of how important the purpose is in our actions. Therefore, it is worth taking the time to determine what purpose our actions should serve.

The point here is not the motivations that can incline the will toward action—of which one can devise many for oneself, each person according to their own character and disposition (as has already been discussed); but rather about what a Christian, zealous for virtue, must keep in mind—what he achieves through his entire virtuous life, or what is the primary goal of moral activity? This is determined from the very beginning both by the purpose of man and by the Christian’s vow, namely: to do all one’s deeds for God, to please Him, and to glorify His Holy Name. The Lord says: “Let your light shine before men, so that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matt. 5:16). The Apostle commands us to do everything for the glory of God, even eating and drinking (1 Cor. 10:31). To this it is only necessary to add: for the sake of faith in the Lord. Just as a person cannot ascend to communion with God without Jesus Christ, so too will his deeds not ascend to God without faith in the Lord! Just as in the ancient tabernacle blood was brought into the Holy Place, and the sacrifice was pleasing to God, so too today the sacrifice of good deeds is pleasing to God only for the sake of faith in Christ, who redeemed us with His blood. This must be said especially to those who think they can please God without believing in the Lord. Their labor is in vain! Furthermore, since Christ’s Kingdom is not of this world, and a Christian “is most to be pitied if he hopes only in this life” to gain anything from his Christianity (1 Cor. 15:19), a Christian’s thoughts and expectations must be entirely directed toward that age: he must work and labor in the hope of an infinitely blessed life. Thus, the entire purpose is this: Do everything for the glory of God, through faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, in the hope of eternal life.

One must only remember here that the main thing is the glory of God, the starting point is faith in Christ the Savior, and the ultimate goal is eternal life; that when eternal life is at stake in such an important matter, as the moral goal, then nothing selfish or mercenary is involved; rather, the essential characteristic of Christianity and of Christians—who, moreover, here become citizens of heaven and live, longing and yearning for their homeland, with the awareness that they are strangers and sojourners on earth, “having no lasting city here, but seeking the one to come” (Heb. 13:14).

As for other goals, although they may be permissible, they must never be made primary: one must always ascend from them to God. Here, the goals of the actions themselves are particularly important. Every action can have its own goal; for example, the goal of charity is to help the poor, and the goal of reading is to enlighten the mind. But one must not stop there, for otherwise the action will be completely outside the primary purpose of a Christian. In general, if one allows oneself to dwell on such goals, an endless variety will enter the Christian’s life, whereas it should have a single tone throughout. This tone is imparted to it by the unity of purpose, according to which the whole of life is a complete sacrifice to God. “Glorify God in your spirits and in your bodies, which are God’s” (1 Cor. 6:20).

To some, it seems very strict—to do everything for the glory of God—and so they assume that in one’s activities one may have other goals besides God, provided that these goals do not exclude God; and in general, they say, one may limit oneself to simply attributing one’s deeds to God more often. Nevertheless, dedicating all one’s deeds to God is the lot of the most perfect; it is something that can be advised, but to which not everyone should be bound. How debased is the radiant Christian life here! How evident is the unwillingness and laziness here to make the effort to rise up to God! But first of all, dedicating everything to God is not merely advice, but a necessary, obligatory goal: Glory to God in your souls and in your bodies; do everything for the glory of God... What could be clearer or more definite than this? And why limit this goal to the most perfect, when such a course of action requires no special effort: tell someone who is already doing good simply to dedicate it to God in thought and in heart. What effort is involved here? It is another matter entirely to awaken a sinner from the slumber of sin or to revive one who is faltering. Here it is necessary to frighten him, to shake him—to present the pernicious consequences of sin and the good fruits of virtue, and so on; but these are not ends in themselves, but rather stimulants of the will, as has been said before. Second, to say that other ends are permissible as long as they do not exclude God implies that, through our deeds, we are, as it were, bestowing some kind of favor upon God; and to say that it is enough to dedicate some of our deeds to God implies that God is something external to the moral life.

Such thoughts distort the proper order. A Christian is born of God and must attribute every single one of his deeds to God, sanctifying his entire life with this one purpose. If we examine pagan morality—that is, how good people acted in those societies—we will find an exact application of these rules, just as we do among Christians who have been left without spiritual guidance. But neither group understands the essence of the matter. Now, out of pity for their actions, we must not distort the true meaning and order of a pure and holy life; rather, we must instruct everyone, everywhere, in what the truth is. A Christian is not a person at the mercy of chance, but a self-governing person. Tell him how to govern himself, and he will govern himself. No, a good deed that is not done for God or in accordance with the Lord’s faith is not Christian, but is simply a natural good. Just as, for example, reasoning in the mind is natural but is not a virtue; so too, a good deed not done for God is natural in the spirit but is not a virtue.

We must now conclude that all other goals, apart from the one indicated, are not true goals, and the deeds performed for them lose their value to the extent that they stray from it. As for bad goals, which stem from selfishness, they need not even be mentioned. Let everyone hear this, and let everyone direct his heart in this way every time he performs any deed. For this very striving to direct one’s deeds toward God requires effort, especially because it is obscured by immediate goals. So always transcend these immediate goals with your mind and heart, ascend before the face of God, dedicate every deed of yours to Him, and thereby sanctify Him.

3) On the Circumstances of Moral Acts

Circumstances are what surrounds an act, or all its external connections. There is no action that does not have many such connections; but strictly speaking, only those that influence its intrinsic worth are considered the moral circumstances of the action. Of these, some pertain to the person acting, others to the action itself, and still others to the act of doing. They are all summarized under the questions: who, what, where, when, how, and by what means?

Examine any action you like in light of these questions, and you will see for yourself how it becomes increasingly defined the further you go. Do not think, however, that all this is trivial or mere rhetorical play. Just consider what one must look for in an action with regard to each of these questions, and you will see this for yourself.

The question “Who?” does not seek to determine whether the person who committed the act is morally upright, but rather what kind of person they are, their status and character: a priest or a layperson, educated or uneducated, a public official or a private citizen, a man or a woman, and so on. Apply, for example, drunkenness to each of these individuals, and you will see how the severity of the offense alternately increases and decreases. Apply sincere faith as well, and you will see that it will not carry the same weight for everyone... Reason in this way about other matters as well. For ourselves, let us record the following rule on this occasion: undertake endeavors worthy of your station, level of education, and rank. If you have more—be a servant to all.

When asked “What?”, one should not consider whether the matter conforms to the commandments or not, nor the subject of the matter itself—which has already been discussed—but rather its secondary aspects. For example, theft… whether the item is sacred or ordinary, taken from the poor or the rich. Likewise, almsgiving… whether given from abundance or as a last penny. And so on with other matters. As for yourself, here is what you must adopt: judge every matter with precise measure, and in general do everything possible so that no excess of effort remains when applied to the scope of your duties. Others make it a rule for themselves not to allow anyone to leave them with a sad face.

Regarding the question “Where?”—attention is drawn not merely to the location, for a deed must take place somewhere, but to the nature of the place and its other circumstances. For example, whether someone insulted a person in private or in public, whether it was a public spectacle on the street or in a church, and the like. Therefore, sanctify places with your deeds, and do not desecrate them. Remember that at the hour of judgment, every place will testify before God the Judge regarding your good or evil deeds.

Regarding the circumstance of “when?”—it is not the time in general that is taken into account, but its quality: for example, whether it is a holiday or an ordinary day, an hour, a month, or years, and so on. Therefore, see to it that your entire life is a continuous chain of good deeds. But at the same time, remember that there is a time for everything. There is a method of waiting for the most favorable time, when an action will bear the richest fruit.

When people want to know “how?”—then they examine the manner in which things are done, not the one previously described and inherent to the task by its very nature, but another, external, and contingent one. For example, in a state of fear or calm, in knowledge or ignorance, with persistence or in passing, suddenly or with preparation. Whoever keeps a watchful eye on their heart will find that all their affairs proceed smoothly. They slow down what is slow, speed up what is fast, and generally do everything with the appropriate diligence, without laziness or rashness.

When one wishes to know, “How?” one investigates the means by which the task was accomplished or the goal achieved, and the resources that were used in the process. For example, was something useful accomplished through one’s own labor or by the hands of others; was wealth acquired righteously or unrighteously; did one act openly or use hidden means to achieve it... and so on. Help us, Lord, not to take crooked paths even toward good, not to spare our efforts, and, if something cannot be achieved in good conscience, to endure rather than resort to a seemingly unjust method.

All such circumstances, if they are lawful, constitute the outward beauty and propriety of an action, although some of them have a stronger influence on the matter than others. The means, for example, are so significant that some limit the entire question of circumstances to them alone. To properly integrate one’s inner good intentions into the course of external events is Christian prudence, which, however, does not consist in applying the internal to the external (for example, the Gospel to the customs of the world), but in the proper, so to speak, clothing of the inner spiritual law with external manifestations corresponding to it, even if this requires going against the current of external events. I will say even more: Christian prudence is the discernment of God’s will, which encompasses and governs all events—both external and internal. From this perspective, it follows once again that a Christian must govern his own circumstances rather than submit to their pull. This is achieved not all at once, but gradually, through experience in doing good; once this is attained, every deed that comes from the Christian’s hands is perfect in every way, like an exquisite work of art from the hands of an artist.

From this examination of the circumstances inherent in every matter, you can see how difficult it is to find, either in experience or in the person acting, an action that is neutral, when each one is so multifacetedly intertwined from all sides with many factors that have a genuine influence on its moral worth! How difficult it is, on the other hand, not only for outsiders but even for the actor himself to determine the true worth of his actions! For perhaps in one case all these circumstances are legitimate, while in another only some of them are—and even then to a greater or lesser extent; in one instance, the shadow of the actions may be entirely evil, while in another it may be merely the shadow of good. Accurate knowledge of all this is possible only for the One who sees all. As for the righteous person, the law is clear: do not presume to judge others. As for yourself, multiply your weeping and contrition over your sins tenfold, for perhaps they are ten times more sinful than you think; and diminish the goodness of your deeds a hundredfold, for perhaps that is indeed the case. This rule is prescribed by St. Macarius of Egypt.

Here is a brief overview of all aspects of our deeds: their subject, purpose, and circumstances. Use these to judge yourself, but never others. That is not our domain, but God’s. Here is a general rule for determining the merit of actions. It is attributed to St. Dionysius the Areopagite, namely: for an action to be considered good, it must have a good subject, a true purpose, and lawful circumstances. Conversely, if any one of these three aspects is flawed in an action, then it cannot be good. It goes without saying that the degree of goodness or badness in these aspects is reflected in the action itself.

7. Types of Morality and Stages of the Moral Life in the Good and Evil Directions

There are two kinds of morality: good morality and bad morality. The first is called virtue; the second is called vice, or sin.

1) On Virtue

Virtue has more than one meaning. It signifies: 1) the primary, all-encompassing striving of the spirit toward the good, or the disposition of the spirit acting in a Christian manner; 2) various good dispositions of the will and the heart; and 3) every individual good deed. In all these manifestations, virtue does not remain static but gradually ascends toward perfection, thereby defining the stages of a virtuous moral life. Therefore...

a) On the three types of manifestations of virtue and, first, on virtue as the disposition of a spirit acting in a Christian manner

a) On the three forms of the manifestation of virtue and, first, on virtue as the disposition of a spirit acting in a Christian manner

Where is our good? In God. Consequently, the striving for the good is the same as the striving to abide in God, or the longing for communion with God. If this striving is not to remain fruitless but is to find satisfaction commensurate with itself, then it must undertake the labor of traversing the entire path by which a person can ascend to God. Consequently, this very path and everything that occurs along it must form part of virtue as the primary aspiration or disposition of a spirit that acts virtuously as a Christian—that is, everything that is necessarily part of the primary norm of Christian life and activity. It states: “Remain in communion with God through Jesus Christ the Lord by actively fulfilling His Holy Will, aided by grace and sustained by faith according to the power and vow of baptism in the Holy Church.”

Consequently, a truly Christian virtue—or a Christianly virtuous disposition of the spirit—will be:

The desire and strength to remain in communion with God through the Lord Jesus Christ by zealously, constantly, fully, and always fulfilling His will with the help of grace and with faith in the Lord, by virtue of the power and promise of baptism.

Why all this is necessary has already been explained in the article on the norm of Christian life. Now it remains only to briefly explain each of these characteristics of a Christian moral disposition of the spirit, in order to clarify the distinctive properties, composition, and origin of Christian virtue.

Its first characteristic is a thirst. The Savior blesses those who hunger and “thirst for righteousness” (Matt. 5:6). The Apostle Paul says of himself: “I press on, though I have not yet attained… I press on with all diligence toward the goal of the prize of the upward call of God” (Phil. 3:12, 3:14)—and exhorts others: “Pursue what is good… Do not quench the Spirit” (1 Thess. 5:15, 5:19), “Seek the things that are above” (Col. 3:1), “Be fervent in spirit” (Rom. 12:11). This thirst, in and of itself, is a wide-open and ready receptacle for all that is good, like parched earth that quickly soaks up water. In life, however, it both sustains the spirit’s vigor and prevents it from placing too much value on external labors, for it wearies the spirit from within. It is a constant sign of a good state, just as physical hunger and thirst are signs of physical health. It can be recognized by the warmth that is constantly preserved in the heart. It is opposed to a spirit that is cold, lax, sluggish, unresponsive, and indifferent to goodness and salvation. The second trait is strength. What is thirst without strength? It is fruitless torment or the collapse of the spirit. Look at the thirsty philosopher Justin! Until he receives strength, he suffers from an inner spiritual fire that consumes him. It is therefore in vain for anyone to think of limiting themselves to a single aspiration. It is only a preparatory state at the beginning and then a constant renewer of activity thereafter. Thirst can be found even outside of Christianity, but strength is given only in Christianity. The merciful Lord allows those who thirst to drink strength from Himself, so that by this strength they may abide in Him. “Come,” He says, “and... I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). “Whoever... abides in Me… will bear much fruit” (John 15:5). Thirst is a sign of the awakening of our spirit, and strength is a sign of the union of our spirit with the power of God. In the latter case, he confesses: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13).

The third characteristic is the strength to abide in fellowship with God through the Lord Jesus Christ. It is well known how man was destined for fellowship with God, how he subsequently fell away from Him, and how, as a result of this fall, he became subject to the tyranny of self-love and the passions, along with their instigators—the devil and the world. It follows from this that a person’s true devotion must necessarily include two dispositions: renunciation of oneself and of everything that flatters self-love, and surrender of oneself to God. But self-denial is only a means; the goal is abiding in God. For those who have passed through the crisis of self-denial, communion with God is the primary and ultimate reality. This is the sole object toward which all the Christian’s labor and care are directed. From this, the following conclusion follows.

Whoever has not experienced an inner transformation, as a result of which all his thoughts and desires have begun to be directed toward and consecrated to God, has not yet begun to be truly and Christianly good. “Whoever wants to follow Me,” says the Lord, “must deny himself… and follow Me” (Mark 8:34).

Anyone who stops at self-denial alone, thinking that he has done everything, is in a dangerous delusion. Not only is self-denial, as a means, useless unless it is directed toward its goal—communion with God—but it can hardly be genuine without this! For without God, one cannot deny oneself. Such was the nature of the Stoics’ teaching and way of life. They taught that the self should be subjugated to the mind or spirit, but they failed to understand that the spirit or mind, too, must be subjugated to God; therefore, they were teachers of spiritual pride and, despite their toil and sacrifices, kept themselves and others outside of God, in a state of separation from Him. Likewise, those who invent some sort of philosophical virtue—that is, doing good without thinking of God—act wrongly and in a delusional manner: for what kind of virtue is there apart from God? Since virtue is not virtue without communion with God, and this communion is possible only through our Lord Jesus Christ, it follows that there is no truly good life outside of Christianity. There are good deeds there that do not bear true fruit and do not lead to the goal. That is why all people are called into communion with God and the Lord Jesus Christ, and attachment to and striving toward God are set before them as their sole and exclusive task. The Lord teaches: “Abide in Me, and I in you” (John 15:4) and prays to the Father: “As You, Father, are in Me, and I in You, may they also be one in Us” (John 17:21); “I in them, and You in Me, that they may be made perfect in unity” (John 17:23). The apostles preach: “We implore you on behalf of Christ, … be reconciled to God” (2 Cor. 5:20), so that “you may have fellowship with us; and our fellowship is with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ” (1 John 1:3). “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you” (James 4:8). “If you seek Him, you will find Him; but if you forsake Him, He will forsake you” (2 Chronicles 15:2).

The fourth characteristic is the power to abide in communion with God through zealous, constant, complete, and unceasing fulfillment of God’s holy will. One must not think that communion with God can be sustained by a mere knowledge of divine things or mysteries, or by an intense striving of the senses toward God, or by outward expressions of one’s unseparateness from God. All of these things accompany it and are necessary to a greater or lesser extent; but the essential, most steadfast, and sure means to this end is walking in God’s will. Thus says the Lord: “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of God, but the one who does the will of My Father in heaven” (Matt. 7:21). “If you keep My commandments, you will abide in My love; just as I have kept My Father’s commandments and abide in His love” (John 15:10). And, according to the Apostle, a person becomes a Christian “not by following human desires, but by doing the will of God for the remainder of the time we live in the flesh. For the time that has passed is enough...” (1 Pet. 4:2–3). Thus, it is essential for a Christian to do the will of God. One must, however, remember that this is still only a means, albeit an essential and urgent one. Since the goal is in God, this fulfillment must be sanctified by dedicating it to God or by fixing one’s gaze upon Him. Furthermore, for this aspect of a virtuous life to be complete, the fulfillment of God’s will must be zealous, diligent, and spring from the heart. Without this, the sum total of deeds—whether seemingly good or lawful—will be a collection of not-entirely-ugly sculptures lacking a soul; constant, as opposed to fleeting good movements of the heart or intermittent impulses, which are not foreign even to a sinful person; complete—that is, extending to the entire law and commandments, embracing the whole will of God, and not just some part of it, perhaps the easiest, chosen more out of natural inclination than out of love for the good and for pleasing God; —and, moreover, not limited to mere opportunities as they arise, but actively seeking them out and being resourceful in doing good. “Whoever keeps the whole law,” says the Apostle James, “but fails in one point has become guilty of all of them” (James 2:10). Since the foundation of all the commandments is one—the will of God—whoever is sincerely devoted to God’s will will not fail to fulfill it, in whatever form it may be revealed to him. Finally, one must be steadfast, working tirelessly throughout one’s entire life. “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). And only “whoever endures to the end will be saved” (Matthew 10:22), says the Lord. “Do you not know,” the apostle teaches, “that in a race all the runners compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it” (1 Cor. 9:24). For he does not stop until he reaches the end—for the end crowns the work.

The fifth characteristic is through the help of divine grace. Grace is the possession of the Christian and, at the same time, the distinguishing feature of his life. Just as he first became a Christian by the power of God, so too does he accomplish all his deeds by that same power. For, as the Apostle says: “God is the one who works in us, both to will and to act for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:13). The same Apostle testified of himself that the grace of God, which was with him in all his labors, “was not in vain” (1 Cor. 15:10). The workings of this grace, which accompanies the Christian in his activities, consist in the manifold enlightenment of the mind through the impression upon it of the truths of faith and action—both in general and specifically with regard to each situation—so that he may see what God’s holy will is, thus having “the eyes of his heart enlightened” (Eph. 1:18); in the kindling of zeal and the strengthening of the will. “Without Me you can do nothing,” says the Lord (John 15:5). That is why the Apostle Peter prays: “The God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ Jesus... may He... establish, strengthen, and ground you” (1 Pet. 5:10). Through these influences of divine grace, Christians are characterized by a sense of strength and steadfastness in leading a morally good life or zealously walking in the law—not independently, however, but in the Lord, for it is said: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13).

The sixth characteristic—and with faith in the Lord. Faith perfects and completes good Christian deeds and life. It covers shortcomings, infirmities, weaknesses, and sins. Why, indeed, is it “impossible to please God without this faith” (Heb. 11:6)? It compels the doer who has accomplished all that was commanded to say, “I am an unprofitable servant” (Luke 17:10) and to place all hope in the Lord Jesus Christ. With regard to the works themselves, it not only provides the strongest and most inspiring motivation to embrace the moral order—based on the certainty of God’s great promises and His boundless love for us in Christ Jesus (1 John 4:10; 2 Cor. 5:14), but also imparts to them a certain supernatural, divine quality, for the believer performs them as a living member of the Lord Jesus Christ. “Whoever abides in Me… will bear much fruit” (John 15:5).

Finally, the seventh characteristic stems from the power and promise of baptism. This characteristic is unique to Christians. Through baptism, we enter the Church, and by becoming its members, we are made worthy to share in all its blessings. Baptism lays the foundation for this. For its sake, everything continues to take place within the Christian. Just as the elements surrounding a growing seed provide it with nourishment, so too, for the one newly born of grace into the Church, the spiritual elements are provided as nourishment through the sacraments and the entire order of the Church’s liturgical rites. At the same time, inner strength comes to him from the entire body to which he is grafted—the Body of the Church—through which spiritual life-giving juices flow from its Head into his veins. A Christian matures within the Church. Just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings and warms them, so too does the Church, embracing all her children, nourish and warm them. Therefore, growth in virtue depends on remaining in the Church. Outside the Church there is no truly virtuous life, for God’s power does not reach those who are outside it, and there is no nurturing atmosphere or nurturing wisdom around them.

These are all the characteristics of a Christian virtuous state. They denote both the essential properties, the composition, and the origin of Christian virtue.

If we call all these characteristics the order of the Christian moral life, then virtue—as a state or as the disposition of the virtuous person—can be defined as follows: it is the zeal and strength to abide in the order of the Christian moral life, or simply zeal for the Christian life. However, when condensing the description of virtue into a single word, one must not overlook any of its constituent features, lest one present a counterfeit coin in place of the genuine one.

“For the sake of Your fear… we were conceived in the womb, we suffered, and we gave birth to a spirit of salvation,” sings the prophet Isaiah (Isa. 26:18). Every truly zealous Christian can say this of himself. As he draws near to the Lord, he begins to care zealously for his salvation and, hastening in His footsteps, is continually enriched by good deeds. This zeal is the spirit of salvation, the seed and source of a good Christian life, which grows and matures from it gradually; and depending on whether the zeal is strong or weak, it matures quickly or slowly. The Apostle Paul speaks of himself as an example for all: “Not that I have already attained this, or am already perfect; but I press on, hoping to lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has laid hold of me. “Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself to have attained this, but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining toward what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:12–14). Such was the steadfast and tireless zeal of the Apostle Paul. It must be just as constant in every Christian. But the degree of its strength, intensity, and speed may vary according to differences in human character and life circumstances. Here is how we should judge this matter.

Zeal is all the greater, more intense, and more steadfast the more willingly, hastily, urgently—as if without hesitation—one performs every good deed that presents itself. For such is the nature of love—to hasten to do what pleases the beloved. Just as the Apostle says of those who give alms, “God loves a cheerful giver” (2 Cor. 9:7), so too must this be evident in every virtue. Just as a good son, having barely heard his father’s word, strives to carry it out, so too must a Christian act with regard to every known will of God.

The greater the virtue, the more it entails toil and hostility in its practice. The Savior says that when people love those who love them, they are doing nothing extraordinary, for this is natural. But true perfection lies in loving those who hate you and your enemies (Matt. 5:44). Hostility is the test of true goodness of heart. Many gladly accept an insulting word and hold onto it when circumstances are favorable, but when they encounter resentment, they immediately fall away. The degree of zeal in this regard depends both on the magnitude of the hardships and displeasures and on their duration. Sometimes a person has no rest day or night—whether from mockery or oppression—yet remains steadfast in his good intentions. One man was tormented and tortured for 28 years for confessing the name of Christ, and he remained unshaken. But even without torture and persecution, whoever remains steadfast in the face of constant, heart-wrenching insults is deemed worthy of the martyr’s crown.

The broader the scope of her ministry, the more so. How can we not marvel at the Apostle Paul, who “became all things to all people, that by all means he might save some” (1 Cor. 9:22). His care embraced Jews, Gentiles, the weak, the misguided, the obstinate, the converted, and the unconverted—and not in just one place, but throughout nearly all the pagan lands. Following his example, other saints of God sought to expand the scope of their good works more and more, always, however, proceeding gradually and wisely awaiting God’s guidance, so as not to lose His help through self-confidence and self-will, and so that, by spreading themselves too thin, they would not fail even in the little they undertook.

Finally, the purer and more detached her motivation. One must imitate the One who does all things for the glory of God, crying out, “What I have in heaven, and what I desire on earth from You; my heart and my flesh have perished: O God of my heart and my portion forever” (Ps. 72:25–26); who “no longer lives for himself, but Christ lives in him” (Gal. 2:20); “no longer lives for himself, but for him who died and rose again for us” (2 Cor. 5:15); who “longs to depart and be with Christ” and is willing to remain in this world only because it is necessary for others (Phil. 1:23) and in order to “lay up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future” in eternal life (1 Tim. 6:18), knowing and feeling that “our citizenship is in heaven” (Phil. 3:20). I will limit myself to the explanations offered. I will only add this: let everyone take care to pray to the Lord that He may never allow this fire in the heart to go out—for in it is life.

b) On virtue as various good dispositions

What is the essence of good dispositions, and how are they formed? A good disposition is a feeling or love for a certain kind of good deeds, which lies at their foundation. Humility, for example, is called a virtue, but it is not a specific action; rather, it is a disposition dwelling in the heart, evident in all acts of humility; likewise, patience, meekness, selflessness, and obedience are called and are virtues; yet they are not specific actions, but rather something hidden within the corresponding actions, lying at their foundation—something that abides constantly in the heart, ingrained within it—namely, an unceasing love for these actions. These good dispositions are, in fact, virtues themselves. It is not the one who does not rebuke his offender who is without anger, but the one who harbors no malice toward him in his heart. It is not the one who bows and quickly says, “I obey,” who possesses respect and obedience, but the one who nurtures these virtues in his heart and embraces them with feeling. “The heart is the beginning and the root of our deeds,” says Saint Tikhon. “What is not in the heart is not in the deed itself. Faith is not faith, love is not love, when they are not in the heart—but there is hypocrisy; humility is not humility, but pretense, when it is not in the heart; friendship is not friendship when it appears only on the outside but has no place in the heart. This is why God asks us for our hearts: ‘Give me your heart, my son’” (Prov. 23:26; Tikhon, vol. 4, On the Human Heart, § 33). “A good man brings good things out of the good treasure of his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil treasure of his heart; for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45). That is why the apostle commands: “Therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience” (Col. 3:12). “Put on”—that is, imprint these dispositions upon your soul. Or again: “Finally, all of you, be of one mind, compassionate, loving toward one another, merciful, kind-hearted, and humble” (1 Pet. 3:8). This is why we must direct all our attention to this. We must cultivate a love for these very virtues—meekness, humility, patience, and so on—and not limit ourselves to outward deeds alone.

At first, when a person accepts only the good yoke of Christ and begins to strive for a Christian life, there are not yet strong, virtuous dispositions in the heart—there is neither meekness, nor patience, nor humility, nor self-control—except perhaps occasionally, by natural inclination. It is only that zeal, having taken root in the heart, that prompts a person to desire these virtues, to seek them, and to strive for them.

Zeal for a good Christian life does not encompass all virtuous dispositions; rather, it is merely their seed, their beginning, and their embryo. Although these virtues cannot be conceived in the soul without it, even when this zeal is present, it does not immediately bring them into the soul. But just as a seed grows and, in time, produces a stem and branches, so too does this zeal eventually grow into virtuous dispositions. The way in which a person zealous for salvation instills in his heart virtuous dispositions—which are not yet present in him and which his heart initially rejects—consists in relentless self-discipline. Whoever, with prayer and without self-pity, compels himself to every good deed, accustoms his soul to it more and more; his heart becomes increasingly attached to this good and finally comes to love it. Then the good to which a person initially compelled himself becomes ingrained in his spirit and, as it were, second nature. For example, one person may lack patience. By striving for it—though with difficulty and pain, yet with desire—he eventually acquires it. The same must be said of humility, forbearance, and other virtuous dispositions: all of them, through labor and sweat, accompanied by prayer, are imprinted on the soul by God’s grace. This is what Macarius the Great teaches in many places. St. Diadochus describes in one passage how Divine grace, having been bestowed upon a person in baptism first in image and then in likeness, subsequently imprints itself within him, painting virtue upon virtue in his heart (see *On the Love of Goodness*). What can be said about the good dispositions with which a person is born? They are not evil, but they do not possess the qualities of virtue. This quality is acquired by them when, through the cultivation of zeal, they are consciously embraced by the Christian.

2b) What exactly are these good dispositions? It must be said that there must be as many of them as there are kinds of good deeds, for at the foundation of each of these there must be its own specific good disposition that characterizes it. There are, for example, acts of fasting; at their foundation lies fasting or asceticism, and so on. However, there must be a harmonious order among them—or a system in which some are primary and others derivative—just as the main streams flow first from the source, and then each stream branches off from the next. And all these dispositions, in general, consist of a necessary mutual union, like the links of a single chain.

Just as in a chain, if you lift one link, you inevitably lift the others as well, and ultimately the entire chain; so, among virtuous dispositions, there is such a relationship that one naturally entails another. No disposition enters the soul in isolation.

As for the exact nature of the connection between them and which disposition arises from which, one can find several indications of this both in the Word of God and in the writings of the Holy Fathers. Thus, the Apostle Peter commands: “Having made every effort (effort here means sincere zeal), add to your faith virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love” (2 Pet. 1:5–7). Saint Macarius says: “All virtues are like a spiritual chain, each depending on the other, as follows: prayer on love, love on joy, joy on meekness, meekness on humility, humility on submission, submission on hope, hope on faith, faith on hearing, and hearing on simplicity” (Discourse 40, ch. 1). Saint Isaac the Syrian arranges the virtues in his own way, and not uniformly. For example: “Fear leads us onto the ship of repentance, carries us across the stormy sea of life, and guides us to the divine harbor, which is love” (Discourse 83). Elsewhere, he expresses it differently—for example, in his discussion of the three degrees of the intellect. One can find many such combinations in the writings of St. John Climacus, and there are also numerous examples in those of Theodore of Edessa (in *On the Love of Good*) and others. It is no surprise that we find such differences in the accounts. This depends on who chooses which starting point and which path. If each of us were to trace our family lineage, we could create a great many different lines, tracing them through the paternal or maternal side, and then further through the line of their father or mother. There will be no falsehood, though there will be differences. Thus, even in the varying accounts of the natural development of all good dispositions, there is no falsehood, though there is disagreement. But is it really worth worrying so much about this?.. God’s grace will arrange everything on its own; let us only maintain zeal for a God-pleasing life. Naturally good dispositions will now fall into their proper order, and those that are lacking will begin to take root little by little, as the passions opposed to them are purified. Keep this in mind, and that is enough. A strict system has no place in an active Christian life. Here, almost everything is built ex-promptu.

c) On Virtue as a Good Deed

Any proper fulfillment of a commandment—that is, with a true purpose, for the glory of God through faith in the Lord, and under legitimate circumstances—is a good deed; likewise, even indifferent actions become good deeds through the good purpose that a Christian applies to them. In the “Orthodox Confession,” good deeds are defined as follows: they consist in the fulfillment of God’s commandments, which a person observes willingly, with God’s help and through the cooperation of one’s own reason and will, out of love for God and one’s neighbor, without any so-called hindrance from any source. Thus, in order for good deeds to have their true and proper value, they must meet the following conditions.

Their object is a commandment—everything prescribed in the Word of God and regarding which a person recognizes a moral obligation. However, even those deeds which are not strictly defined by the law are capable of acquiring a morally good quality from the good intentions with which they are performed, although, obviously, their value cannot be great. Therefore, it may be added: a good deed consists not only in the fulfillment of a commandment, but also in the performance of that which is not contrary to the commandments, in accordance with their spirit and order.

This fulfillment must be voluntary—that is, not compelled by circumstances, not dependent on habit or cold, mechanical routine, nor on natural inclination—but must be motivated by one’s own willingness, desire, love, and zeal to perform good deeds, both those specifically mentioned here and of this kind, as well as all those prescribed by God’s commandments in general. From this we must conclude that as long as a person has not yet formed a complete and resolute intention to succeed in all of God’s commandments, his good deeds are not entirely pure and perfect. For it is impossible for them not to spring from holy zeal; rather, they are performed out of the impetus of the senses and some extraneous considerations; and, most importantly, they are not constant but are mingled with sins and passions. Such deeds lack perfect, eternal weight; nevertheless, they are not useless, serving as preparers and intercessors for God’s grace, which kindles the fire of zeal. Recall the story of the baker who, in frustration, threw a loaf of bread at a poor man just to get rid of him, and who was then granted a vision for this and turned from sin to a godly life. That is why anyone who lacks zeal can be advised: do some good deed, especially an act of charity, and God will grant you the fire of zeal—the sign and source of spiritual life.

Every good deed is good if it is done for God. Everything is for the glory of God. A Christian must be wholly a sacrifice to God and to the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave Himself up for us. “The love of God compels us, since we have come to this conclusion... Christ died for all, so that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again” (2 Cor. 5:14–15). Now we must entrust our deeds to God, so that on the Day of Judgment He may return them and reward the Christian. It must be said that only those deeds dedicated to the Eternal God are worthy of eternal reward. And here, such a disposition of the heart imparts to deeds a certain lightness, naturalness, and a godly, attractive, and detached character.

A truly good deed is accomplished with the cooperation of one’s own reason and with God’s help. Evidently, like every good deed offered up by a person to God, it is both divine and human. In the performance of good deeds, presumption and self-confidence harm not only their purity but also their success and perfection. For such deeds are generally hasty, immature, and unrefined, and are often not carried through to completion. Likewise, a refusal to make proper use of one’s own strength distorts one’s deeds and all one’s activities. This flaw has even crept into the teachings of the Quietists and Quakers, who await inspiration from above for everything. There is no doubt that in extraordinary circumstances, some receive inspiration from the Lord; and in general, one should not decide on anything important and decisive without a special calling, lest, having begun, one give up and prove incapable of completing the work, to one’s own shame and the humiliation of virtue. But in such cases, it is usually the case that a person cannot not only decide on such a matter but even conceive of it without this inspiration. To act in this way in ordinary circumstances, however, is dangerous, for it opens wide the door to laziness and delusion. Now a person lives under discipline. He must purify and correct his stubborn heart by acting against it. If the heart almost never desires good of its own accord—and God will not send help or guidance to those who are unwilling and unenthusiastic—then one might sleep through one’s entire life in anticipation of these heavenly inspirations, missing out on virtue. Help comes from the Lord, but to those who act, not to those who do not act. Make an effort—and help will come.

Finally, a truly good deed is one that is free from obstacles. Here we mean lawful obstacles—that is, if a deed cannot be accomplished under lawful circumstances, but either the place, the time, or some other factor prevents it from being good at all, or from manifesting in true perfection and fruitfulness. As for unlawful obstacles, not only do they not prevent a deed from being good, but on the contrary, they elevate it in proportion to their strength and persistence. The more obstacles are overcome in the performance of a deed, the more valuable it is. To perform good deeds in accordance with their good nature and the lawful demands of circumstances, in opposition to unlawful obstacles, and yet to perform them in such a way that good—not evil—results from them, is a matter of prudence, the science of which is taught by God’s grace and through diverse experience in the spiritual life. “Ask… the elders, …and they will tell you” (Deut. 32:7).

Please also note the following regarding these matters: while zeal, like an inner fire, ceaselessly sets our energies in motion, and our feelings and dispositions remain in unchanging inner peace—like a field in which the fruits of our deeds grow and multiply—our deeds are something that comes and goes within us: they begin and cease, following one after another. However, a diligent and prudent worker can establish an unbroken chain of good deeds in his life. This is because thoughts, words, movements, and actions can all be directed toward good deeds. The time of life is given to a person for the accumulation of good deeds. If this time now flows without stopping and there is a point that repeats itself ceaselessly in its flow, then a person must ensure that each of these points is filled with goodness. Does sleep get in the way? But even it can be turned into goodness—namely, into an act of self-sacrifice; food all the more so... the eyes—even more so... Establish harmony between your outer self and your inner self. Within, God has placed an unquenchable zeal, and you, in turn, should offer unceasing deeds... Between them, like poles, your nature will be purified and sanctified. A convenient means to this end is provided by the fact that everyone’s life is always filled with an unbroken chain of circumstances capable of giving rise to goodness. Everyone will see this now by carefully reviewing their day—that is, for themselves, in their own situation—from beginning to end.

It occurs to some to limit themselves to the inner life alone, without any outward action. This is especially true in those cases where one inevitably has to suffer greatly from one’s own selfishness, for example, when asking for forgiveness and the like. No, God created man of body and soul; He wants his deeds to be performed by his whole person, and not by just one part. Moreover, the very act is fully fruitful for the virtuous person in its execution or completion, and not merely in the desire for it—even if that desire is ardent. Only a completed act is a step forward on the ladder of moral perfection. Whoever has once endured an insult has risen higher; the next time, even higher, and so on. Meanwhile, whoever merely desires to endure but does not actually endure remains in the same place and even regresses, because the desire weakens as the deed remains unfulfilled. Whoever does not gather is squandering. That is why those who zealously pursue perfection seek out opportunities for good deeds and do not merely allow themselves to miss them when they arise. The more truly good deeds one performs, the higher and higher one rises.

This is how one should grow rich in good deeds, but one must be even more concerned with good dispositions. When, however, there is true zeal for salvation, it will teach everything, for it is very resourceful.

d) On the Stages of the Virtuous Christian Life

These three aspects of virtue, as is evident from their characteristics, are in constant connection and interaction with one another. But the fundamental starting point of it all is zeal for the Christian life, established by grace in the sacrament of baptism or repentance. Through a continuous series of deeds, it instills good dispositions in a person’s spirit and heart. Hope and the strength of the moral life lie in these dispositions; therefore, one must not cease in one’s efforts and concerns until they are firmly established, nor should one lose heart because they do not take root as quickly as one might wish. A tree that has just been planted is easily uprooted, but a tree that has taken root requires great effort from anyone who wishes to uproot it. Likewise, at the beginning of a newly undertaken virtuous life, good dispositions are unreliable, unstable, and changeable; but the more a person persists in the deeds that correspond to them, the more solid they become, the more deeply they take root in the heart, and the more they become, as it were, natural dispositions. As these good dispositions take root in the heart, the evil ones are driven out of it, and the soul becomes purer and purer. On this basis, it is proper to distinguish the various stages of a virtuous Christian according to the stages of his or her spiritual life. In the Word of God, these stages are illustrated by comparing the growth of the spiritual life to the development of a seed, which first produces “grass, then ears, and finally wheat” (Mark 4:28), and with the natural stages of human life, such as infancy, youth, manhood, or maturity (1 John 2:12–14; Hebrews 5:13–14). The Holy Fathers also identify three stages of spiritual growth: beginners, those making progress, and the perfected, or the stages of conversion, purification, and sanctification (The Ladder, step 26).

It is very difficult to define what is characteristic of each of these stages. The general law of growth is that from the conception of life—like a spark or a seed—to its full development into a flame or a fruitful tree, or to its manifestation in all the purity and fullness attainable in this life, the entire process takes place amid struggle and effort, in which evil is rooted out and good is cultivated; but it is impossible to determine with precision exactly where the transition occurs from infancy to youth, or from youth to maturity. For the progression of the spiritual life, like the movement of a sunshade or the growth of the body, takes place without sudden leaps, with wise and unbroken gradualness. Only certain characteristics, based on the Word of God and the writings of the Church Fathers, can be identified in this regard.

The Infant Stage. This is the period from the beginning of the Christian life until the establishment of the order of this life and the rules of Christian conduct in general. It is necessary, for example, to determine how to conduct oneself in the external order of one’s life—and moreover, in various situations and toward different people—in such a way that this neither disrupts relationships nor hinders the spirit. It is very difficult to find the true path in this matter, which is why one tends to gravitate toward one thing or another. Similarly, in one’s inner life, when confronting disturbing thoughts and passions, it is not possible to immediately establish a course of action that makes it easy to both recognize and subdue them. Thus, while the “forms of life,” so to speak, are being established, the infantile period of spiritual life continues throughout this time—a period characterized, like that of an infant, by instability, immaturity, childish reasoning, and childish speech, as the Apostle Paul says (1 Cor. 13:11). It is to these infants in Christ that “milk, not solid food” (Heb. 5:12–13), “the elementary principles of Christ’s word” (Heb. 6:1), and “pure spiritual milk… so that by it they may grow up into salvation” (1 Pet. 2:3) are offered. Because of such instability and immaturity, they are easily swayed and are not infrequently carried away by “every wind of doctrine… by the cunning and craftiness of deceitful scheming” (Eph. 4:14); and even in their very motives, they show more leniency than detachment from all things (1 Cor. 3:1–3). Nevertheless, they come to experience the forgiveness of sins for Christ’s sake, “the knowledge of the Father” (1 John 2:13–14), and “a taste of the Lord’s goodness” (1 Peter 2:3). Knowledge of God the Father is a very distinctive trait. A child does not understand for a long time and cannot distinguish either his father or his mother from strangers, but then begins to distinguish them, and at the same time, the joy of life begins for him. And a sinful person, until he turns to God, does not know Him, the Father who loves mankind; but, having turned to Him, first sees Him as a fearsome Judge; then, having been cleansed through baptism or repentance, tastes His goodness and perceives Him as Father. Indeed, if we judge by the inner person, the sense of God’s fatherly care is what distinguishes a child of Christ. The Lord is their guide: He invisibly leads them through this period of uncertainty in life. Among their motivations, fear predominates. St. John Climacus attributes to these beginners primarily bodily ascetic practices: fasting, sackcloth, ashes, silence, labor, vigil, tears, and the like (ch. 26).

Youth. This is a time of struggle and heroic effort to root out passions and cultivate virtuous dispositions. Just as in war, the battle begins once the troops are arrayed, or among farmers, sowing begins once the necessary preparations are made, so too here, once the forms of life have been established, a resolute pursuit of evil within oneself begins, accompanied by the rooting of goodness. This does not mean that evil is tolerated in infancy, but that it is now pursued, so to speak, systematically and relentlessly. Just as in natural life a young man faces the task of educating himself, so it is in the spiritual life. That is why the Word of God speaks of spiritual youths, saying that they are strong, that “the Word of God abides in them, and they have overcome the evil one” (1 John 2:14). The Word of God, once received with childlike simplicity, now becomes their very life-blood; it abides in them and imparts to them the strength of life, by which they are not merely hearers but also doers of the Word, and by its power—like a sword—they repel and strike down the evil one. The Lord Jesus Christ is the truth for them—that is, the truth of redemption and salvation, which dwells outside of all things—and now passes into and takes up residence in their hearts. A characteristic feeling among young men is the sense of strength in God. “All my strength is in the Lord who strengthens me.” A young man lives by hope; therefore, among his motivations, the most characteristic is the unshakable hope of attaining perfection and receiving eternal blessings, though this does not exclude other motivations. According to St. John Climacus (ibid.), they primarily assimilate spiritual virtues: humility, lack of anger, good hope, gentle exhortation, pure prayer, and disinterest in money.

Manhood. This is the time when the inner struggle subsides, and a person begins to taste the peace and sweetness of spiritual blessings. A farmer, after the harvest, tasting the fruits of his labor, as well as dough that has been leavened and risen, fully formed—these are images of the perfect age. The Wise Sirach depicts the workings of wisdom: how she first torments and tests her beloved, then turns to him, cheers him up, and reveals her secrets to him (Sir. 4, etc.). This latter aspect characterizes the spiritual man. We attribute firmness, dignity, steadfastness, and experience to a man; and the Word of God ascribes the same virtues to the spiritual man: “He is able to eat solid food” (Heb. 5:14), his senses are trained to discern between good and evil; “the knowledge of the eternal, … the ancient” (1 John 2:13–14); that is, the most hidden divine attributes and mysteries are revealed to him, whereas in a youth and an infant, the attributes that are more evident are goodness and power. Among their motivations, love is most characteristic: for, having come “to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, they truly return in love to Him, who is the head, Christ” (Eph. 4:13, 4:15). The Lord is their life, who gives them life and fulfills them (Gal. 2:20). Therefore, since they no longer live “for themselves, but for Him who died for them and rose again” (2 Cor. 5:15), they attribute all their understanding to the surpassing knowledge of Christ. St. John Climacus teaches them, above all, a life in the Spirit and an unshakable abiding in God: a heart unenslaved, perfect love, withdrawal of the mind from the world and immersion in Christ, the light of heaven in the soul, and the preservation of thoughts during prayer, an abundance of God’s enlightenment, a desire for death, a hatred of life, the comprehending of heavenly mysteries, power over demons, the preservation of God’s inscrutable decrees, and so on (ibid.).

Regarding growth in the spiritual life in general, it should be noted:

that no limits can be set for it. Christians are called to be “perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt. 5:48). The striving to embody within oneself the infinite model must lead a person through infinite stages;

that perfection does not concern any single part, but encompasses the whole person—in spirit, soul, and body, in all parts and powers of his being, and “in wisdom” (Luke 2:52), and “in faith” (Luke 18:8), and “in hope” (Rom. 15:13), and in self-denial and self-abasement (Phil. 2:7–8), and in “mortifying and sanctifying the body” (1 Cor. 9:27; Rom. 8:7). In general, perfection is characterized by everything that is assimilated by the graced person in the Word of God;

that all possible degrees of perfection on earth are supreme only in a relative sense; they do not signify ultimate purity and maturity, and certainly do not rule out the possibility of falling. Why does the Apostle Paul, on the one hand, command: “Take heed that you stand firm, so that you may not fall,” and on the other hand, declare of himself: “I do not consider myself to have attained it” (1 Cor. 10:12; Phil. 3:13–16). Therefore, there is never a time when we can say, “Enough”; but we must constantly begin anew; we must constantly “stir up the gift of God” (2 Tim. 1:6) and strive tirelessly “toward perfection” (Heb. 6:1). Macarius the Great testifies that even the perfect do not remain at a single level, but sometimes rise and sometimes fall, and that even for them it is impossible to remain always at the highest levels, since this is unbearable for our mortal nature (see Discourse 8, § 4). St. John Climacus cites Ephrem the Syrian as an example, who, ascending to the height of dispassion, cried out to God: “Ease the waves of Your grace for me,” just as David prayed: “Ease me, that I may rest” (Ps. 38:14; The Ladder, st. 26).

Knowing this, everyone must examine where they stand. Perhaps the foundation has been laid… but whether a step forward has been taken since then, only God knows. However, let us be mindful of one thing: that our zeal may not be extinguished. As long as it remains, there is still hope for success. Perhaps we will occasionally strive toward some good and grow even a hair’s breadth. But once that zeal dies out, then all is lost. May the Lord be our protection and our strength!

I will add one more thought: on the high dignity of a truly Christian life, or the high value of virtue, and at the same time its unenviable outward condition. This contrast is very instructive. There is nothing on earth with which Christian virtue can be compared in dignity. What did the Savior call the one thing needed? Zeal for the salvation of the soul. But this is precisely Christian virtue. What is more important than achieving this ultimate goal? Yet it is attained solely through Christian virtue. What is more blissful than communion with God? Yet it is inseparable from Christian virtue.

There are many things on earth worthy of respect: the arts, science, good governance, wealth, and honor—but what are all these without virtue? “What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?” (Matt. 16:26). Everything else, apart from virtue, is like a mathematical zero and derives its meaning and significance only from virtue, just as zeros do from the number one.

Whoever has acquired virtue has acquired an imperishable treasure. Everything else can be plundered here, and everything will inevitably leave a person at the hour of death. But virtue safely passes this test and enters the heavenly homeland with the person. Yet even without such a comparison with transient things, if we turn to the order of the Christian life—the good life—its extraordinary advantages will be revealed.

A Christian who lives in a truly Christian manner has God as his Father, from whom he is born and who is especially gracious toward him; he is a brother of the Lord Jesus Christ and a member of His flesh and bones; he is a partaker and a steward of God’s mysteries; he is the dwelling place of the Triune God, a fellow worker with the angels and the saints. He has received the inestimable grace to partake of the Body of Christ and, through the Word of God—as through a veil—to enter into the innermost sanctuary, to converse with the One True God face to face in pure prayer; his homeland is heaven, and in it he has an inheritance that cannot be described in human language. I would advise everyone to read His Eminence Tikhon’s work on the advantages of the Christian in the 9th volume of his writings.

A Christian should frequently remind himself of this advantage of a good life, so that he may more often cry out: “What do we have in heaven?...” Judging by the loftiness of a good Christian life, one would expect a bright future for him. But the Word of God does not promise this, and in fact, it almost never happens. One who begins to live a Christian life sets out on a narrow and sorrowful path, takes up the cross, and follows Christ with it. The Lord Jesus Christ Himself was dishonored, humbled more than any of the sons of men, and nailed to the cross. He said to the apostles: “In the world you will have tribulation.” “I have chosen you out of the world; therefore the world hates you” (John 15:18–19). The apostles said of themselves: “To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty, and are in rags… as though we were the world’s refuse, the scum of the earth” (1 Cor. 4:11, 4:13). Following in their footsteps, and at all other times, “those who desire to live godly lives… are persecuted” (2 Tim. 3:12). It cannot be otherwise. The world, lying in wickedness, does not tolerate those who rebuke it. Satan does not tolerate his opponents. And a Christian is a soldier of God against the prince of darkness, which is why he becomes a target for the arrows of the world’s malice and its prince. From the very beginning, he faces suspicion and accusations of hypocrisy and self-righteousness; followed, one after another, by personal insults, the loss of privileges, visible persecution, and hostility from all sides—hostility for which none of those who instigate it can give a clear account. But while the outer self of the Christian is thus consumed, his inner self is renewed day by day. The cross is the ladder of ascent along the steps of Christian perfection. In this earthen vessel, the treasures of the spirit are formed. In it are embodied all the perfections of the parts and powers of man—that is, the perfections of the spirit, the soul, and the body; of the mind, the will, and the heart; and, growing stronger and stronger, he is transformed from a child in Christ into a mature man, ready to pass from this preparatory world into the true one, desiring to be united with Christ. Finally, the toiling pilgrim completes his journey, painlessly casts off his pilgrim’s garb, is received by the angels, is exalted to the Throne of the infinite God, and is placed in his rightful place, where he enjoys inexpressible bliss of the spirit through the mystical beholding of God, until, at the Second Coming of Christ, this mortal body is clothed with immortality. Then, with his entire being filled with the Divinity, he will shine eternally, like the sun, in the kingdom of the Father.

After this, the question of the connection between happiness and bliss and a good life resolves itself: in this present life, for the sake of spiritual perfection, Christians are not granted earthly blessings, but they enjoy here only the inner spiritual blessings; and, despite all their sorrows, they rejoice always and are filled with the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, through the sense of God’s mercies. In the life to come, free from sorrows, this spiritual bliss will be revealed in all its fullness and will exist only in a spiritual form until the Second Coming. After the Second Coming, however, our transformed bodies will also share in this bliss, and then the righteous will rejoice with their whole being for all eternity.

This end crowns the work! Let the soul zealously strive for it. And what are the troubles of life? What is this misfortune? A little... today, tomorrow it will be over!

2) On Sin

And sin, like virtue, can be considered in three forms of its manifestation: a) as an act, b) as a disposition or passion, c) as a state and sinful disposition of the soul. And a sinful life has its stages, just as a virtuous one does.

3) Sin in its three forms of manifestation

a) Sin as an act

What is sin? A sinful act is a transgression of a commanding or prohibitive commandment of God, or, as the apostle says, “sin is lawlessness” (1 John 3:4). Two particular characteristics are immediately reflected in the word “sin” from the terms “transgression” and “commandment.” In the former, it is an abuse of freedom; in the latter, it is a contempt for the law.

Sin exists only in rational beings—both incorporeal and those united with a body. As a special privilege, the Lord has granted them freedom. But alongside this privilege lies an abyss just one step away. Freedom is unrestricted: we can turn to God, and we can turn away from Him. Yet this possibility exists within freedom not so that a creature might turn away from the Creator, but because it constitutes the very nature of freedom. The purpose and intent of freedom is the voluntary service of God, the Creator, so that the creature, by freely serving God and fulfilling His will, may become all the more worthy of blessings and become the most vast receptacle of bliss. It is evident that a creature who deviates from God’s will abuses freedom. This is stated to show that the creature abuses it of its own accord—not out of any necessity or fate—but willfully, that is, having the full ability to fulfill God’s will at the very moment when it fails to do so. In this sense, the “Orthodox Confession” states that sin is the unbridled will of man and the devil. No one forced the devil to rebel against God: he did so of his own accord. Although Satan tempted our first parents, he did not restrict their freedom but only deceived them; therefore, when they transgressed the commandment, they sinned freely, of their own accord. And now, even if manifold lusts rise up against us, and the world and the devil wage war against us, sin itself is still our own free act, uncoerced, the fruit of an unrestrained will.

Sin is a crime or a violation of the law. But the law itself remains unchanging. It is violated only in the person of the sinner. For example, unbelief is a violation of the law of faith in God, but both God and faith remain inviolable in and of themselves. The sinner has blasphemed both only within himself, being a blasphemer precisely because he does not accept, rejects, despises, and tramples upon this law. Hence, contempt for the law is an inseparable feature of sin; contempt for the law is, therefore, contempt for God’s will and opposition to God. Furthermore, since the moral law is imprinted in human nature and is intrinsically harmonized and united with its constitution, by transgressing it, a person acts against himself, ruining and destroying himself, for the immutable condition of the well-being and health of every being is the unimpeded development of the principles inherent in it. Therefore, it can be said that sin is poison and the destruction of man through the willful violation of the law. From opposition to the law, death inevitably arises and the wrath of God is kindled.

Therefore, sin is generally characterized by this unbridled will, this contempt for the law, and this destructive force, which acts in return upon the sinner.

It follows from this that one cannot say that sin consists in the shortcomings and imperfections of our powers, nor that it is an inevitable consequence of our limitations. Since we are neither omniscient nor omnipotent, we cannot be saints. True, our powers are limited; but the obligations incumbent upon us are not infinite either, but correspond precisely to our nature. If an angelic life were demanded of us, we could excuse ourselves by failing to attain it. But if, being human, we do not live in a human way, how can we excuse ourselves? Likewise, it is not true that sin is the result of short-sightedness or imprudence—that one has set the wrong goal or chosen the wrong means. All of this occurs in sin as well; but sin, strictly speaking, lies in the corruption of the will, by which we know what we ought to do but do not do it because we do not want to. “Whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin” (James 4:17).

1b) Where does sin come from? As for the origin of sin, it is astonishing both in the devil and in man. Imagine the purest and most perfect rational creature, such as an angel, who has just come forth from the hands of the Creator with lofty virtues that draw him near to the Creator; he receives a commandment, and soon afterward—knowing perfectly the will of his Creator, knowing His prohibitions, what is pleasing to Him and what is not—he chooses what is displeasing to Him in defiance of Him. You cannot find a single thought upon which to base an explanation for such an action. This is an unfathomable moral mystery! A thought, or an inner word, was born in the spirit and produced so much evil that the whole world was filled with it—an evil so powerful that it will endure for all eternity, though undoubtedly to its own ruin. Such is the nature of freedom! A free being is the indefinite source of actions for which one cannot always answer the question “Why?” Simply because I want to; and I want to because I want to.

So too, in man, the origin of sin is difficult to explain, for he, too, has sinned while knowing everything. In the fallen sinner, the origin of sin is still understandable, for the one who has sinned has become a slave to sin, has attached sin to himself, and has accepted it, as it were, as a rule. But what caused and how did the fall of the first pure man occur—or, now, the fall of people who had prospered in goodness, who had come to know its sweetness, who had been deemed worthy of God’s special favor—the righteous? The following passage from the Epistle to the Hebrews sheds some light on this: “Take care, brothers, that no one’s heart be filled with the deceit of unbelief, leading to a turning away from the living God. But encourage one another daily, as long as it is still called ‘today,’ so that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin” (Heb. 3:12–13). Here it is pointed out that sin begins with unbelief, a weakening of conviction in the truth, and a clouding of the mind. It casts a certain shadow over the truth, over God, His law, and the divine order; consequently, it pushes them further from consciousness as this shadow grows. This is what the devil did in the beginning, obscuring the image of God in the minds of our first parents. This is also where the sin of every individual begins. Therefore, it is the duty of anyone who does not wish to sin to renew their faith as often as possible. Then, sinful temptation joins unbelief—the expectation of great pleasure that will come of its own accord, without any effort, as soon as one sins. This expectation binds one’s attention and heart to the object of sin.

Then one thinks of and desires only this one object. The Law, the truth, the needs of the spirit, the Word of God—all become meaningless. A person has grown hardened toward them, or has already become entrenched in stubbornness and defiance, ready to say, “Go away”—or has turned away from God... Having no fear of Him, like a ferocious beast, he pounces on sin. At the very foundation and in the very depths of it all lies a deceitful heart: insincerity, inner self-deception before oneself and before God, Whom, however, he does not reject. It remains there throughout the entire process of sin, setting the whole affair in motion and concealing it.

Thus, the mechanism of sin becomes somewhat apparent. Yet this is not a complete explanation of it. For where does this insincerity and deceit come from in one who was previously sincere and upright? Furthermore, where does unbelief come from in one who once breathed faith; where does sinful flattery come from in one who hated sin; or where does hardness of heart come from in one who was gentle and meek? Recall the example of the holy ascetic who had progressed so far that an angel brought him food. How did it come to pass that, having left the desert, he fled back into the world? And he would have fled, had not God’s mercy held him back. Thus, sin is a mystery… we all sin and are deeply guilty of sins, yet we cannot tell ourselves why we sin.

Therefore, not only through indirect inference but also directly, the origin of our sin can be traced back to the devil. He casts shadows and darkness upon the soul and, keeping it as it were in a state of intoxication, brings it to the point where it gives birth to sin first within itself and then outwardly. However, this does not excuse the soul, for temptation is not necessity. Sin is always a willful turning away from God and His holy law to please oneself. Watch and pray: “Lead us not into temptation, O Lord!”

1b) Types of Sin. To provide a closer understanding of sin, its various types are listed here, for in them its evil and dark nature is more evident. As a guide in this, let us take a simple concept of sin. Sin is a violation of a commandment that either commands or forbids a certain action; it is a voluntary, uncoerced violation. Hence, there are sins of omission and sins of commission. The Lord commanded: “Turn away from evil and do good” (Ps. 33:15); one must do one thing and refrain from doing another. Therefore, when we do what we ought not to do, we commit sin, and when we fail to do what we ought to do, we also commit sin. Both the violation and the failure to fulfill a commandment are sins. The former is more grievous than the latter, since violating a commandment requires a special exertion of effort and can arise only from great obstinacy and depravity of the will. One must, however, remember that omissions can also be very serious and are often more serious than the violations themselves. This is especially true in cases where such an omission stems from constant and habitual disregard for the law or contempt for it, as well as in cases where duties are neglected—whether they are important in and of themselves or such that their neglect entails harmful and destructive consequences for others. Such is the neglect of one’s duties by a father, a priest, a teacher, and so on. The Word of God explicitly points out the guilt of neglect in the most decisive instance—namely, at the Last Judgment. Thus, to the “unfaithful servant” who hid his talent, it is said: “Cast him into outer darkness” (Matt. 25:30); and to those who are hard-hearted toward the poor, it will be said: “Since you did not do it… depart from Me” (Matt. 25:40–41).

Therefore, everyone who is zealous for moral perfection must, in every way, restore in their conscience a sense of obligation toward the positive precepts of the law and fulfill them; and in the event of a violation, to arouse appropriate remorse and sorrow over it and to purify oneself through repentance, because often not only the uneducated, but even those quite knowledgeable about their duties—simply beca —say: “What have I done?” without attributing any significance to the omissions they have committed, no matter how important they may be.

Further diversity is introduced into the realm of sin by its very nature: that it is a voluntary, free violation or omission of a commandment. Since all free actions are performed through the interaction of reason and will, sins are given different names, nuances, and types depending on which force plays a greater role in them or exerts a greater influence through its wrongful activity—whether it be reason or the will.

The role of reason in moral activity is to make a person aware of their duties and then, in the very act of fulfilling them, to strictly oversee how, what, and where to carry them out. When reason fails to properly fulfill its duty in one case or another, this gives rise, on the one hand, to sins of ignorance and, on the other, to sins of imprudence.

Everyone who is mindful of themselves and their purpose must, to the best of their ability and within their means, acquire knowledge of their duties and clarify for themselves what they must do and how to do it. For this purpose, everyone has been given a conscience—this unwritten law—by which, even without being taught, they come to know their duty; in Christianity, however, this is supplemented by the Word of God, open to all, the unceasing preaching in the Church, and the spoken word of the pastors, concerning whom it is written: “Ask your father, and he will tell you; your elders, and they will tell you” (Deut. 32:7). And again: “Be very careful to do everything according to the law that the priests will proclaim to you” (Deut. 24:8). Nevertheless, it often happens that almost everyone finds themselves saying, “Ah! I didn’t even know”—that is, reproaching themselves for their ignorance, especially when it comes to specific cases. But, on the other hand, not all ignorance is equally sinful. In this regard, it should be noted:

Whoever lives with a simple heart, striving as much as possible both to learn and to carry out what has been learned, yet in the meantime does something unlawful without suspecting sin—with a clear conscience, without any doubt or hesitation—for such a person, in fact, the only sin is the sin of ignorance, that is, a wrong deed committed by a person but for which he is not held fully accountable.

Any person who is inattentive to himself and his duty, living in carelessness and indifference toward his salvation, is not excused when he does something wrong out of ignorance. For since he has no love for what is good, even if he were to learn of it, he would likely not do it; nor does he come to know it because of this lack of love or his constant aversion to virtue. Such a person sins twice: both in that he does not know and does not come to know, and in the deeds he commits out of this ignorance. In the unwillingness to know one’s duty lies a secret desire for the opposite.

Such ignorance is all the more culpable in that it reveals a most depraved will, namely: the more important the unknown subject is—for example, matters of faith and especially its most fundamental elements, namely the duties directly pertaining to one’s calling— the easier it is for a person to learn what they do not know, either by their own abilities or through external means; the more a person not only possesses but also feels a sense of duty toward it.

The very height of wickedness lies in ignorance, when someone remains ignorant not only through negligence and carelessness, but also through aversion or contempt, while nevertheless remaining in the very order he dislikes. These are the ones who call themselves Christians, yet at the same time revile Christianity, even though they do not know it as they ought.

And that is a person’s duty: to be mindful of themselves and their actions. Therefore, if someone knows his duty—or how he ought to act—but, in the very performance of that duty or in carrying out his obligations, fails to pay attention to himself and, as a result, commits various errors and transgressions, then he sins, and sins of this kind are called sins of imprudence and rashness.

Regarding this kind of sin, one must understand:

That in our present state of disordered faculties—or their restlessness and instability—it is impossible to keep track of everything, both internally and externally. Therefore, if someone who strictly watches over themselves, living with an alert heart and a sober mind, unwittingly—without even knowing how—falls into some transgression in thought, word, or deed, and then, upon noticing it, immediately rejects it with heartfelt hatred and sanctifies themselves through a prayer of repentance: “Cleanse me from my secret sins” (Ps. 18:13)—that person’s transgression is not culpable: it is an act of weakness, not of malice—for example, a sudden surge of judgment, envy, and the like. The main thing is this: upon noticing it, one must reject it with the heart, for whoever accepts it afterward and takes pleasure in it will later choose what he did not see before and what he committed without knowing or choosing.

On the other hand, the person who, though attentive to his duty and desiring to act properly, allows himself—at the very moment of action—to yield to the impulses of his character or the feelings of his heart—for example, hot-temperedness, frivolity, harshness, false indulgence, and so on—commits acts of criminal imprudence, and they are therefore sinful. And their sin is all the more significant the more the subject of their actions—both in and of itself and in terms of its consequences—is important, the more experience has already exposed the wickedness of such behavior, and the easier it is for a person to correct such an error. Guilt here is mitigated only by the effort to correct oneself, which is done not all at once but gradually and therefore amid setbacks.

A person who is absent-minded or decidedly careless, who views virtue and morality with disdain, is at heart a wicked sinner. His sinfulness is all the more grave the more shameless his negligence, the more persistent his disregard for duty, and the clearer his awareness of all this.

Thus, one must be sober and vigilant, having girded the loins of one’s thoughts. We must look where we are going with both eyes so as not to stumble, and pray: “Guide my steps according to Your word.” When one seeks to distinguish sins based on the degree of human will and initiative involved, one looks either to the origin and beginning of the sin, or to its transformation from thought into action.

Just as all human actions either proceed directly from the person himself or are committed as a result of demands and incitements from outside sources, coming from without, or from his lower faculties; so too, some commit sins out of the impetus of depraved desires, while others do so through cold-blooded calculation. The latter are sins of malice, ill will, and depravity, while the former are sins of passion and impulsiveness.

There is no need to point out that sins arising from a depraved and evil mind and heart are of the utmost gravity. For here a person becomes, in his very being, a source of evil; consequently, he is a close likeness of the evil Satan, who delights in evil and thinks of nothing else. Such a person already stands in the depths of evil, into which, having entered, he “does not prosper” (Prov. 18:3), and “will not sleep unless he does evil” (Prov. 4:16). But it must also be said of sins of passion that they are in no way excusable. It is true that our nature is now passionate, weak, disordered, and prone to self-indulgence, but this does not make it necessary to yield to its evil demands. This resistance is always within our power, all the more so for those to whom strength has been given and who have been promised powerful help when they call upon Him (Phil. 4:13). Therefore, to call sins committed out of passion and desire merely “weaknesses” is to throw wide open the door to laxity and impurity in the moral realm. In practice, people tend to apply this label more to the impulses of lust, taste, instinct, the urge for fulfillment, or the playfulness of life. It seems that the greater the evil, the more lenient they wish to be toward it. No matter how strong the impulse may be, if the object is chosen and desired, the act reveals a depraved will and is immoral. From this, one should exclude only those cases in which a sudden, unexpected surge of passion occurs—one so intense that a person, as if intoxicated or in a state of mental confusion, is carried away into sin. But even such cases are very rare and may occur only once in a single person’s lifetime. In general, the greater or lesser culpability of this sin depends on the greater or lesser strength of the impulse, on whether the passion is long-standing or recent, and on the greater or lesser clarity of one’s awareness of one’s condition. New nuances in this kind of sin arise because, willingly or unwillingly, the passion flares up either from within of its own accord or due to external stimulation. In the latter case, circumstances of place, time, people, and so on often present convenient opportunities for sin; they frequently lead one into sin by arousing passion. But even this does not excuse sin; on the contrary, the sin is all the more grievous the more the circumstance that led to it was foreseen and within our control. For it is obvious here that one who walks into the fire intends to burn himself. Whoever enters a house where either the mind or the heart is filled with evil is himself to blame if he subsequently does evil. But even in unavoidable circumstances, it is better to suffer loss and demonstrate self-sacrifice than to endanger the spirit, for which both the body, the world, and time exist.

The Holy Fathers have precisely defined the process by which sin is formed from thought into action, and they have also precisely defined the degree of guilt of each person at every stage of this process. The entire course of events is described as follows: first comes the impulse, then attention, followed by delight, then desire, from which arises resolve, and finally—the act (see Philotheos of Sinai, *The Love of Goodness*, vol. 3, ch. 34 ff.). The farther a stage is from the outcome and the closer it is to the end, the more significant, depraved, and sinful it is. The peak of guilt lies in the act itself, and there is almost no guilt in the initial thought.

An image is a simple representation of a thing, whether arising from the activity of the senses or from the activity of memory and imagination, presented to our consciousness. There is no sin here when the arising of images is beyond our control. Sometimes, however, guilt indirectly enters here when, for example, a seductive image comes to mind because we have allowed ourselves to daydream. Often, an image is evoked of one’s own accord; in such cases, depending on its nature, this act becomes a sin, for a person is obligated to keep their mind focused on divine matters.

Attention is the focusing of consciousness or the eye of the mind on an image that has arisen, in order to examine it, as if to converse with it. This is a lingering of thought, whether simple or complex. This action is more within a person’s control, for an image that has arisen against one’s will can be immediately banished. That is why it is more culpable. Whoever gazes inwardly upon a sinful object reveals a corrupt disposition of the heart. He is like one who brings an unclean animal into a pure and peaceful dwelling, or seats a detestable wicked person among honorable guests. Sometimes, it is true, an object captures one’s attention because of its novelty or striking nature, but once its impurity and allure are recognized, it must be cast out, for otherwise consent will be involved, and what was involuntary will become voluntary. In general, this moment is very important in the moral life. It stands at the threshold of action. Whoever has banished these thoughts has extinguished all strife and put an end to all the production of sin. That is why it is advised to direct all attention toward these thoughts and to wage war against them. All the rules of the holy ascetics are directed primarily toward this end. From this, it is self-evident what price must be paid for the sins of the imagination and of willful daydreams. Wherever they are permitted, there they are sin. But this sin is more grave if any external means are employed for this purpose—for example, reading, hearing, seeing, or speaking. These latter activities are also regarded as occasions of sin.

Delight is an attachment to an object that follows the mind and the heart. It arises when, as a result of our attention to the object, we begin to take a liking to it and find pleasure in contemplating it with our minds, cherishing it in our thoughts. Delight in sinful objects is itself a sin. For if our heart is to be devoted to God, then any association of the heart with other objects is a breach of faithfulness to Him, a breaking of the covenant, a betrayal, and spiritual adultery. We must keep our hearts pure, because it is from the heart that the thoughts of the mind become evil (Matt. 15:18), that is, when it begins to take unlawful delight in them. There are, however, pleasurable impulses of the flesh and the heart that are in no way subject to our will, such as all impulses of natural need. But even these, though innocent at first, immediately become not innocent as soon as they are recognized and are cloaked in approval of them or consent to their unlawful gratification. At first they are natural impulses, but later they become moral ones. Therefore, it is said: when you notice them, be indignant. From this it follows of its own accord that one must reflect on aesthetic pleasures. They are culpable to the extent that their content or form is incompatible with the purity of the heart and morals. The same applies to the masterful works of artisans: to approve of them with one’s mind for their suitability to their purpose is a proper thing to do, but to surrender oneself to their effect for the sake of empty, momentary pleasure is wrong. And in general, as we go to sleep, we pray for forgiveness if, upon seeing the kindness of others, our hearts were wounded by it, so that we may thereby purify our hearts of all the day’s passions. In many cases, however, pleasure breaks out inevitably or irresistibly. Here there is one rule: do not consent to it, reject it, and take offense at it.

It is but one step from delight to desire. The difference between them is that the soul that takes delight remains within itself; on the contrary, the desiring soul inclines toward the object, has a longing for it, and begins to seek it out. It can in no way be innocent, for it is committed with consent or arises simultaneously with it, as if from it; and consent is always within our will.

Resolution differs from desire in yet another respect, namely that confidence in the possibility of success and a clear vision of the means are integral to its very nature or the conditions of its arising. The one who merely desires has given consent to the act, but has not yet devised anything or taken any steps toward achieving his goal; for the one who is resolved, everything has already been considered and decided; all that remains is to set the limbs or other powers in motion to carry out the corresponding actions.

When, at last, this is accomplished, then the entire process of sin comes to an end, and the deed—the fruit of corruption, conceived within and giving birth to lawlessness without—appears.

After indulgence, the drive toward action is as swift as a heavy stone falling down a steep slope. That is why the general rule is: fight and drive out these thoughts before they wound the heart, for then victory is very difficult, if not impossible. In the main course of sin’s formation, it is evident how, one after another, a person’s faculties become entangled with sin. After the heart is defiled by indulgence, the will is defiled by desire; in determination, through the devising of means, the mind also becomes a participant in this defilement; and finally, in the act itself, even the very powers of the body are permeated by sin—and the whole person has become sinful.

Here it should be noted:

Even one who has merely desired something or inwardly consented to an act has, in a moral sense, committed sin before God, who sees the secrets of the heart. “When desire conceives, it gives birth to sin,” says the Apostle James ( , James 1:15); and “whoever looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart,” says the Lord (Matt. 5:28). However, the one who has resolved to act is more sinful than the other, due to the greater exertion of effort toward sin, the greater extent of inner transgression, and the greater obstinacy and corruption of the will. There is but a fine line between resolve and action.

Although there is already sin in desire and resolve, one must not conclude from this that the sinful act itself adds nothing to their sinfulness, and that it is no more sinful than they are. The one who has resolved to sin may still have time to refrain from the act and, consequently, having once defied the law, may submit to it another time when his conscience makes its demands; whereas the one who has carried out the act tramples on the law both inwardly and outwardly. The one who carries out the act struggles with his conscience throughout its duration, as it ceaselessly admonishes him; consequently, he further corrupts himself and disrupts his moral nature.

The one who commits the act fills his whole being with sin, inclining and directing all his strength and his entire being toward it; therefore, from the very first act, he lays the foundation for a habit, for one who has done it once will do it more readily and willingly the next time, and so on, especially in the case of carnal sins. Finally, the evil consequences of sin begin to manifest themselves as soon as it is committed. Temptation, damage to one’s health, and harm to oneself and others arise directly from the act itself.

From this, it is self-evident how to regard sins that are not committed by an act of free will, but out of necessity or external impossibility. The gravity of such a sin is almost equal to that of an act. The difference between them lies only in the consequences, and even then, all the internal consequences are already present; only the external ones are lacking. In this regard, the difference is smaller or greater depending on whether minor or major harmful consequences were to be expected from the act. Where there are none and none occur, the difference, so to speak, disappears.

On this basis, a distinction is made between internal and external sins.

The category of external sins also includes the sins of others that are imputed to us, for in such a case others act, as it were, as the agents of our internal sin, just as our powers and our body serve our desires. For by what means do we become participants in the sins of others? It is because, regarding the sin they commit, there is our corrupt desire, and while they are acting, we not only fail to condemn them before others but, through our very actions, harbor and nurture within ourselves contempt and disregard for the moral law violated by others—as this is immediately evident in our own conscience. It follows, of course, that the sin of another is imputed to us to the extent of our participation in it and to the extent of our contempt for the moral law. The ways in which this occurs are as follows: a command that is more or less strict; advice that is more or less persuasive; consent given with greater or lesser complacency; temptation that is more or less deliberate and flattering; turning a blind eye or acquiescence with greater or lesser leniency; as well as approval, failure to oppose, or failure to speak out. Just how serious the sins of others can be can be judged by how grave is the sin of a parent who fails to restrain their children, or of a tutor who fails to correct the weaknesses of their pupils, or of a person with a perverted education who spreads temptation everywhere through books, paintings, and statues. In general, the easier it is to stop evil and promote good, the more wicked and immoral our complicity in the sins of others becomes.

Such is the nature of things! Therefore, we are reminded once again: it is fitting to be sober and vigilant, to pay attention to ourselves, and to guard our hearts against any taint of sinful defilement!

Finally, sins are further distinguished by varying degrees of gravity. There is no need to dwell on this at length. From a simple and brief examination of sins, it is clear that they vary in degree of gravity and intensity; there are weak sins, grave sins, and the gravest of sins. This difference in gravity depends sometimes on their subject matter, and sometimes on the degree of corruption in the heart that participates in them.

In the first respect, sins are called grave and venial.

Just as the duties incumbent upon a person vary in importance, so too are the violations of these duties—or sins—not equally grave. And the rules for determining this gravity correspond to the rules for determining the importance of duties. Specifically, a sin is all the more grave the more it disrupts the moral order—that is, the more it is opposed to the Christian moral spirit of life, love for God, and love for one’s neighbor—as, for example, blasphemy or standing in an immodest manner in church; the more grounds, established by conscience and revelation, are attached to a given act, binding us by necessity to it—for example, disrespect toward parents or a fellow human being; the and, finally, the greater the magnitude of the sin itself… for example, stealing a little or a lot, offending with a word or a deed, whether for the first time or not.

But all this is, as it were, merely a mental yardstick for determining the gravity of sins. In reality, however, it is subject to the most varied conditions, which, it must be said, are not easily defined by theory. It must be remembered, however, that this distinction between grave and non-grave sins is not intended to encourage us to be more daring or bold in committing other sins. Every sin is a grave sin, for it offends God. Therefore, one must guard against every sin in general. There are, however, different degrees of gravity among sins—so different that some sins seem minor in comparison to others, which is why this “minor” nature is only relative. Knowing this is not without benefit for one’s inner moral order, for refining one’s moral sensibility, and especially for avoiding the turmoil of conscience or healing this ailment of the conscience. For there are those who, at almost every turn, think they have committed a grave sin. Such a decisive, clear, and systematic determination of the gravity of sins will bring them to their senses. But it can also be salvific for the careless, serving to shake and alarm them if, through self-absorption, they think too lightly of their sin and wicked behavior.

Just as virtue consists not in a single act but even more so in an inner disposition, so too does sin. Therefore, a more significant distinction in the gravity of sins lies in the inner sinful disposition. In this regard, sins are divided into mortal and non-mortal sins.

A mortal sin is one that robs a person of his moral and Christian life. If we know what a moral life consists of, then defining a mortal sin is not difficult. The Christian life is zeal and the strength to remain in communion with God by fulfilling His holy law. Therefore, any sin that extinguishes zeal, robs one of strength, and causes one to grow lax—any sin that distances one from God and deprives one of His grace, so that after committing it a person cannot look upon God but feels separated from Him—any such sin is a mortal sin. This is the sin referred to when it is said, “There is a sin leading to death” (1 John 5:16). And again: “She who lives in luxury is dead while still alive” (1 Timothy 5:6). Or “Whoever does not love… remains in death” (1 John 3:14). Such a sin deprives a person of the grace received in baptism, robs them of the Kingdom of Heaven, and delivers them to judgment. And all this is established at the very moment of sin, even though it is not visibly committed. Sins of this kind alter the entire direction of a person’s actions, as well as their very condition and heart; they form, as it were, a new starting point in moral life; which is why some define mortal sin as that which alters the center of human activity.

This abstract definition of mortal sin becomes more relevant to our lives through the following rules or conditions under which a sin becomes mortal. Specifically, a sin is mortal if a person transgresses a clear commandment of God willingly and with pleasure, while being fully aware of both themselves and the sinfulness of the act. If there are degrees of gravity, then it must be said: the sin is all the more mortal the more significant each of these aspects of the sin is. In this regard, it should be noted that the significance of the subject matter—as is self-evident—when combined with an awareness of its sinfulness, leaves no doubt as to the mortality of the sin committed; but even with regard to matters of lesser importance, a sin may be mortal, judging by the corruption of the will with which it is committed, or by the contempt for the law it entails, or by the flaunting of disregard for moral laws through it.

The “Orthodox Confession” describes mortal sins in detail (Part 3, Questions 18–42). They are divided into three classes. The first class includes sins that serve as a source for other sins. The second class consists of sins against the Holy Spirit, namely: excessive reliance on God’s goodness, despair, opposition to clear truth, as well as envy of the spiritual perfection of others, persisting in malice, and postponing repentance until death. The third class consists of sins that cry out to heaven, such as: willful murder, sodomy, mistreatment of the poor, widows, and orphans, withholding wages from hired workers, and insulting and causing distress to one’s parents.

A non-mortal sin—that is, one that is forgivable, as opposed to a mortal sin—is one that does not extinguish spiritual life, does not distance a person from God, and does not alter the focus of his actions; with such a sin, one can turn to God without hesitation and converse with Him sincerely in prayer. There are countless sins of this kind, and no one is free from them except the Lord Jesus Christ and the Most Holy Theotokos. Therefore, it is said: “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8), or “for we all sin abundantly” (James 3:2), and again: “Even the righteous fall seven times” (Proverbs 24:16); “For there is no righteous man on earth who does good and never sins” (Ecclesiastes 7:20).

It is difficult, however, to determine exactly which sins these are, all the more so because whether a sin is venial depends also on the inner disposition of the spirit, and not merely on the insignificance of its object. One can say with certainty only that all sins of innocent ignorance, unintentional carelessness, and sometimes slight impropriety and imprudence are venial, forgivable sins—especially because they were not accompanied by the intention or desire to do anything wrong. Whoever, upon recognizing them in themselves, condemns them with disgust will be forgiven for them. In general, any minor wrongdoing committed without awareness of its wrongfulness is a forgivable sin. The wrongfulness of such acts and their proximity to mortal sin increase in proportion to the awareness of their wrongfulness at the time they are committed. This is especially true of indifferent matters, when they are performed neither with a bad intention nor with a good one, but simply in their natural course. In the latter case, they may derive their wickedness from the effect they have on a person’s soul; for example, a walk may cause distraction in one’s thoughts and stir up lustful desires. Whoever notices that it has a harmful effect on him and realizes at the same time that for this very reason he is obliged to stop it, yet does not stop, is obviously—albeit slightly—offending his conscience and disturbing its peace and purity. It is evident that this kind of sin has already strayed from the non-mortal and come very close to the mortal, and frequent repetition will indeed turn it into such a sin. For more than anything else, the life of the spirit withers away from distractions.

That is why it is generally prescribed to flee, as much as possible, from both venial and mortal sins, all the more so from the moment their sinfulness is recognized. Whoever sincerely loves God must not allow the purity of his heart to be defiled in His sight by some trivial and empty habit. Moreover, even small sins accustom us to sinfulness and thus pave the way for greater sins. “He who despises small things will fall little by little” (Sir. 19:1). We must also consider whether we are deceiving ourselves into thinking that this is a small sin; perhaps, in essence, it is great and evil!

From this examination of sinful deeds, everyone can understand how we walk in the midst of snares! Let us cry out: Deliver us from those who seek to ensnare us!

b) On sin as a disposition

b) On Sin as a Disposition

A sinful disposition, otherwise known as a sinful inclination or passion, is a constant desire to sin in a particular way, or a love for certain sinful acts or objects. For example, distraction is a constant desire for entertainment or a love of it.

Such inclinations or sinful tendencies are of great significance in the moral life. In them lies the strength of evil, just as in virtuous dispositions lies the strength of good. Just as there are strongholds in a state, so there are strongholds in the soul. Through them, sin—or Satan—erects strongholds for itself in hearts and acts safely from them, as if unafraid of the opposing side. Passion in relation to human activity is true spiritual slavery: for through it, a person, as one who is led, is drawn toward evil, even while being aware of his misfortune, even though he no longer desires it. Just as a captive is dragged wherever his captor wishes, so does passion do to the sinner. “Great,” says St. Chrysostom (Homily 7 on 2 Corinthians), “is the torment of habit, for it turns into a true necessity.” “For whoever is overcome by it is its slave” (2 Pet. 2:19). “Whoever commits sin is a slave to sin” (John 8:34). Human nature here suffers complete humiliation at the hands of sin. One person may exercise a little self-control, but then, when the opportunity arises, passion flares up like a fire and draws him back to his usual ways. Another torments himself, suffers, and condemns himself when passion subsides; but as soon as it stirs, he unquestioningly submits to it and willingly surrenders himself into the hands of his tormentor. For yet another, its power reaches such a point that neither persuasion, nor fear, nor shame, nor misfortune, nor even death is strong enough to turn him away from his course. A person enslaved by passion is the most wretched of creatures. If one considers passion in relation to God or its significance in the moral world, it is true spiritual idolatry. As soon as there is passion—or love of sin—its object stands like an idol in the heart, which thereby becomes a temple for it, and everything is willingly and obediently offered up to it at every turn. “You cannot serve both God and mammon,” said the Lord (Matt. 6:24). For those whose hearts are attached to sin, that sin is their god. Therefore, for the glutton, “the belly is god” (Phil. 3:19), and for the avaricious, it is money (Col. 3:5). Where do passions come from? No one is born with a specific passion. Each of us comes into this world with only the seed of all passions—self-love. This seed then develops through life and free action, growing and blossoming into a great tree whose branches cover all our sinfulness—or the entire realm of sin—because every sin is inevitably already hidden beneath it or hangs from one of its branches. The principal branches of self-love are pride, greed, and sensuality. From these, all other passions are born, though not all of them are equally important. The most notable are fornication, gluttony, envy, sloth, and malice. In terms of their strength, they are equal to the first ones, with which together they constitute the seven principal passions, for they are the instigators of sin and the parents of every other sinful inclination and passion. As for which passions develop from them and how—see “The Orthodox Confession,” Part 3, Questions 18–40.

From this it is evident that all passions are interconnected and mutually generative, just like virtuous dispositions, and possess varying degrees of intensity and sinfulness. There is no doubt that every passion is a grave and mortal sin, for it distances one from God and extinguishes the zeal for a God-pleasing life. However, a passion is all the more evil and criminal the more wicked and immoral its object is, the more substantially it violates one’s duties, and the more deeply ingrained it is.

One must not think that passions arise naturally, of their own accord. Every passion is our own doing. The urges toward one sinful act or another arise from the corruption of our nature; but it is up to our will to satisfy them—especially repeatedly, to the point of habit. Thus, pride is reinforced by frequent pride, sloth by frequent inactivity, envy by frequent envy, quarrelsomeness by frequent quarreling, and so on.

Within the concept of passion, one must distinguish between a disposition of the heart and habitual actions that satisfy that passion. When a person is in a state of established passion, the two are, so to speak, equivalent. But before the passion takes hold—even though the passionate inclination, or the passion itself, is already present in the heart—the habit of corresponding actions may be very weak. On the contrary, when a person reflects inwardly, realizes the danger posed by the passion, and resolves to extinguish it, the passion is already hated, driven out, and pursued by the person; but the habit of actions that satisfy the passion—toward which the parts and powers of the soul and body are inclined—continues to tempt for a long time, sometimes wringing out satisfaction as if against one’s will, sometimes drawing one in as if irresistibly. That is why one must labor for a long, long time to eradicate an ingrained vice, until the actions and movements of the powers become accustomed to the opposite course.

Entire books could be written about the eradication of passions... Therefore, only a brief mention is made of this here. It is a sign of indecision that someone is reforming their heart if they merely refrain from external actions corresponding to the passion; for even then, passionate love may still lurk within, and consequently, in their heart, this person may remain passionate—uncontrollable. Likewise, a flash of hatred toward the passion and dissatisfaction with oneself for it, along with pondering and second-guessing how to wean oneself from the passion and overcome it, is a tentative sign, for this state is fleeting: it will pass, and the heart will once again come to terms with the passion. But if, from this very moment of indignation toward passion, one forms a firm and resolute intention to combat it and, sparing no effort, begins to eradicate it, then such a drive against passion is the true beginning of reform; and the success of reform depends on the constancy and steadfastness of one’s intention and actions against passion, for the end crowns the endeavor. A good beginning is half the battle, but the other half is accomplished only at the end of the journey that has been begun; or rather, until the very end of his life, a passionate person who is reforming himself must consider that he has done only half the work or has only just begun. One sometimes quickly weans oneself from passionate deeds, but since the powers of the soul are more agile than the physical members of the body, it is generally not advisable to believe that a passion has been extinguished, as if it no longer exists or has died. At all times, it is better to compare it to a coiled snake, ready to strike at any opportune moment, or to a seemingly dead insect that easily comes back to life under favorable circumstances. Therefore, one must be vigilant and pray! There is, however, a considerable difference in this regard between people who are advanced in virtue—namely, those who were not previously enslaved by passions—and those who were enslaved by them but have reformed. What is appropriate for some may not always be acceptable to others. The former can act with greater freedom, while the latter must always proceed as if walking near a fire. This resolves the puzzlement: how is it that some saints allowed themselves certain indulgences and comforts? Why, then, is such strictness necessary for us?! Because they were whole, while we were broken. Just as those who have had a limb dislocated are not allowed to move freely once it has been set, but are required to exercise extreme caution; so too, those who have fallen into passions and have reformed need strict prudence throughout their lives.

The question arises: what are we to think of certain sensual habits regarding various things and activities—that is, habits of satisfying the needs of the body and the senses in a known, specific way, such as a habit of eating certain foods, a preference for a particular color, and so on? As for love of the sensual, this is impurity; but when its object is an indifferent thing—and, especially, one that does not entail disturbance of the spirit or of a pious state—then this is an excusable matter, that which was previously called a non-mortal sin, a minor and forgivable one. True, however, zealots for piety, having dedicated their hearts to God, immediately notice that, though small, these empty habits are nonetheless an obstacle to everything—just as a long robe hinders one from walking quickly—and therefore they strive to free their hearts from them as well, so that just as these habits are indifferent, so too may the heart be indifferent toward them. Whatever the habit may be, it is still a bondage. Anyone who is inattentive is a slave to passions and habits. When coming to one’s senses, one must, of course, direct all one’s attention and care toward the passions, for in them lies the seat of sin. But in overcoming them, one must also renounce habits, so that, like a free dove, one may soar and rest in the One All-Blessed and All-Blessing God.

And so one ought to pray: “Create in me a clean heart, O God!” and work out one’s salvation with fear and trembling! God alone knows what the coming day will bring. But our consolation is that the Lord is near to all who call upon Him in truth.

c) On sin as a state, or a sinful disposition

A sinful disposition of the spirit is easily defined by contrast with the disposition of a virtuous spirit, as described earlier. Thus, in it there is no longing for the Divine; it feels no sweetness in Him and does not even hope for any, while some even turn away from Him and flee; there is no strength: “I often wish to,” he says, “but I cannot bring myself to do it”; there is no communion with God: he has turned his eyes away from God and not only does he not look upon Him, but he does not even want to look upon Him and is even afraid to do so. His inner sense and conscience assure him that he has fallen away from God and is turning away from Him; instead of a desire to walk in God’s will, he has self-will, or he has chosen his own will as the starting point for his actions, doing whatever he pleases; instead of expecting heavenly help, he relies on self-confidence, or generally on the earthly resources at his disposal: wealth, patronage, and so on; he has no need for protection from the faith or the Church of Christ. Christ and the Holy Church become, and are, something extraneous to him—not entirely necessary, if not superfluous. The principal traits among these, however, are living according to one’s own will with aversion toward God or indifference toward Him and His law. The other traits cluster around this one and develop from it. However, depending on the circumstances, in one person one trait may stand out above the others, while in another a different trait may be more evident and more pernicious. Likewise, depending on the strength of each of these elements, the sinful state itself becomes more or less persistent and depraved—all of this in contrast to a good disposition of the spirit. And the criteria for determining the degrees of sinfulness are immediately apparent from this contrast, namely: the more eagerly one pursues the lusts of one’s will, the greater the number of sinful deeds one takes upon oneself, the more persistent one is in overcoming external and internal obstacles—especially those arising from the exhortations of others and the promptings of conscience—and the more depraved one’s goals are in committing sins, the worse, more wicked, and more dangerous the sinful disposition becomes. All this increases in proportion to the extent to which a person has received more gifts and blessings—and especially tasted the grace of Christ—has experienced more external and internal stirrings, and knows more fully and clearly the order of the moral life, both good and evil.

Finally, the relationship between a sinful state, a passionate disposition, and a sinful act in sin is exactly the same as that between virtue and its corresponding good aspects. One who has turned away from God of his own free will by frequently repeating the same sinful acts entrenches a fondness for them in his heart. The only difference is that the virtuous person struggles against passions and a reluctance to do good, while the sinner struggles against his conscience, which accuses him of sinning and urges him to come to his senses. The remnants of goodness resist sin—this evil that enters the heart; the corrupted will cuts down goodness in order to establish evil. How this unfortunate and disastrous struggle of man against himself leads to his own ruin is partly depicted by the Lord in the parable of the prodigal son. Here we see how, from a single simple—and seemingly plausible—thought, not cast out in its time, a wicked desire takes root in the heart and a will of its own is formed, and how one deed follows another until the point of complete corruption is reached. Just as a stone cast down a mountainside comes to rest at the very bottom of its abyss.

d) The Stages of a Sinful Life

Just as there are stages in a truly Christian life, so too are there stages in a sinful life. The Word of God generally says of the sinner that, as he “goes from bad to worse” (2 Tim. 3:13), he “finally sinks into the depths of evil” (Prov. 18:3); the degrees of descent into this abyss are also indicated; for example, he “is sick with iniquity, conceives evil, and gives birth to lawlessness” (Ps. 7:15); or, more clearly, in contrast to the man blessed in the first psalm, he follows the “counsel of the wicked,” stands in the “way of sinners,” and finally sits in the “seat of the scoffers” (Ps. 1:1). These last expressions can be taken as characteristic features of the stages of sin. There are three of them as well: infancy, youth, and maturity. In the first, the sinner has only just begun to sin; in the second, he has remained in it; in the third, he has become the ruler in its realm.

Infancy. This is the period when a sinful life is taking shape, not yet settled in its forms, still wavering; a time of struggle between the remnants of inner goodness and light and the encroaching evil and darkness. Here, a person who indulges in sin still thinks he can break away from it; “Just a little longer,” he tells himself, “and I’ll give it up.” Sin still seems to him, as it were, a joke, or he engages in it like a child playing with a toy; he merely appears to be absent-minded and reckless. But in this delusion, in this state of confusion, the foundations for the sinner’s future dreadful condition are invisibly laid. The first features, the first outlines of it are laid down at the very first moment of separation from God. When this light, this life, and this strength are hidden from a person—or when a person hides himself from them—the mind begins to grow dim, the will becomes lax and indifferent, and the heart grows callous and insensitive; all of this often compels a person to say to himself: “No, I will stop.” But time passes, and evil grows. Truths are stolen from the mind one by one; a person no longer understands much, even of what was once clear; much cannot be retained in the mind due to its weight and the inability to comprehend it at this time; finally, they become completely blinded: they do not see God or divine things, do not understand the true order of things, neither their true relationships, nor their condition, nor what they once were, nor what they have now become, nor what will become of them... they enter into darkness and walk in darkness (see St. Tikhon, “The Blinded Man,” ch. 5). The will, prompted by conscience, still occasionally rejoices and embraces concern for a person’s salvation... sometimes he strains, rebels, refrains from one action or another in the hope of fully recovering, but then falls again, and the more he falls, the weaker he becomes. Previous attempts to stop and refrain from wrongdoing are effectively transformed into mere fruitless intentions, and from intentions—into cold thoughts of reform; finally, even this disappears. The sinner, as it were, shrugs his shoulders: so be it, let it go on; perhaps it will stop on its own somehow! And he begins to live as life goes, indulging in vicious desires, refraining from overt acts when necessary, untroubled by either threats or promises, unconcerned even by the obvious corruption of soul and body. Sin is a disease and a sore. It torments the soul intensely after the first experience. But time smooths everything over. The second experience is more bearable, the third even more so, and so on. Finally, the soul becomes numb, just as a part of the body becomes numb from frequent friction against it. There used to be fears and terrors, and thunder was ready to burst forth from the heavens, and people seemed to want to pursue the criminal; shame gave no peace and would not allow one to show one’s face in public; but now, finally, everything is fine! A person boldly and fearlessly continues to sin, unable even to understand where such anxieties came from in the first place. When blindness, indifference, and insensitivity have thus taken root, it is evident that the sinner has settled into the path of the wicked. All righteous rebellions have subsided... He remains in sin calmly, without embarrassment or anxiety... Here he enters the period of youth.

Youth. This is a period of dwelling in sin or standing on the path of sinners in blindness, insensitivity, and apathy. The higher powers of the human spirit are struck by a lethargic slumber, while the forces of sin have prevailed over them and, as it were, revel in this tranquility. At first, this is, as it were, a point of indifference. But from this point begins the subjugation of the human person to sin. One by one, the person’s powers are brought to the foot of sin and worship it, accepting or acknowledging its kingly authority over themselves and becoming its agents. The mind worships and embraces the principles of unbelief; the will worships and indulges in debauchery; the heart worships and is filled with timidity and fear of sin and the sinful principle. The sinner does not sleep all the time; sometimes he awakens. At such times, he would like to leave everything behind, but he is afraid to begin this task because of a certain inexplicable timidity that defies explanation. Thus, man is so intimidated by the tyranny of sin that he does not even dare to think of rebelling against it. Here is evidence of how deeply the strength of the spirit falls through sin, and to what extent this shameful slavery degrades the noble countenance of a human being! At first, the mind merely fails to see or loses all that is true, but as time goes on, falsehood takes the place of truth within it. It all begins here with doubt or simple questions: Why is it this way? Wouldn’t it be better this way, or that way? At first, these questions are ignored, casting only a faint shadow—like a spider’s web—over the heart; but as they draw closer to it, they become one with it and turn into a feeling; the feeling of doubt is the seed of unbelief. People begin to speak freely, then to make sharp remarks, and finally to despise and reject all that is divine and holy. This is unbelief! And the will slumbers in carelessness, acting according to evil principles without even noticing how they are supplanting the good ones. It may remain calm, without sharply expressing its inner corruption, but where it begins to be disturbed, where they seek to compel it to act according to different principles, there it expresses all the obstinacy of its nature, respecting neither the obviousness of convictions nor even extremes: it goes against everything, setting itself as the supreme rule for all things. Whether it is the law of conscience or positive laws that suggest this to her, she says: “Go away; I do not wish to know such ways”; and this is due to nothing other than the corruption of her character. Thus, the sinner—who, intimidated by fear, dares not rebel against sin; who, through unbelief, has accepted the principles of falsehood; and who, by his own will, has adopted rules of depravity—proves himself reliable enough to be elevated to certain positions of authority in the kingdom of sin. Such a person is seated on the throne of the destroyers. He has reached manhood to oversee a portion of the affairs of the sinful kingdom.

Manhood. This is a period of independent, persistent action in favor of sin and against all that is good, leading a person to the brink of ruin. The degrees of his downfall are determined by the degrees of his opposition to light and goodness. For even as he lives in this way, his conscience does not cease to trouble him. But, having embraced other principles, he does not listen and goes against it. Sometimes he merely ignores this voice, in a state of impenitence; sometimes he rejects it and arms himself against it, in a state of hard-heartedness; and sometimes he consciously condemns himself to ruin, in a state of despair. This is the end to which sin, which he has come to love, ultimately leads the sinner.

Thus, the three stages of sin yield nine states. To these can be added three more states of the sinner’s imperfect conversion—or an incomplete and immature conversion—namely: the state of slavery, when, out of fear of God’s punishments and threats, one refrains from more serious sins while not being ashamed to harbor evil passions and thoughts; self-deception, in which one considers oneself perfect based on only tentative and initial acts of goodness; and hypocrisy, in which one stops at mere outward acts of piety and bases one’s hope on them. Thus, there are twelve sinful states in all, outside the path of righteousness.

Most people are mired in the first three and the last three. But there are quite a few in the second and third categories as well. As a consolation to our sinful race, it must be said that as long as a person is in this life, no matter what sins he commits, he always has the opportunity to return to the merciful God, who has compassion on those who repent. Human nature is so good and kind that, despite all his wrongdoings, a person cannot completely corrupt it here. Yet as long as he remains unrepentant, hardened, and despairing, he cannot be forgiven; and if he does not change this disposition, if he does not begin to weep and hope, he will go to his grave in this state and perish eternally. The devil is the cause of all evil. If it were not for him, there would be no one who despaired. But he first insists: “God is merciful”; and when a person has sinned greatly and resolves to repent, he terrifies him with the fear of God’s terrible justice. But who can describe all of Satan’s cunning and malice, and the snares with which he entangles the sinners who yield to him? The sinner who has come to his senses is horrified and cannot understand how he could have done this or that, even though it had previously seemed so easy to him. A person always sins in a state of self-forgetfulness.

How great is the evil of sin! Sin offends the boundless majesty of God. By despising the law, we despise the Lawgiver Himself and offend Him. This should not be understood to mean that this offense disturbs God’s all-bliss, for He is beyond any contact with creation, but rather that, on our part, everything is already done to offend His boundless majesty—just as a common citizen, though the king’s majesty remains inviolable, offends him by his actions. In this respect, sin is an infinitely great evil. But justice demands that the offense be atoned for. The atonement must be equal to the offense. For an infinitely great offense, an infinitely great atonement must be offered. And herein lies the tragedy! While a person has the capacity to commit an infinite offense, he lacks the capacity to provide adequate satisfaction for it. A person is left to remain eternally guilty and, consequently, to bear eternal punishment. Such is the case with both the first sin and all subsequent ones. Every time a person sins, he plunges himself into infinite evil.

As for the Christian, the apostle writes that by sinning after baptism, he “crucifies the Son of God a second time” (Heb. 6:6), tramples on the blood of the Covenant, and joins the ranks of the crucifiers who cried out, “His blood be on us and on our children!”

Having separated himself from God and Christ, man, through sin, joins Satan’s horde and becomes a stronghold for him, from which he wages war against God, mocking His boundless mercy—and the blindness and folly of the Christian. “God gave His only-begotten Son,” says Satan, “but I already know how to control people.” Later, at the judgment, he will lay all the blame on the person himself and even increase it, so as to hasten his descent into hell. And what does sin do to a person? It perverts him and, as if plunging him into some kind of darkness—into the delusions of fantasy, the vanity of desires, and the disorder of the heart’s emotions—it whirls him about his entire life, not allowing him to come to his senses. Meanwhile, the torment of the passions consumes both soul and body. The sinner is a perishable being.

Judging by this finality and by the ugliness of sin, the sinner ought to begin to suffer in every way even here on earth. But by God’s providence, this does not happen. The sinner often rejoices and revels in earthly happiness, as much as he is able or as much as God permits—partly as a reward for some good deeds, partly as a lesson. But beneath this visible happiness always lies a ceaseless brokenness of spirit, at times only temporarily drowned out by sensual delight, and even then not entirely. A sinner is always gloomy and seems to be afraid of something.

Demons come to the unrepentant dying sinner, tear out his soul, and cast it into a place of darkness until the Second Coming. Here the spirit alone is tormented for the time being, but when, at the Second Coming, it is reunited with the body, it will suffer with the body for endless ages, and those torments cannot be described. We now have a general outline of Christian virtue and non-Christian sin. This is sufficient to understand how good the former is and how evil the latter is. But this will become even more evident when it is described in detail how a Christian virtuous life—and the life opposed to it—is imprinted upon the entire being of a person and in all the exercises of his faculties. Here we can see most clearly what divine grace produces in a person through their submission to the instructions of God’s Word, and what happens to a person when, left to their own devices, they follow the promptings of their own will and self-indulgence—and even more so when they give in to some passion or sin.

III. The Consequences and Fruits of a Good Christian Life and of a Life Opposed to It

The distinctive characteristic of the Christian life is that it is a life of grace. Therefore, its fruits—or its effects on our being—include not merely that which can produce virtue in us in general, but specifically that which produces in us a desire for goodness and a willingness to labor; therefore, Divine grace, as well as the non-Christian life opposed to it, is distinguished not only by the fact that it produces sin in a person, but also by what happens to that person as a result of losing or failing to accept Divine grace. To avoid confusion, the two will be distinguished here by the corresponding terms: Christian—non-Christian; one who is in grace—one who is without grace; one who is zealous for the Christian life—one who is enslaved to sin and passions.

8. In what ways does the Word of God describe the true Christian and the non-Christian?

If we gather all the passages of Scripture pertaining to this, we will find in them answers to the following questions: What is the nature of each life in terms of its origin, its actions, its general spirit, the community in which it develops, and its ultimate fate?

A person outside of Christianity, or one who remains in sin, is by nature descended from the first, fallen Adam, and is considered, in terms of his inner, moral qualities, to be entirely like him—that is, to be in a state of separation from God. Being, thus, a true expression of him, such a person is also called “the old man,” as if existing for as long as the human race itself, or containing nothing new within himself, just as all have been from of old. The Apostle writes that we “put on the image of the earthly” (1 Cor. 15:49) at birth, and if we do not “put off… this old self” (Eph. 4:22), we will forever remain just as the “earthly” is (1 Cor. 15:47).

The actions of this likeness of Adam, as the old man, are predominantly sinful. He “has a disposition toward evil from his youth” (Gen. 8:21), because he is “conceived in iniquity and born in sin” (Ps. 50:7), and is even “sold under sin” (Rom. 7:14). This sinful power, which entered him at birth, reigns in him with irresistible force, living as its master (Rom. 7:20, 7:23); so that the whole being of man, with all his members, is nothing other than “the body of sin,” and his powers are “instruments of unrighteousness” (Rom. 6:12–13). Therefore, “his eyes are full of adultery and unceasing sin” (2 Pet. 2:14); “his throat is an open grave” (Rom. 3:13); he is “uncircumcised in heart and ears; … his feet run to evil, and he is quick to shed blood” (Acts 7:51; Isa. 59:7).

Such a foundation of inner life points to a different origin in the spirit, namely, from the devil. For “the devil sinned first,” and only then did all people sin; they are sinners solely because of the devil, which is why they are called “his children” (1 John 3:8, 3:10), “the seed of the serpent” (Gen. 3:15), or, to put it plainly, “serpents, brood of vipers” (Matt. 3:7; Luke 3:7; Matt. 23:33), and “the devil is their father” (John 8:44). By virtue of this kinship with the devil, they are the true heirs of his spirit—the spirit of godlessness, enmity toward God, and open and secret opposition to Him. Everything holy and divine is generally distasteful to them all, and to some it is even repulsive. They say to God: “Depart from us,” or, “I do not know the Most High God” (Pharaoh); they “do not receive the Spirit of God” (John 14:17), and they “hate” and persecute God’s people (John 15:19).

The entire collection of such people—the devil’s offspring, filled with a spirit of opposition to God—constitutes the “realm of Satan,” a place of darkness (Acts 26:18), in which he dwells, possessing his own “depths” (Rev. 2:24), or throne, and as the “ruler of this world” and the “god of this age” (2 Cor. 4:4; John 12:31), he rules over all through “the rulers of the darkness of this age, the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly realms” (Eph. 6:12). This realm is “the world that lies in wickedness” (1 John 5:19), filled with “impurity” (2 Pet. 2:20), wallowing “in lusts” (2 Pet. 1:4), “blinded” (2 Cor. 4:4), and in its blindness raging and persecuting all that is holy, all the saints, and those who are zealous for holiness; the world, whose very love is “enmity against God,” and whose friend is “an enemy of God” (James 4:4). The spirit of blindness and stubborn rage is none other than the “spirit of the world” or Satan (1 Cor. 2:12).

How pitiful is the fate of these people! It is the same as that of the world and Satan. Being “by nature children of wrath” (Eph. 2:3), they then, throughout their lives, “are storing up wrath for themselves on the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God” (Rom. 2:5); “their end is destruction” (Phil. 3:19), and “darkness is reserved for them forever” (2 Pet. 2:9, 2:17; Jude 1:13).

None of these will be saved except through conversion and repentance, by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, through the work of gracious regeneration. “Whoever believes in the Lord is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is already condemned, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God” (John 3:18). “Unless one is born from above, he cannot see the Kingdom of God” (John 3:3). “Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life, but whoever does not believe in the Son will not see life, but the wrath of God remains on him” (John 3:36).

In a person who has truly begun a Christian life and prospered in it, all these aspects are completely opposite.

Thus, “he is born from above” and in a completely new way—that is, by water and the Spirit (John 3:3)—through union with Christ, the one true source of truly human life, and through “being clothed in the image of this heavenly” Man, the new Adam, the new progenitor of true human beings (1 Cor. 15:49), which is why he is called “the new man,” having put off the old self (Eph. 4:24), a new creation in Christ Jesus (2 Cor. 5:1–7).

Born “not of the will of the flesh, but of God… he receives the right to be a child of God” (John 1:12–13) through the Lord Jesus Christ, who truly took on flesh and blood and makes believers “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet. 1:4), who, because “they are led by His Spirit, are sons” (Rom. 8:14), “having received the Spirit of adoption, by whom they cry out: ‘ , Abba, Father’” (Rom. 8:15)—and who “attests to the Spirit” within them that they are sons (Rom. 8:16). In the awareness of this sonship, they enjoy God’s favor, are filled with love for God, and out of love are zealous for His glory. All that is divine is, as it were, their own.

By this origin within them, both the spirit of life and their very deeds are holy and divine. Even before the foundation of the world, they were predestined to be holy and blameless in love (Eph. 1:6), and when the time had come, “created in Christ Jesus for good works, … that they might walk in them” (Eph. 2:10); and indeed, they “walk in newness of life,” in the likeness of the radiance of the risen Lord (Rom. 6:4), as “zealots for good works” (Titus 2:14). For just as the root is holy, so too is that which is grafted onto it, “by Him who called… the Holy One” (1 Pet. 1:15).

Yet all these together constitute a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession—to “proclaim the excellencies of him who called them out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Pet. 2:9); all “are being built into a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Pet. 2:5), “being built together into a dwelling place of God in the Spirit, … into the holy Church in the Lord” (Eph. 2:21, 2:22); “From Him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work according to the measure of its ability” (Eph. 4:16), and in this way they form the body of the Church, of which Christ is the head—“the fullness of Him who fills all in all” (Eph. 1:23)—and they are “members of His body, of His flesh and of His bones” (Eph. 5:30; Col. 2:19).

Such people, both collectively and individually, while still here under God’s special favor, are set apart for high rewards in the future. “If God is for us,” the apostle exclaims, “who can be against us? Who will bring a charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies” (Rom. 8:31, 8:33). This is true here, and in the future they, as children, are “heirs—heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ.” The glory and greatness of this inheritance are so high that “all creation eagerly awaits” it (Rom. 8:17, 8:19). Since each of them is a son, he must already be “an heir of God through Jesus Christ” (Gal. 4:7). Therefore, their “citizenship is in heaven, from where they also await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like His glorious body” (Phil. 3:20–21). In appearance they are strangers and sojourners, but in reality they are fellow citizens with the saints and members of God’s household. They are here only for a time; their true homeland, where they are registered as citizens, is not here but in heaven.

How bleak is the condition of the former, and how comforting is that of the latter! Of course, there are different degrees on both sides; but to a greater or lesser extent, everything described here applies to every degree. Some may be horrified by how bleakly sinners are portrayed; but what can be done? This bleak picture of them was not drawn by human hands, but by the infallible Word of God. The further we go, the more this general description of both sides will be vindicated.

9. The Condition of the Constituent Parts of Human Nature, Its Essential Qualities, and Powers in a True Christian and a Sinful Person

The contrast mentioned earlier between people who live according to the Spirit of Christ, under the influence of God’s grace, and people who are alien to this Spirit and reject grace will become even more evident when we examine the general structure of the whole of human nature and its principal properties, as well as the state of its powers and abilities.

The general structure of human nature is determined by the combination of its various powers and abilities and the various parts of its composition. Thus, the entire diversity of our conscious inner activities boils down to three fundamental principles, or powers: the cognitive, the volitional, and the affective. Yet all these forces are concentrated and converge in our being, in our personality, in that which speaks within us: the “I,” which is the fusion and indivisible unity of all forces. They are centered in it and emanate from it, as from a focal point.

Furthermore, the fact that knowledge, desires, and sensations exist within us not only at different levels but even in opposite directions leads us—among other reasons—to recognize three parts in the human being: the spirit, the soul, and the body. The nature of the first is detachment from the sensory realm; that of the last is immersion in it; and that of the middle is the union of both. The purpose and function of the first is communion with God and the spiritual world; that of the last is mediation in relation to the sensory world; the middle part must ascend from the sensory, through the spirit, to God and become spiritualized, and from God, through the spirit, bring that spiritualization down to the sensory. These parts do not lie one beside the other within us, but all of them, just like our faculties, converge in our person (I); they are attributed to it and serve as its constant means. The human person (I) is the unity of spirit, soul, and body.

One of the essential properties of a human being is that he is endowed with consciousness, can speak of himself—I—or is a person. This is the property by which a person, affirming his own existence and the existence of things outside himself, distinguishes them from himself and himself from them; he speaks of himself as “I” rather than “they,” and of those things as “they” rather than “I.” It is called self-consciousness when it turns inward, exclusively toward itself. In this turning inward, it can again distinguish itself from its own actions, or its existence from that which proceeds from it, rising, as it were, above both. Moreover, since foreign, external forces may act upon our existence, by being conscious of its own existence, it may perceive itself not as itself, but as another person (as in the case of the possessed).

Rational and free autonomy. Autonomy belongs to a being that is not a manifestation of another being, but is itself the source of all manifestations emanating from it. There are many such autonomous beings (substances). The distinctive feature of human autonomy lies in the fact that a person not only performs actions but also perceives them; not only perceives them but also directs them according to his own judgment and reason. This feature is synonymous with rational freedom.

Vitality. A human being is a living entity. There are inanimate forces, such as electricity and magnetism. At every moment, they are exactly what they ought to be; they do not develop. At the moment of conception, a human being is not yet what he is meant to be, but develops, takes shape, grows, and flourishes. And a plant, at first, in the seed, is only a potential future plant; it becomes an actual plant by taking in foreign elements and assimilating them. The growth of a person’s spiritual nature proceeds in a different manner. It matures through the diversity of its own productions: thoughts, feelings, desires, and deeds, which, turning inward, settle, as it were, within it and constitute its nourishment or the element of its growth. Therefore, the nature of its life can always be determined by the nature of its actions. The most distinctive feature of human life, however, is immortality, which presupposes the human being’s infinite capacity for perfection.

The question now arises: what is the relationship between the constituent parts of the human being, his abilities, and his essential properties—both before a person begins to live a Christian life and after he resolves to do so and becomes steadfast in it?

The natural relationship among the constituent parts of a human being must be, according to the law of the subordination of the lesser to the greater and the weaker to the stronger, as follows: the body must be subordinate to the soul, the soul to the spirit, and the spirit, by its very nature, must be immersed in God. A human being must abide in God with his entire being and consciousness. In this, the spirit’s power over the soul depends on the Divinity inherent in it, while the soul’s power over the body depends on the spirit that possesses it. Upon falling away from God, confusion arose—and was bound to arise—in the entire composition of man: the spirit, having distanced itself from God, lost its power and became subject to the soul; the soul, not being elevated by the spirit, became subject to the body. Man, with his entire being and consciousness, has become mired in sensuality. Before receiving new life in the Lord Jesus Christ, man finds himself precisely in this state of a perverted relationship among the constituent parts of his being, which is likened to a telescope when its parts are nested one inside the other.

Thus, the Word of God, speaking of sinners who have forgotten God, almost always refers to them as “fleshly,” rarely as “soulful,” and not only does it not call them “spiritual,” but it even regards them as the opposite of such.

Even regarding the first pre-Flood world, God said: “My Spirit shall not always strive with man, for he is flesh” (Gen. 6:3). It is clear that devotion to the flesh extinguishes the spirit and leads to alienation from God. The prophet David says: “The man who is in his glory does not understand; he is like senseless cattle and becomes like them” (Ps. 48:13); that is, he replaced the glory of godlikeness, reflected in his spirit, with bestiality by yielding to the flesh. The Apostle Paul, speaking of the condition of people before they received grace in Christianity, says that at that time they were “in the flesh, so that the sinful passions were at work within them” (Rom. 7:5), living “in the lusts of the flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind” (Eph. 2:3), or, as the Apostle Peter says, “followed the carnal lusts of corruption” (2 Pet. 2:10). The Apostle Jude directly calls the unfaithful “those who are carnal, having no spirit ” (Jude 1:19). And in general, in the Word of God, all evil is attributed to the flesh. “Those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh… but the mind set on the flesh is death and enmity against God” (Rom. 8:5, 8:7); those who are subject to it “cannot please God” (Rom. 8:8), which is why “they will reap corruption from the flesh” (Gal. 6:8).

As for the soul in a person who has not received grace or has lost it, it stands like a cloud between the person and God, cutting off communion between them. One who is predominantly enslaved by it—or “is a person of the soul—does not accept the things of the Spirit of God” (1 Cor. 2:14). The predominance of the soul, just like the predominance of the body, is a denial of life according to the Spirit. The Holy Apostle James, after listing the passions that satisfy and drive a person who does not receive the Spirit of God, adds with great precision: “Such wisdom is not... from God, but is earthly, emotional, and demonic” (James 3:15). The terms “emotional,” “earthly,” and “not of God” are synonymous...

Where, then, is the spirit in such people? It is within them; but, being subject to the soul and the body, it is stifled and hardly functions at all in the way proper to it. Its presence in them can be recognized, on the one hand, by the boundlessness of certain emotional and sensual desires that are, by their very nature, foreign to the soul and the flesh; on the other hand, by the states these people often experience, in which they detach themselves from the earth in defiance of the demands of the soul and the flesh. In the latter case, the spirit attempts, as it were, to assert its rights. The pangs of conscience, the fear of the Judge—God—and constant anguish—these are the essence of its influence on the soul, its groans echoing in the soul’s consciousness. Thus, in sensual and emotional people, the spirit smolders like a spark beneath the ashes. Stir it up—or, better yet, do not prevent it from being stirred up—by “the Word of God, …which pierces… even to the division of soul and spirit” (Heb. 4:12), and it will manifest itself in all its strength and power.

But in a person who has clung to the Lord Jesus Christ and received His grace, all this is different. As befits a servant of Christ, he has “crucified the flesh with its passions and desires” (Gal. 5:24). From the very first moment, when he merely resolves to serve the Lord, he has already committed himself to self-denial, and thereafter he continually “walks not according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit” (Rom. 8:1, 8:4), “putting to death the deeds of the flesh by the Spirit” (Rom. 8:13). He is, as it were, “not in the flesh but in the Spirit… and is not obligated to the flesh to live according to the flesh” (Rom. 8:9, 18:2).

By receiving the word, “which penetrates… even to the division of soul and spirit” (Heb. 4:12), he takes the soul under his control and offers it as a sacrifice to God (Matt. 10:39), begins to “purge himself from… the desires that wage war against the soul” (1 Pet. 2:11), to subject it to “the word that is able to save” (James 1:21), and in this way transforms it entirely, edifies it in the Spirit through “faith or obedience to the truth” (1 Pet. 1:22; Jude 1:20), trains it to devote... itself to good deeds” (1 Pet. 4:19), and “circumcises its heart by the Spirit” (Rom. 2:29), and causes it to do everything that is pleasing to God, “so that whatever it does, it does wholeheartedly,” which it did not want to do before (Col. 3:23). By serving God in this way “with all her soul” and “from the heart” (Eph. 6:6; Matt. 22:37), he finds rest for his soul (Matt. 11:29), beholding “the end of faith…—the salvation of the soul” (1 Pet. 1:9), which he “held fast as an anchor for his soul” (Heb. 6:19).

Consequently, his spiritual life completely absorbs his physical and emotional life. He “glorifies God in his spirit and in his body” (1 Cor. 6:20); everything in him is produced in the spirit and by the spirit; he serves God and works by the spirit and “in the renewal of the spirit” (Rom. 1:9, 7:6; Phil. 3:3); he is diligent and not slothful because he is “on fire with the Spirit” (Rom. 12:11); “walks by the Spirit and does not gratify the desires of the flesh” (Gal. 5:16); “sows in the Spirit” (Gal. 6:8); “is filled with the Spirit” (Eph. 5:18); and submits himself in spirit to “hearing the truth” (1 Pet. 1:22).

Why is this so? A Christian “walks by the Spirit because he lives by the Spirit” (Gal. 5:25), because “the Spirit of God dwells in him” (Rom. 8:9; 1 Cor. 3:16); because he has become a temple of the Holy Spirit who dwells in him, “filled with the Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:13; 1 Cor. 3:16; Eph. 2:22). This Spirit, having come through the Word, which separated the soul from the spirit, freed the latter from the carnal bonds that constrained it, for “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Cor. 3:17), and thereby laid the foundation for a new, spiritually blessed life (Rom. 8:23). With such a “spiritual betrothal” (2 Cor. 1:22), the “inner person of the heart” then matures “in the incorruptibility of a gentle and quiet spirit” (1 Pet. 3:4). The Christian is increasingly established by the Spirit of God—“in the inner man”; Christ dwells in his heart through faith, rooted and grounded in love (Eph. 3:16), for “whoever is joined to the Lord is one spirit with the Lord” (1 Cor. 6:17); which is why “he seeks the things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God; he sets his mind on things above, not on earthly things… and his life is hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:1–3).

From this it is evident that a true Christian and a non-Christian—or a false Christian—are opposites in terms of the constituent parts of the human being. What is first for one is last for the other. For one, the spirit is first; for the other, it is stifled; for one, the flesh is first; for the other, it is denied, suppressed, crucified, and put to death. The middle part—the soul—is obviously subject to the dominant element: for one, the spirit; for the other, the body. Therefore, the true relationship of the parts of the human being—“the perfect… spirit, soul, and body” (1 Thess. 5:23)—exists only in those who have become Christ’s. In them, consequently, lies the truth of human existence; outside of Christianity, however, there is not truth but falsehood—as it were, a phantom of a human being.

Let no one take these words as harsh. I pity certain pagans, so highly regarded, and certain so-called Christians who have rejected this truth, though they too are not without notable virtues. But bear with me. As we proceed, the truth we are presenting will become clearer and clearer: that truly human life can in fact be seen only in Christianity, in those who are united with Christ and receive His Spirit.

Now, regarding the general state and relationship of the forces acting within us. These forces, emanating from our consciousness or self (I) and returning to it, must remain in mutual connection and harmony with one another, under the guidance of their imperfect principle. Interpenetration and mutual support, while dependent on the acting self, constitute their natural state.

But in a sinful person, who has fallen away from God and remains in this fallen state—as experience shows—these forces appear, as it were, to have fallen away from his self, having become to some extent independent of him and acting of their own accord. What, for example, do the common expressions mean: “I would do it, but I don’t feel like it”; or “Let it not be so good, but I really want to”; or “My heart isn’t in it—go ahead with your heart”; or “I would believe, but my reason won’t yield”; “The mind is king in the head—where can I go with my reason?” These and many other expressions mean that these powers have ceased to be under human control, but are either governed by themselves or subject to the influence of an external force. Having fallen away from the person, they have lost their mutual point of connection, and at the same time have ceased to receive mutual assistance from one another and no longer possess what one part usually derives from the others. Thus, the mind is clouded, dreamy, and distracted, because it is not held in check by the heart and is not governed by the will; the will is wayward and heartless because it does not listen to the mind and does not heed the heart; the heart is unrestrained, blind, and indulgent, because it refuses to follow the mind’s guidance and is not sobered by the power of the will. But not only have these powers lost their mutual support; they have also taken on a certain hostile orientation toward one another: one negates the other, as if devouring and consuming it. Therefore, the predominance of the heart is accompanied by weakness of the mind and inconstancy of the will—as if a lack of character; a predominant inclination toward knowledge leads to a weakening of activity or carelessness of the will and insensitivity or coldness of the heart; the predominance of the will is always accompanied by a one-sided, stubborn direction that pays no heed to any arguments; there, the soul listens to no persuasion and is impervious to the stirrings of the heart. Thus, the inner world of the sinful person is filled with self-will, disorder, and destruction. This state is attested to primarily by experience, but one can also find many indications of it in the Word of God, although it depicts not so much the powers of the soul and their condition as the deeds of man—the product of all these powers. In this regard, the following passages are particularly noteworthy.

Thus, in the first chapter of his Epistle to the Romans, the Apostle Paul describes the great confusion and inner disorder found in sinners and the ungodly, attributing it to their falling away from God. “For,” he says, “although they knew God, they did not honor Him as God” (Rom. 1:21)—that is, they despised God, turned away from Him, and rejected Him. The natural consequence of this was that their hearts became blind, their wills wayward, and their minds were led astray by their thoughts (desires), “their foolish hearts were darkened” (Rom. 1:21) and “they became depraved” (Rom. 1:22). This natural consequence was followed by another, as a punishment from God... “God gave them over to the lusts of their hearts” (Rom. 1:24), that is, to the waywardness of the heart, “passions of impurity” (Rom. 1:26), that is, to the stubborn depravity of the will, “to a senseless mind” (Rom. 1:28), that is, to folly, fantasies, and abstractions (depriving them of practical reason).

The same apostle, in his Epistle to the Ephesians (Eph. 4:17–20), refers to pagans or unbelievers as “alienated from the life of God,” here describes the state of their souls, namely that they “walk in the futility of their minds,” that is, in illusory, fantastical mental constructs, and suffer from “a heart of stone,” that is, heartlessness and insensitivity; they have “given themselves over to debauchery,” that is, to the ravings and passions of the will.

A person, however, who has turned to God and united with the Lord Jesus Christ in the Holy Church and been renewed in Him, is portrayed in the Word of God in a completely opposite light. Thus, the Apostle Paul prays for the Ephesians (Eph. 3:16–19), that God may grant them “to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man”—that is, to be granted moral strength of will through union with the Holy Spirit—and that He may cause “Christ to dwell in their hearts through faith”—that is, they may have a heartfelt union with Christ the Savior, “that they may be able to comprehend”—that is, that from this experiential tasting of Christ the Lord they may draw spiritual understanding—and “be filled with all the fullness of God,” that is, from the sum total of all this or from their union with God with all their powers, may the fullness of the inner perfections proper to Christians be formed; or, under this condition, may their inner being be a dwelling place or a vessel that is continually filled with the outpouring of spiritual perfections from God... Apparently, just as in Christ Jesus, the human spirit becomes a vessel that is strong or fortified within itself.

In the same Epistle (Eph. 4:22–24), the apostle describes the essence of Christianity—or the truth about Christ—as follows: “Put off, in regard to your former way of life, the old self, which is corrupted by deceitful desires”—this commands a renewal of the heart; “Be renewed in the spirit of your mind”—here, a change of mind; “and put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness”—here, a transformation of the will! This passage indicates that in a Christian, all the powers of his being are renewed together and simultaneously, and moreover, all in one spirit and in one direction.

In the Epistle to the Philippians, the apostle describes how “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding,” is established in the heart along with the indwelling of “the God of peace” (Phil. 4:7, 4:9). So as not to disturb this peace, he commands them to direct all their thoughts—or, in other words, the actions of all their faculties—toward what is pleasing to God: namely, the mind toward what is true, the will toward what is righteous, and the heart toward what is most lovely. Whatever soul does this becomes capable of being a dwelling place for the God of peace. Note, moreover, that the apostle had previously pointed out all these things pleasing to God to the Philippians, and they understood them, accepted them, and submitted to them—that is, they devoted themselves to them entirely, with all their strength.

This same integration of all one’s powers into a single purpose—as the hallmark of the Christian life—is also indicated in the following passages: Col. 1:9–11—the apostle prays for the Colossians, “that they may be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding, so that they may walk worthy of God in every good work” and so on; Col. 2:1–7—the apostle prays for all, “that the hearts of all who are united in love may be encouraged, and that they may be enriched with the full assurance of understanding, so that they may know the mystery of God the Father and of Christ...” and so on; Col. 3:12–16 – “Clothe yourselves… with the heart of kindness… let the peace of God rule in your hearts… let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom,” etc.; Eph. 5:15–19 – “Be careful how you walk, not as unwise but as wise... do not be foolish, but understand what the will of God is... be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs,” etc.

From these passages, it is evident that in the soul of a true Christian there is absolutely none of the disorder that is inevitable in a person who is not partaker of the Spirit of Christ. All his faculties act in unison, directed toward a single purpose, and are subject to Him as a person—which is why integrity, wholeness, and health are attributed to Him.

In the rules of the holy ascetics regarding how to nourish one’s soul with the truth of God through reverent reflection upon it, it is evident how, in practice, all one’s powers must be united in one. The elders of God usually instruct one to follow this order: focus your attention on a subject of your choice—for example, the presence of God, death, or baptism—and examine it from various angles. In doing so, strive to bring every thought that arises in you to a feeling or to implant it in your heart; for example, from the thought of the nearness of death, give rise to fear or repentance; from the thought of baptismal vows—joy or sorrow, and so on. Conclude every reflection with a set of rules for yourself as they apply to your life and circumstances; for example, “God is everywhere, sees everything, and therefore sees me as well; I will not allow evil thoughts—I would rather die than sin; and in such-and-such a case, I will act in such-and-such a way so as not to offend God, who sees me. In this way, all the powers of the spirit—or the entire fabric of a person’s inner life—are evidently strengthened, and one’s whole life is constantly moving forward and being renewed.

There is another rule that shows how one must keep all the powers of the spirit under control, namely: in the morning, after prayer, sit down and plan what you need to do throughout the day—where to be, what to do, and whom to meet—and, in light of that, determine in advance what to think about, what to say, how to conduct your soul and body, and so on. This means that a true Christian must keep himself in check, must himself govern all the movements of his soul, and must not allow them to occur of their own accord, as if without his knowledge. He must be the master of everything taking place within him, the master of his own powers.

From all that has been said, anyone can see that in a true Christian, all his powers depend on him alone in their activity and do not act of their own accord; that in this activity they act in unison everywhere, without fragmenting or separating from one another, mutually assisting one another and mutually elevating the common life of the spirit, so that it is thereby whole and strong, a worthy vessel for God who dwells and rests within him. In the sinner, however, this is not the case; rather, the opposite is true, as we have seen. He himself does not see this and claims to be whole and healthy, which is precisely his misfortune. But even those who have renounced sin must be vigilant, lest they fall—even temporarily—into the same disarray of powers that afflicts those enslaved to sin... for this, too, is dangerous. Understanding this, let everyone be vigilant.

As the balance of a person’s constituent parts and their principal faculties changes, the essential properties of their person cannot help but change as well, for this person is the center of both the parts and the faculties. Therefore, the state of the latter is directly reflected in the former and determines it, just as it is in turn determined by them.

Among these properties, consciousness occupies the foremost place. It is the property from which all others derive; it is a direct property of the person and, as it were, an interpretation of the person. In its formation, by positing its own existence and the existence of beings outside of itself, it distinguishes itself from them and them from itself. The next condition for the perfection of consciousness—or for its standing in its proper order—is the elevation of our person both above ourselves and above the external world. Where this elevation is lacking, consciousness must be muddled, indefinite, and unaccountable, or approach animal self-awareness.

But regarding a person before he conceives the good intention to live a holy, Christian life, or of a person who is enslaved to sin and passions, it is undoubtedly known that he does not rise above the external world; on the contrary, he is carried away by it, lives within it, as if merging with it—which is why he is called external, living outside himself, having lost himself. He returns to himself only when he turns inward. He regards the prosperity of his external possessions as his own well-being and, conversely, their adversity as his own misfortune. Therefore, the threat of damage or the damage itself to his clothing, home, furniture, location, and so on deeply shocks him and strikes him to the very core.

Nor does he rise above his inner world; just as with external things, he becomes absorbed in the workings of his inner emotions. People usually say: “I was lost in thought,” “I was in a daze,” “I don’t remember what was happening to me or around me...” That is to say, at that moment he was absorbed in the flow of his thoughts, or was beside himself with joy, overcome with grief, or lost his temper… That is to say, he surrendered himself to the movements of his heart; or he loses track of himself in the hustle and bustle of daily life: this is needed, that is needed… That is to say, he ceaselessly drives forward the manifold desires of his will. It is evident that one enslaved by sin has no control over his inner impulses, but is, as it were, confined within them, driven by them, like a soldier confined within a regiment. And this is not for just a single hour, but constantly. Such is the law of his inner life: to be led as one who is led.

Thus, a sinful person cannot possess clear consciousness. It simply does not exist. He walks as if in a fog, as if dazed, spinning as if in a whirlwind. Just as a half-asleep person faintly distinguishes objects from himself and is only half-aware of himself, so too is one enslaved by passions. This phenomenon is very strange: in his pride, he considers no one superior to himself, yet at the same time he is barely aware of himself.

A special aspect of consciousness is self-awareness, or self-knowledge. It is primarily directed inward and distinguishes the self from one’s actions, thereby rising above both. This self-awareness is even weaker in a passionate person deprived of grace. For this requires knowing one’s actions, knowing oneself, and separating oneself from one’s actions.

But in such a person:

– There is insufficient knowledge of one’s own actions. He does not know not only what was done yesterday, but even what was done today or a few hours ago. He is constantly engaged in anxious activity, yet does not know what to do, as if these actions were not his own. This is because he is so carried away by the flow of his own actions that he has no time to look back at himself.

– There is no self-knowledge, for this knowledge consists of knowing one’s own actions and one’s relationship to all else that exists. But he possesses neither the latter nor the former. Therefore, he cannot say— —what he actually means, what awaits him, what state he is in, what his predominant mood is, what his main affliction is, and how to help him.

– That is why there is no distinction between himself and his actions. This is the most dangerous of the deceptions of the sinful person. He considers everything that arises within him to be himself, and stands up for it as if it were himself, as if it were his own life. That is why he does not want to deny himself anything.

Meanwhile, how much is instilled in us from outside by Satan and the world, apart from what arises from the sin living within us—which, too, should not be considered part of ourselves?

For all these reasons and based on experience, we must conclude that the sinner does not know himself properly.

This state of consciousness and self-awareness among sinners who have lost grace and among unbelievers who have not received grace is called sleep, which is why the apostle says to each of them, “Awake, O sleeper” (Eph. 5:14); it is also called blindness, sitting in darkness, and even, quite simply, darkness. Each of these is “blind, dim-sighted, and in a state of forgetfulness” (2 Pet. 1:9). The sinner lives in self-forgetfulness, sees as if through a mist, and even more so—walks as if blind. Therefore, the Savior, as promised, came “to open the eyes of the blind, to free those bound in chains, and to bring out of the dungeon those who sit in darkness...” (Isa. 42:7). The sinner, as if in some dungeon, is imprisoned in the inner darkness of self-ignorance and self-forgetfulness, from which the Savior delivers him. Recalling this blessing, the Apostle Paul says: “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord” (Eph. 5:8); that is, just as before, in the thick darkness within you, nothing was visible, so now everything is visible, by the grace of the Lord.

And indeed, the consciousness of one who lives by grace in Christ is entirely different from that of one who is enslaved to sin and passions. They differ as light differs from darkness. The first act of a sinner’s grace-filled awakening consists in extricating the soul from the mechanisms of its inner and outer life and in rising above its current… Here, therefore, lies the first opportunity for true and complete consciousness. From this moment on, it begins, for a person’s first gaze, under the influence of grace, turns to his essential relationships: it is upon these that the light of grace first falls. Thereafter, having become attentive to himself, he does not descend from this spiritual height. His eye is raised above all that is his own and above all that is connected to him, and he perceives and sees all of this clearly, like a watchman.

This quality of one who has been graced by the Word of God and by the teachings of the ascetics is called vigilance and sobriety. The mechanisms of inner and outer life constantly strive to draw them back into themselves, as into a whirlwind or some abyss; yet they remain steadfast within themselves. The effort to remain within oneself is the feat of sobriety or vigilance, the most important and fundamental in the spiritual life. As one perfects this sober vigilance over oneself, one’s consciousness also rises.

Thus, Christians are commanded to “be sober and watchful, … be sober in prayer” or to be watchful in prayer (1 Pet. 5:8, 4:7) and, in general, to be watchful in every respect: “But you, brothers, are not in darkness, so that the day should overtake you like a thief. For you are all children of light and children of the day; we do not belong to the night or to darkness. Therefore, let us not sleep as others do, but let us stay awake and be sober. For those who sleep, sleep at night... But since we are children of the day, let us be sober, having put on the breastplate of faith and love, and the helmet of the hope of salvation” (1 Thess. 5:4–8). Such vigilance over oneself is commanded of Christians. Consequently, it is inherent in them as a characteristic.

The same is depicted in the rules of the holy ascetics, which is further proof of the Christian’s nature: that he clearly sees himself, all that is his, and everything around him. Thus, the Venerable Philotheos writes: from the morning, one must firmly keep God in mind and, while ceaselessly offering a prayer of the heart to Jesus Christ, stand courageously and unwaveringly at the gates of the heart and, on this spiritual watch, slay all the sinners of the earth (The Love of Goodness, vol. 3, ch. 2).

Consequently, self-awareness—as a further development or a unique turn of consciousness—reaches the highest degree of perfection in a true Christian.

He knows his actions so clearly—not only those of a single day, but of weeks and years—that from the time of his spiritual awakening he knows them not only in number but also in their strength and meaning, along with their motives, purity, and impurity in their entirety. Therefore, he practices daily confession.

He distinguishes himself from his actions. Upon this is based the entire wise strategy in spiritual warfare, for the very first task here is awareness of the enemy. Then every movement within him is immediately assessed—where it comes from and what it means. His inward gaze in this regard is so deep that he not only sees all unrighteous movements but also distinguishes his own from those that are not his. This is the distinction between things or thoughts that is well-known among holy ascetics.

He knows who he is, what awaits him, what state he is in, and what his relationships with others are like...

All these qualities together form that inner light which is attributed to true Christians and by which their entire life is called “walking in the light” or “working in the day.”

The second attribute of the human person is rational and free autonomy. The state of this attribute is determined by the state of consciousness, for they serve as mutual reflections of one another. Consequently, it exists in its true form only in true Christians, while in those enslaved to sin, only a shadow of it can be seen. The autonomy characteristic of human beings is distinguished by reason and freedom. Reason requires that actions be guided by one’s own judgment, one’s own goals, and one’s own rational discretion. Its distinguishing mark is that thought always precedes desire; conversely, where desire rules thought, the absence or deficiency of this quality is beyond doubt. This is indeed the case with the sinful person, who is not guided or strengthened by grace. We have already seen that he is subject to the mechanism of his inner impulses; and the Word of God says of him that he does only “the will of the flesh and of the mind” (Eph. 2:3) and “walks according to his own lusts” (2 Pet. 3:3)—that is, he does whatever he wants, whereas one ought to act in a manner consistent with one’s own calling.

Freedom consists in directing one’s actions without any coercion or compulsion from outside or within, directly from one’s own will. Its distinguishing feature is independence and spontaneity. If someone wished to act according to their own judgment but were meanwhile compelled to act otherwise, then this freedom would obviously be in chains. This is how the Apostle Paul depicts it in the sinful human being, of whom he speaks in his own person: “For what I want to do, I do not do; but what I hate, that I do.” These bonds are imposed by the sin that dwells within us: “It is no longer I who do this,” says the Apostle in the same passage, “but sin that dwells within me... For I see in my members a law waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin that dwells in my members” (Rom. 7:14–23). The power of this sin is most keenly felt, sensed, and known from experience by those who have become aware of their dominant passion and are determined to overcome it. They see how they are led “by their own lusts, drawn away and enticed” like slaves (James 1:14). Therefore, such people are called “slaves of sin” in the Word of God (Rom. 6:7–20), “sold into slavery to sin” (Rom. 7:14); “for whoever is overcome by something is its slave” (2 Pet. 2:19).

The World. A person who has not received the power of grace is dominated by the power and authority of worldly, passionate customs and the spirit at work in the world, to the point that it does not even occur to him to decide on anything contrary to them. “It’s impossible: that’s just the way it is.” This expresses a general awareness of one’s slavery to the spirit of the world. This power is sustained by a certain apprehension or fear for one’s life. For otherwise, one would have to leave the world—but where to?! Therefore, in the Word of God, they are called “enslaved to the elements… of the world” (Gal. 4:3), “walking according to the course of this world” (Eph. 2:2), and “according to human tradition and the elements of the world” (Col. 2:8).

By the devil. He acts through the world and through the sin that dwells within us; therefore, his bonds are mostly hidden. But if a repentant person looks back and reflects on his former life, he will find that on his path to destruction, the most cunning ingenuity was at work—not his own, nor that of other people. Whose, then? Obviously, it belongs to the murderer from the beginning. Consequently, it must be said that every sinner, like all sinners, is a person at the disposal of the evil spirit, or is his slave. This slavery is expressed in the sinner’s aversion to all that is holy and in his powerlessness to draw himself toward anything of that nature. In the Word of God, sinners who are alienated from the Spirit of Christ and His grace are directly called slaves of the devil, held captive in his domain (Acts 26:18) and in his snares, and are “caught by him to do his will” (2 Tim. 2:26).

Thus, the second attribute—rational and free autonomy—is in a wretched and degraded state in people who have not received within themselves the grace-filled, restorative powers. On the contrary, in those who have received these powers, it manifests in its true sense.

As for rationality, it operates in them with full force simply because they have been drawn out of their inner mechanism by the power of grace and raised above their own actions; and especially because, from the moment of their turning to God and being reunited with Him through grace, every action they perform—whether internal or external—is carried out solely in accordance with their awareness of God’s will regarding it. They “no longer live the rest of their time in the flesh according to human desires, but according to the will of God” (1 Pet. 4:2). A life lived according to God’s will is, in the highest degree, a rational life. Here, God’s will, through a mind submissive to its promptings, governs all deeds and the entire course of life and leads a person to his ultimate goal. Hence the order and wholeness of life.

And only those whose lives are ordered in this way can be called free in the fullest sense. Only those whom Jesus Christ sets free are truly free (Gal. 5:1); “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Cor. 3:17). A Christian who abides in the Lord Jesus by the divine power of the Spirit enjoys the joyful state of freedom (Rom. 8:2). Sin has no hold on them (Rom. 6:7–12); they are taken out of the world (John 15:19) and are fearlessly ready to speak the truth “before rulers” (Matt. 10:18); they trample underfoot the devil and all the enemy’s power (Luke 10:19). Therefore, he stands firm as a solid pillar, unshaken by any adversity; no set of circumstances can overcome him; on the contrary, he manages them as he sees fit or conducts himself amidst them without altering his disposition or his primary intentions.

The final and ultimate attribute of human nature—life—is completely lost in the sinful human being, as the Word of God declares. It can hardly be described otherwise than as dead, one who “has a name that he is alive, but is dead” (Rev. 3:1). This death is caused by sin (Eph. 2:1–5; Col. 2:13), which “brings forth death” (James 1:15), is the “sting of death” that wounds everyone to death (1 Cor. 15:56), and is followed by death as “the wages” (Rom. 6:23).

The deadly power of sin consists in:

– In man’s alienation from God. The sinner is “separated from the life of God” (Eph. 4:18) and lives, as it were, without God (Eph. 2:12). Communion with God, divine and spiritual things, constitute the natural nourishment of our spirit, or, as it were, its very element. Having fallen away from this, he is now compelled to be out of his natural place and to die, as if without food or air.

– In the disruption of powers and abilities. Human life consists in the harmonious combination of the powers of one’s nature and their interaction in accordance with their nature. If this lawful relationship between them is taken away, as we have seen, then there is neither life nor activity in a person that is proper to a human being. Outwardly, he is a human being, but in his inner disposition, he is not a true human being. Just as a misaligned instrument may appear to be one thing or another, yet its sound gives no indication of which, so too must we judge a person whose inner being is disrupted by sin. In this regard, it must be said that what is truly human—or that which is proper to a human being—has died or been lost within him. Just as a dead person does not see, hear, or move, so too does a sinful person not see, hear, or move in a human way: he performs deeds, but they are “dead” (Heb. 6:1, 9:14).

– In the deprivation and, as it were, the killing of the powers of the soul and the body. Sin is called poison: and indeed, it is poison. Just as rust corrodes iron, so does it corrode the soul and the body. It robs the mind of its liveliness, quickness, and sharpness; the will of its strength and steadfastness; and the heart of its taste and tact. The poisonous nature of sin for the body is obvious to all. In this regard, a person who serves sin is like one who is dying or suffering the agony of death. How tangibly this is expressed in the ceaseless, joyless state of the sinful person! Joy is inherent in life, but there is no joy for the wicked.

By God’s decree, the law rests upon every person: “You will surely die” (Gen. 3:19). Everyone who enters this world enters the realm of death and, through temporal death, must succumb to a second, eternal death. Such is the natural order of life for a fallen human being who remains in the state of the Fall. A change in this condition is brought about only by divine grace. When it comes, it gives birth to true life in Christ Jesus within a person. The one who receives grace sows an imperishable seed within his corrupted nature, which grows into the tree of life. Whoever is deemed worthy of this is snatched from the jaws of death, but whoever is not “remains in death” (1 John 3:14); “whoever does not believe… will not see life” (John 3:36).

Thus, the believer, being united with Christ, receives new life (Rom. 11:15) and therefore “passes from death to life” (1 John 3:14), becoming alive from the dead (Rom. 6:13). This is because, in this way, a person is united with God, the source of life. He already “has the Son within him, and with him is life” (1 John 5:12) and has received the life-giving Spirit (Rom. 8:10); “his hidden life is with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3); for “it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:20).

The power of the new birth and of life begins to eradicate sin within a person, and at the same time to destroy the consequences of sin—the disruption of the powers and parts of his being—or to restore within him true life, which multiplies within him, grows, goes from strength to strength, and fills him with joy. And here, having been deemed worthy to receive the Spirit of life, he will live forever, for the second death will have no power over him.

This new life is now hidden within those who sincerely serve the Lord, and for the most part it is hidden even from them. It matures, as it were, under the veil of decay, building and forming there the new man—or the man of eternity. But then, like fruit from a tree or a tree from a seed, this life will emerge from him in all its glory. It gains its power gradually, like leaven that gradually permeates the dough, for it gradually delivers our parts from death, one by one... And when it has filled everything, it leaves what is perishable to decay, while it delivers or transfers what is alive into the realm of life, into the divine world.

This is a matter of dispute, though it concerns only words. To those who do not wish to distinguish between spirit and soul, it may be suggested that by the word “spirit” they understand the higher aspect of our incorporeal nature, and by the word “soul” they denote its lower activities and inclinations. St. Anthony the Great (see *The Love of Goodness*, vol. 1, saying 166) states that there are beings endowed only with life (plants), others endowed with life and a soul (animals), and still others endowed with life, a soul, and a mind. This is man. What is meant here by the word “mind,” we express with the word “spirit.” Isaac the Syrian also posits three parts, as does Ephrem the Syrian, and many of the holy Fathers acknowledged the spirit, the soul, and the body... In the Word of God, three parts are understood: “May your spirit and soul be made perfect, and your body blameless at the coming of the Lord... May Jesus Christ preserve you” (1 Thess. 5:23). Elsewhere, a sharp distinction is made between the spirit and the soul within us, when it is said that “the Word of God, living and active, … penetrates even to the division of soul and spirit” (Heb. 4:12).

10. The Condition of the Cognitive, Volitional, and Sensory Faculties in a Christian and a Sinner

I now turn to a detailed explanation of the effect of a truly Christian, grace-filled life, and the effect of sin on each of a person’s faculties and abilities in particular. Here it will become clearer how sin strikes a particular part of us, like a harmful dew on a flower, and how, in the converted sinner, God’s grace revives that part and reveals it in its true form. It was mentioned earlier that there are three powers within us, and it was shown how they relate to one another in the sinner and the righteous person. But that was stated in general terms—now let us examine the same subject in greater detail. And so, consider this. It is not difficult to observe that within us there are three kinds of actions: thoughts, ideas, and reasoning; desires, inclinations, undertakings, and feelings of every kind. But just as we cannot fail to distinguish three parts within our being—body, soul, and spirit—so too do these three kinds of actions manifest within us at three levels, or in three states, namely: animal, soulful, and spiritual. Now, by attributing a specific power to each of these spheres of action, we must recognize the ninefold hierarchy of powers which, in our inner world, operate and act under the cover of the body—this coarse, material, elemental composition—just as in nature the ninefold hierarchy of material forces acts beneath the coarse composition of our planet that we can see, and just as in the invisible, spiritual world there are nine orders of angels.

1) The State of the Cognitive Powers

We will describe each of these nine faculties under the influence of sin and the influence of grace. Let us begin with those faculties that are concerned with the knowledge of things or with revealing the truth to a person.

Among these faculties, at the lowest level are perception, imagination, and memory, through which information is gathered; next comes reason, through which this information is transformed into knowledge; and rising above them all is the intellect, which perceives invisible and spiritual things, as well as the innermost aspects of things already known by reason.

a) The state of the highest faculty of cognition, or reason

The object of the intellect’s knowledge is the Supreme Being—God, with His infinite perfections—and the divine, eternal order of things, reflected both in the moral and religious structure of the spiritual world and in the creation and providence, or in the arrangement of creatures and the course of events and phenomena in nature and humanity. All these are profound and mysterious subjects, and the mind, in its true form, is a contemplator of the mysteries of the Divine, the spirit, and the material world.

The possibility of such knowledge is based on the fact that our spirit itself originates from the spiritual world and possesses a certain predisposition toward it, a certain longing for and demand of it. Thus, experience shows that we have a need for the Deity, for a moral order of providence, for a better eternal life, and so on, and there is a general belief in all these matters. Such demands, beliefs, and aspirations are commonly called ideas, or an indefinite contemplation of something superior in being and perfection to what we know around us. These ideas not only confirm that our spirit originates from that world but also demonstrate that it is not deprived of the ability to know it.

It is important to remember that the fact that we have ideas allows us to conclude only the possibility of knowing and contemplating the invisible, spiritual world, and not its reality—just as the presence of the power of sight in our eyes reveals only the possibility of seeing things, while sight itself is subject to its own conditions.

Anyone who regards ideas as actual contemplation is making a grave mistake. Ideas prove only that there are invisible things, just as the need for food proves that food exists; but what those objects are, what they are like, and where they are—this still remains to be discovered. Moreover, this indication of the existence of the invisible world is not direct but indirect and inferential. It is convincing only because of the strength of the desire for it, and not in and of itself; thus, if the desire for those invisible things is diminished or destroyed, the very conviction of their existence will also be diminished or destroyed.

In this state, spiritual knowledge—or reason—resides in every person who comes into this world. It manifests as the demands of the invisible world, accompanied by a conviction of its actual existence, but without actual and certain knowledge of it. Reason is merely the power of perception of the spiritual world. It is evident that for the further development or expansion of this knowledge, it is necessary to exercise this power of spiritual vision through actual perception, just as the visual power of the eye is exercised and diversified by your experience of sight in actual perception. And for this, it is necessary to enter into direct communion and contact with that world, just as the physical eye enters into such communion with physical objects—that is, it is necessary to be in communion with God and the spiritual world. Without this communion, spiritual knowledge will forever remain in our spirit as a mere hypothetical postulate and will never rise to the level of clear, actual, and definitively convincing knowledge—just as a blind person with closed eyes, whose power of sight is nevertheless intact, will know only that there are indeed there are things that shine and things that are illuminated, but he will not be able to know them with certainty until his eyes are opened. The reason for this is the fall into sin and our continued state of that fall. Along with our falling away from God, our spirit has fallen away from all that is divine and spiritual; it does not enter into direct communion with God, does not see Him, does not contemplate Him—it has become blind to Him. It must be restored to its former state so that it may know Him clearly and definitively...If this condition can now be fulfilled only when a person receives the restorative powers of Christianity, it is evident that outside of true Christianity—actively embraced—the mind is blind, knows nothing of spiritual things, and merely demands knowledge of them, holding ideas about them that are vague, unclear, and speculative.

Meanwhile, the objects of the invisible world, by their loftiness and especially by their kinship with our spirit, cannot fail to occupy a person; they cannot fail to stir within him a desire to unravel them. This is always the case. Is there any soul—however dormant—that does not wish to know what that world is like? Many labor over this. What, then, is the fruit of this labor? If the only path to true knowledge of it is spiritual experience—the actual tasting of spiritual things, possible only for a person restored by grace—it is evident that self-taught knowledge of it cannot promise much. To be convinced of this, one need only look at the methods the mind, left to its own devices, employs outside the true path. Two of these are well known. One consists of a deductive ascent from the lower to the higher; the other relies on the clarification of ideas through their mechanical transition from one faculty to another within us. Both acknowledge the obscurity and incompleteness of spiritual knowledge and address the question: how can this knowledge be clarified and supplemented?

The first approach is understood as follows: to infer from actions the cause of all things—God—attributing to Him, to the highest degree, that which may be proper to Him, and denying that which cannot be proper to Him. There is no doubt that this approach can shed considerable light on the mysterious realm of ideas; but, apart from the fact that such knowledge pertains not to the entire realm of invisible things but only to the Divine—even though this is the principal subject—it is also not direct or immediate, and therefore remains, as before, speculative.

Therefore, it is by no means satisfactory, but always leaves one awaiting new confirmations and proofs, as Plato expressed so forcefully. In this regard, one can only say: it seems to be this way or that way, but when someone says, “Perhaps it is not so”—the mind does not always have an answer to this.

This is all the more evident because experience itself leads to many unresolvable questions regarding, for example, Divine Providence or the excessive influence of matter on the spirit. There are many people who, observing the mysterious, incomprehensible connection between events, ask: Is there someone who sets all this in motion? Is there such a thing as freedom, or the spirit? and so on. And this compels the mind, if not to remain in resolute doubt, then often to experience with sadness the fierce attacks of this enemy of truth. Here is the fruit of the method described. And it goes without saying that, when misapplied, it can lead to dangerous errors, as has indeed already happened. Why did Epicurus exclude God from the governance of the world? Because he judged Him according to his own disposition, since he himself loved to indulge in sweet inactivity and peace. Why did Origen come to the conclusion that eternal torment is incompatible with God’s goodness? Because he judged Him by his own compassion and indulgent disposition. Likewise, others may—and do—conceive of God only as a fearsome and indiscriminate despot. And how—if not—do they depict eternal life? And how do they judge angels, the means of salvation, and everything else? Everyone judges according to themselves, according to their existing knowledge and their own disposition. And, obviously, in all this they distort the truth and turn it into a lie, because they do not follow the proper path to knowledge of these things.

There is almost nothing to say about the second method. It resembles the fanciful wanderings of ideas in our inner world. According to this method, ideas first enter consciousness, from there into the heart, then are taken up by the imagination, and finally by reason, which constructs concepts, judgments, and conclusions from them. It is obvious that this depiction is completely alien to experience, is purely fictitious, and cannot be consciously perceived by anyone. However, it very clearly shows that the mind itself does not know how to cognize the invisible world, has lost the true means to do so, and invents one thing or another; and in this confusion, it falls into the ridiculous and absurd; for if an object is not fully visible, one must go to it, rather than turn around or assume various positions oneself while remaining at the same distance from it. What is obscure within us is incomprehensible; how, then, can it become clear within us? Granted, one might expel certain thoughts from oneself through this turning or friction of ideas; yet it remains unclear from where they might acquire certainty and the power of conviction. If the ideas themselves are merely hypothetical, what then of everything developed from them?

Thus, in a mind that is distant from God and His grace, knowledge of the spiritual world—which it derives from the development of speculative ideas through unreliable and uncertain methods—

is itself speculative and perplexing to everyone, without exception. “What and how?”—these are the questions such a mind will always ask itself and will never resolve on its own;

It is almost always incorrect, for it is not derived from the nature of those things themselves, but is formed based on other, opposite things;

And by its very nature, it can pertain only to a small part of the whole—the most evident, such as God’s existence and His attributes. As for the laws of divine providence, the moral and religious order of the spiritual world, and especially the mystery of the salvation of the human race, these are either entirely absent from thought or appear in the form of the most fanciful conjectures.

It should be noted here that even when the mind is granted access to revelation, although absurd opinions are corrected and what is lacking is supplemented, the element of conjecture still remains, to whatever degree. And so he knows these subjects as mere speculation, and until he experiences them in practice, he does not know what they are really like. Therefore, very many truths—including the truths of salvation—are held in the mind as something foreign, placed there from outside but not fused with the very nature of the mind. Consequently, even after a thorough study of them, their meaning is still marred by doubts and perplexities, by indecision, ready to waver at the slightest breeze, like a blade of grass in a gentle breeze. This is what St. Macarius of Egypt says about such knowledge:

“I regard those who proclaim spiritual teaching without having tasted or experienced it as being like a man walking in the heat of midday summer through a barren and waterless land; who, overcome by intense and scorching thirst, imagines in his mind that a cool spring with sweet and clear water is near him, and that he drinks from it to his heart’s content without any hindrance; or to a man who has never tasted honey but tries to explain to others what its sweetness is like. Such are indeed those who, having not grasped through personal experience and their own inquiry what pertains to perfection, sanctification, and dispassion, wish to instruct others in these matters. For if God were to grant them even a slight sense of what they are speaking about, they would certainly realize that the truth and reality do not resemble their account, but differ from it greatly” (Discourse on the Revival of the Mind, ch. 18).

“Those who possess within themselves the divine riches of the Spirit, when they impart spiritual teaching to someone, do so as if bringing forth their own treasure. On the other hand, those who do not possess this wealth within their hearts—from which flow good divine thoughts, mysteries, and extraordinary sayings, having grasped only a few fragments from both Testaments of Scripture, carry them on the tip of their tongues; or, having been listeners to spiritual men, they boast of their teaching, presenting it as if it were their own, appropriating for themselves what is not theirs” (A Word on Love, ch. 5).

“Even those who practice virtue and adhere to the Word of God, yet have not been freed from passions, are like people walking at night by the light of the stars, which are the commandments of God; for, since they have not yet been completely freed from darkness, it is impossible for them to see everything clearly...” “They do well to turn to it (the prophetic word) as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in our hearts” (2 Pet. 1:19). But many are no different from those who walk in the night completely without light and who do not even make use of that small radiance which is the Word of God, capable of illuminating their souls, and therefore are (almost) like the blind. These are the ones who are completely bound by the chains of matter and the bonds of worldly life...” (A Discourse on the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 27).

Such is the state of the mind or knowledge of the unseen world among those who are not graced! As for those who have received the Spirit of grace, one can judge what this knowledge is like by contrast: that is, it must be clear, vivid, experiential, certain, and true, because it is derived from the experiential tasting of the very things that are unseen; it must also be complete: knowing both God and His attributes, the laws of the governance of the world, and the mysteries of redemption—especially the latter—because it is through redemption that the mind is introduced into that world. Once again, I refer those who are interested to St. Macarius. Let them see how he describes this spiritual knowledge. In brief, his thoughts can be summarized in the following statement: the fall closed the eye of the mind, and man sank into darkness. The grace of the Holy Spirit, by bringing a person through rebirth into living communion with the Lord Jesus Christ and God, introduces him into the spiritual world and reveals all the hidden mysteries of God, which he comes to know here experientially, truly, and fully.

Here are the relevant passages:

“When man transgressed God’s commandment and lost his paradisiacal life, he became bound, as it were, by two chains: first, the chain of worldly cares... second, by an invisible chain; for the soul is bound by the spirits of wickedness with certain bonds of darkness, so that it cannot love God, believe in Him, or engage in prayer as it desires” (Discourse on the Holy Mind, ch. 29).

“When Christ, that first and essential grace, sent the gift of the Spirit to His divine disciples, from that time onward the divine power, overshadowing all believers and dwelling in their souls, heals sinful passions and frees them from darkness and death; but until that time, the soul was wounded, held captive, and enveloped in the darkness of sin. And even now, the soul that has not yet been deemed worthy of communion with the Lord and of the power of the Holy Spirit—which would actively overshadow it with all its strength and fullness—remains in darkness; but for those upon whom the grace of the Spirit of God has descended and in whom it has taken up residence in the depths of the mind, the Lord is, as it were, the soul: “Whoever is united with the Lord,” says the apostle, “becomes one spirit with the Lord” (1 Cor. 6:17; *The Word on the Freedom of the Mind*, ch. 12).

“We all—that is, those born of the Spirit through perfect faith—‘behold the glory of God with unveiled faces… When anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is removed…’” (2 Cor. 3:16–17). By this the Apostle clearly showed that a veil of darkness lay upon the soul, which, since the time of Adam’s transgression, had had free access to humanity; but now, through the illumination of the Spirit, it is removed from believers and truly worthy souls. “For this very reason did Jesus Christ come, for it pleased God that true believers might attain this measure of holiness” (The Word on the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 22).

Grace, having come through the purification of the inner man and the mind, removes the veil of Satan—which was placed upon mankind after the Fall—and cleanses the soul of every defilement and impure thought, desiring that, having returned to its own nature, it may behold the glory of the true light with open and clear eyes. Such people are already enraptured in that age and behold the beauties and wonders there. Just as the physical eye, unharmed and healthy, freely gazes upon the sun’s radiance, so too do these, through an enlightened and purified mind, behold the unblemished radiance of the Lord everywhere” (Treatise on the Revival of the Mind, ch. 13).

“Just as it is impossible to see, speak, hear, or walk without eyes, a tongue, ears, and legs, so too is it impossible to participate in the divine mysteries, to comprehend divine wisdom, or to grow rich in spirit without God and the action He imparts. For the Greek sages devote themselves to the sciences and zealously engage in debates, but the servants of God, even if they are unfamiliar with the sciences, are perfected by divine knowledge and the grace of God” (Treatise on the Revival of the Mind, ch. 15).

“Truly blessed and happy in life and in supernatural delight are those who, through ardent love for the virtuous life, have attained experiential and tangible knowledge of the heavenly mysteries of the Spirit and have their dwelling place in heaven! They surpass all people, and here is clear proof of this: which of the powerful, or the wise, or the intelligent, walking upon the earth, has ever ascended to heaven, performed spiritual deeds there, and beheld the beauties of the Spirit? Meanwhile, it seems that a beggar—utterly destitute and humiliated, unknown even to his neighbors—falling on his face before the Lord, ascends to heaven under the guidance of the Spirit and, in the firm faith of his soul, enjoys the wonders there, acts there, and has his dwelling there; as the Divine Apostle says: “Our citizenship is in heaven” (Phil. 3:20); and again: “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived—what God has prepared for those who love Him” (1 Cor. 2:9), and then adds: “But God has revealed to us... by His Spirit” (1 Cor. 2:10)” (On Love, ch. 17).

“He who has grace rooted in his soul and intertwined with it… has come to know by experience a different kind of wealth, a different kind of honor, and a different kind of glory, and nourishes his soul with imperishable joy, and feels and fully enjoys it through communion with the Spirit” (On Love, ch. 22).

“Just as there is a difference between a wise shepherd and dumb beasts, so such a person differs from other people in understanding, knowledge, and reasoning, for he possesses a different spirit and a different mind, a different understanding and a different wisdom than the wisdom of this world” (The Word on Love, ch. 23; the manifold revelations of grace—ibid., ch. 6).

“The divine Apostle Paul has shown precisely and clearly that the believing soul experiences the perfect mystery of Christ through the work of God, which is the radiance of heavenly light in the revelation and power of the Spirit, so that no one might think that the illumination of the Spirit occurs only through the knowledge of the mind, and through ignorance and negligence might not be in danger of straying from the perfect mystery of grace” (A Treatise on the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 21).

“This radiance of the Spirit is not merely an illumination of the mind and a grace-filled enlightenment, as stated above, but is a constant and unceasing radiance of essential light within the soul” (On the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 22).

“And the light that shone upon the blessed Paul on the road—by means of which he was caught up even to the third heaven and became a hearer of ineffable mysteries—was not merely an enlightenment of thoughts and reason, but the essential radiance of the power of the Holy Spirit in the soul, whose extraordinary brilliance blinded his physical eyes, which could not bear it, and through which all knowledge is revealed and God truly appears to the soul that is worthy of and loves Him” (On the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 23).

“Every soul, through its own effort and faith, by the working and assurance of grace, has been deemed worthy to be completely clothed in Christ and united with the heavenly light of the imperishable image, and now already partakes in the essential knowledge of the heavenly mysteries” (On the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 24).

“Just as at first… the sentence of death for sin… was revealed in the soul by the fact that the intellectual faculties, having been deprived of heavenly and spiritual delight, were extinguished within it and became, as it were, dead, so now God, having been reconciled to humanity through the Savior’s cross and death, grants the truly believing soul, still in the body, once again allows it to enjoy heavenly light and the sacraments and once again enlightens the intellectual faculties with the divine light of grace” (On the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 26).

“When you happen to hear about the communion of the bridegroom with the bride, about choirs of singers, or about feasts, do not imagine anything material or earthly. These are used only as examples out of condescension, since those things are ineffable, spiritual, and inaccessible to the fleshly eye, but are comprehensible only to a holy and faithful soul. The communion of the Holy Spirit, the heavenly treasures, the choirs of singers, and the celebrations of the holy angels are understandable only to one who has come to know them through personal experience; one who has not experienced them cannot even begin to imagine them. Therefore, listen to this with reverence until you, too, are deemed worthy by your faith to attain such blessings. And then, with the eyes of your soul, you will see through personal experience what blessings Christian souls can partake of even here!” (Discourse on Love, ch. 13). St. Isaac the Syrian writes at length on this subject in his 55th Discourse.

Everything that St. Macarius the Great says is merely a more detailed explanation—or a confirmation through his own experience—of what the Word of God says about the mind of a person who, for the sake of a holy life, has become a vessel of grace. He receives “the anointing that teaches you all things” (1 John 2:27), “the revelation of the glory of God to your mind” (2 Cor. 4:6), “the light” (1 John 2:9–10), “wisdom and revelation” concerning spiritual things (Eph. 1:17), “spiritual knowledge” (Col. 1:9–10), and “the mind of Christ” (1 Cor. 2:16).

In contrast, in a person who is enslaved to his passions, the Word of God sees a clouding (Eph. 5:11–18), “darkness” (Eph. 5:8–10), and ignorance of God and Christ (Eph. 2:12; Acts 3:13); true wisdom is hidden from them (2 Cor. 4:4), and they “cannot comprehend” (1 Cor. 2:14).

From this it is evident that the mind, in its true form and in all its beauty, is present only in the spirit of true Christians. For those who are entangled in sin or do not care for purity of heart, yet accept the Word of God, theoretical knowledge may come close to the understanding of the true mind; but this knowledge does not reside in their minds, but rather lies upon the mind, like dust ready to blow away at any moment; that is, it has not become one with their very being, which is why the speculation inherent in it is not eradicated, and it is often subjected to attacks of doubt—sometimes very profound—especially regarding the mysteries of redemption and the conditions for its assimilation.... But whoever, having purified himself, has become one with the truths, does not fear such attacks (see Blessed Jerome of Greece, *Christian Readings*, 1821). As for a mind unfamiliar with Divine Scripture, it is inevitably marked by an incompleteness of knowledge regarding spiritual matters, by inaccuracy, and above all—by conjecture... And this is even when the mind is well-directed, that is, when a person, without yielding to vicious passions, zealously engages in such matters and sincerely desires to discern them. But if, at the same time, he is inattentive to the most important truths, makes no effort to clarify and understand them, and is enslaved by his passions, then it can be said that he possesses no rational knowledge at all, even though he imagines he does. A few thoughts hastily grasped, memorized, or accepted at face value—that is all some people have. For the majority, however, ignorance, doubt, and presumption prevail. For such people, there is truly desolation in the innermost sanctuary of our spirit—darkness and a thick, impenetrable gloom.

Here are a few thoughts on the mind! One must firmly establish within oneself the idea that we are dealing here with the knowledge of the invisible world and spiritual matters. Knowledge of the visible world and sensory matters is an entirely different matter. Here, different faculties are at work, employing different methods. The two must not be confused. This leads to great evil... It is not difficult to recognize the visible. Some, having learned a little of this, say, “Well, I know!”—and stop there, paying no attention to what is most important. Others hold him in high esteem and regard him as a teacher in all things, yet he speaks to them only of trivial matters, while he himself does not know what is most important.

b) The State of the Mind

b) The State of Reason

The faculty directed toward the knowledge of the visible, the created, and the finite is called reason. However, it is not the name that matters, but its characteristic features. It is to these that special attention is given. This reason seems to retain its full power—whether one is a Christian or a non-Christian, virtuous or vicious—especially when viewed as it is found in educated people who devote themselves to the thorough study of some sciences. By confusing reason with intellect, they attribute great value to themselves, and others regard them as great minds. They themselves are always content with what they know, while others would be happy just to reach the level they have attained; not only that, but some, comparing their erudition—which is usually high-flown and expressed in convoluted words—with the simple words of God’s saints, might perhaps come to think that the latter lack much in comparison with the former. This makes it all the more necessary to clarify what reason ought to be and what it actually is among different kinds of people.

We must establish a concept of what is required of reason, or what it must bring to the fore from within itself in terms of knowledge. Its activity is directly grounded in imagination and memory, which, through the senses—whether by observation, reading, or hearing—gather material for it , providing information about everything that appears and exists outside and within us, just as everything exists and appears in spatial-temporal relations. Reason must transform all this material—or all the information gathered in this way, which is as it were still unclassified—into clear concepts and construct knowledge from them through thinking.

The mode of the reason’s activity consists in the methods it employs in acquiring the knowledge at its disposal, namely: the reason constructs inferences, forms concepts, judgments, and conclusions—or, in other words, makes generalizations, defines, and develops thought. But we need not dwell long on this (formal) aspect of it. More significant is the content of rational knowledge (the material aspect of reason). It consists of those aspects to which reason turns in the cognition of objects, namely: the properties and composition of things, their causal relationships—that is, cause and effect, means and end, matter and form. That it is, in fact, inevitably of two kinds depends on the fact that, in reality, we see only beings and phenomena—that which is and that which happens. In the first case, there is nothing more to know than the properties and composition of a thing; likewise, in the second case, there is nothing more to know than causal relationships: why? for what purpose? how?

In both cases, reason must be grounded in observation and experience, and its tools must be generalization and induction. An example will clarify how it works. Suppose, for instance, that reason seeks to understand a person’s characteristics and nature. To do this, it must observe the person at length—their actions and everything that occurs within them. These observations will constitute the raw material; once gathered, they serve as the basis for generalization and induction. Thus, by dividing them into groups, reason discovers that within a person there are ideas, desires, and sensations; looking more closely at each of these spheres of activity, it sees that they all fall into three categories: sensory, emotional, and spiritual. Tracing all this back to its origins, reason must conclude that there are three powers and three parts within a human being. The starting point for both is the human person. It follows that a human being, in his composition, is a combination of three powers and three parts, which, interpenetrating one another, converge in a single, indivisible human person. At the same time, through abstraction, he will arrive at clear conceptions of the nature of each power and each part, and ultimately, of the human person itself—or rather, of the essential attributes of every human personality. These, as already indicated, are consciousness, freedom, and life.

From this example, it is evident that, with regard to the knowledge of beings, reason invariably proceeds to an understanding of their composition and properties: from actions, it moves to the forces that produce them; from forces, to their mutual relationships and structure.

The understanding of phenomena and events is built upon the understanding of the properties and composition of entities and flows from them. An accurate understanding of entities, their forces, and the laws governing their activity serves as the starting point for explaining phenomena and events. Here, the foundation is the same—observation and experience—but the subject matter is different, and the aspects considered are different. Here, reason requires greater vivacity and quickness of mind. Identifying the cause, discerning the purpose, and weighing the consequences—this is a more abstract pursuit, one that affords greater scope for freedom of thought, but is, for that very reason, much more prone to error and less reliable. The task for reason is to determine the cause of a phenomenon, the means and the law by which it occurred, the relevant circumstances of the phenomenon, its purpose and consequences, and the manner of its origin. The work of reason is complete when it can confidently and satisfactorily answer the question: How could this or that phenomenon have arisen from a known cause, according to a known law, with known means, and under known circumstances? The first determination is a preparation for answering the latter question—that is, merely the material—while the latter is knowledge itself. It follows from this that knowledge regarding phenomena consists in contemplating their origin with the awareness of the inevitability and necessity of precisely this—and not some other—course of events, as judged by the cause and the relevant circumstances. Thus, for example, anyone who examines Russia’s subjugation under the Mongol yoke will prepare themselves for an accurate understanding of it when they learn who brought it about and how, by what means, when, what contributed to it, and what the consequences were; and will then understand it accurately when they are able to explain how it arose from Russia’s condition and the characteristics of the Mongols and developed, in accordance with the circumstances of the time, in the form in which it occurred. Judging by these necessary tasks, one may demand the following good qualities—or virtues—from reason, or from a person in relation to reason; these may be called the virtues of reason: diligence—one must, with precision and unwavering perseverance, ascertain everything as it is, whether through one’s own observation or through the observations of others. Anyone who researches any part of history knows how this must be done and how difficult it is. Diligence. A reluctance to work or half-hearted effort may lead one to rush through the task and then, , allow omissions to creep in during its further elaboration—hence major errors in generalizations and inferences. When undertaking such work, one must consciously tell oneself: I have done everything I could and everything that was necessary, and I am drawing conclusions based on the whole picture. Careful scrutiny. Everything must be based on facts; however, either their number or their details may slip by; it may happen that something insignificant appears more obvious, while the most important thing remains hidden; much may be trivial, but one thing may be crucial. An oversight or a mistake in judgment can give the entire course of reason a perverse turn. Hence, it is always necessary to trust others, consult with them, submit to their judgment when necessary, and, in general, as much as possible, refrain from attributing apodictic certainty to one’s own inferences and humbly acknowledge one’s limited foresight. The vices opposed to these good qualities, as they pertain to the activity of reason, are arrogance and dictatorial behavior, imprudence, dishonesty, and superficial frivolity.

Having made these remarks, we now turn to defining the state of reason in people who are estranged from God and in those who cling to Him.

In the former, it is almost always characterized by perverse tendencies. If one examines people, one will find an infinite variety among them in this regard. However, judging by the aspects indicated above, they can be classified either by the types of rational activity or by its virtues.

Some adhere primarily to the methods that reason employs in the cognition of things (in its formal activity), and either seek to construct everything from their own arbitrary abstract concepts, following the example of the scholastics, or are ready to assert “yes” or “no” with equal force regarding the same thing, following the example of the verbose sophists. Scholasticism and sophistry are inevitable for reason when materials are scarce, for reason is an active power that requires activity; therefore, when there is nothing to which to direct its powers, it turns them in upon itself, and, since only forms remain within it, it moves among them as from one room to another. Here, if one’s character is uncorrupted, he will be a pitiful scholastic; if corrupted, a vain and malicious sophist. Others are more inclined toward the acquisition of knowledge itself (toward material activity) and amass a wealth of information—and, moreover, on a wide variety of subjects. They usually have an enormous memory, and their minds are like an endless storehouse filled with all manner of things. Work of this kind is necessary for understanding things, but one must not stop there: in a certain sense, it is even a negation of reason. Here, apparently, the material has not been reviewed or refined, but remains as it is, and either merely burdens the mind or is used indiscriminately. Quickness of mind and independent reasoning are suppressed.

A third group stands midway between them and leans neither one way nor the other. These are, for the most part, the offenders against the virtues of reason—that is, they do not want to exert themselves or use their minds, and they have little conscientiousness, content to do things any old way; meanwhile, out of great arrogance, they wish to pass judgment on everything, acting in the process without any prudence. These are the flighty, the boastful, and the know-it-alls. There are, however, in this middle ground those who are devoted to an almost complete state of lethargy, who are content with whatever they happen to hear or see, yet do not wish to lift, so to speak, either their feet or their mental faculties of their own accord.

These shortcomings clearly reveal an unhealthy state of reason, as well as a pathological condition of the entire soul in which it resides. Judging by them, one can confidently conclude that the reason of those who stray from the right path has been displaced from its proper place, does not know its way, and has lost its tact, taste, and the methods proper to it in examining objects of knowledge. That such shortcomings are not the result of any physical disorder in people, but rather the fruit of their moral corruption, is evident from their very nature; and experience confirms that as soon as someone falls into any of the perverse tendencies described, they will not be rid of it nor even consider doing so until they have completely transformed their entire life; at least, this is true in most cases. As for those who turn to God and receive restorative strength, one might say that these tendencies fall away first and foremost. They are no longer lazy in using their minds, do not resort to cunning in their thinking, but view events and things as they truly are. That is why part of their subsequent struggle consists of a battle against their own reason—specifically, against those erroneous actions of reason that have been mentioned. Moreover, how do these sins enter a person? Through the sin of negligence and carelessness regarding oneself and one’s condition. Consequently, it can generally be said that whoever possesses them remains in sin and has either not yet been deemed worthy of grace or has lost it. But who is free of them? Even those who devote their lives to scholarly pursuits are not free from them to a greater or lesser extent. Those with strong rational minds (physicists, mathematicians, historians) represent a certain exception to this rule. Many of them possess precise, laborious, and refined knowledge, yet they seem to stand outside the realm of grace, both in their way of thinking and in their way of life. They appear to maintain a true middle ground in intellectual activity—that is, between its formal and material aspects—and, as far as possible, they practice the virtues of reason. Certain apparent successes lead them to shun any help from above and incline them to believe that they are whole and unharmed. But such self-confidence itself reveals the unhealthiness of their reason, for a sound mind always clearly perceives and acknowledges its own weaknesses and frailties. If this arrogance is now common to almost all sound minds, then all of them must be considered impaired. Moreover, we simply do not know the full extent of their scholarly work; we do not have the leisure to examine their published works more thoroughly, otherwise we could always find there—as we do—quite a few faults in common with others, for example: stretching the truth through abstract concepts to fill the gaps in empirical evidence and defend their theory, contenting themselves with a small number of facts, since, in our view, they tend to see in everything a reflection of their own thoughts while belittling those of others, to elevate themselves above all other people of their own class, and, in general, to strive to complete their work as quickly as possible, regardless of whether everything required for the perfection and accuracy of their ideas has been accomplished; that is to say, they, too, sometimes fall into sophistry and scholasticism, and sometimes forget the virtues of reason.

After this, without fear of these sharp minds, we may uphold the previous conclusion that the reason of people who are unrighteous, devoted to sin and passions, is generally so deranged that, despite all the efforts of the most learned, it pays tribute to its own weakness and lacks the strength to free itself from it. One will be even more convinced of this when one takes the trouble to examine our ordinary concepts, judgments, and reasoning—even if only for the course of a single day—within the circle in which one lives. Here, the following are almost universal

in our concepts: vagueness, incoherence, lack of accountability, ignorance of their value and hierarchy, and consequently—confusion and disorder;

in judgments: rashness and haste, sensibility, fickleness, lack of evaluation, ignorance, loquacity and buffoonery, superficiality;

in conclusions: short-sightedness and narrow-mindedness, groundlessness or conjecture, prejudices, and sophisms.

Furthermore: unbelief, credulity, obstinacy, cunning, and craftiness—and especially emptiness in speech and thought—show that reason, for the most part, does not exercise its rights and remains, as if in ambush, inactive, or acts, but perversely. No one who walks in unrighteousness and is unparticipant in God’s restorative grace is free from this.

Let us suppose, however, that someone’s reason maintains a true middle ground between the extremes described above, carefully fulfilling the duties incumbent upon it, and successfully proceeds toward the intended goal—will it, despite all this, attain everything that is necessary?

It should be noted that reason acquires some knowledge on its own, while other knowledge it must acquire in conjunction with the intellect. There are forms of knowledge that the intellect can sometimes grasp on its own, but which reason, on its own and apart from the intellect, cannot grasp at all. To see what this is, let us imagine that every created thing is an exclusive object of reason.

In addition to the actual, there is also in every thing a conceivable, intelligible, and contemplative innermost essence, imprinted and expressed by its actual aspect. Every creature is a composition of forces and elements, harmoniously combined according to a known pattern or idea, which they are meant to reflect in themselves. This idea, however, is not present in the thing as a visible part standing alongside other parts, but is something invisible, hidden beneath the visible, permeating and animating it—and therefore more conceivable and contemplative than tangible. Nevertheless, it is not merely something imagined, but is indeed a thought inherently present there. Just as in a painting the visible outline, the combination of parts, and the variety of poses, colors, and shades are inspired by a certain thought—which the painting expresses and by which it is imbued, a thought that is inherent in the painting, yet does not constitute a separate part alongside the others; so, too, every thing has its own hidden thought, its life-giving essence; for the world, both in its entire composition and in its smallest parts, is an infinitely wise work of art by God. God’s thought about the world and its parts (the ideal world), which has been contained in God’s mind from eternity, was, upon its transition into time or upon its realization by God’s will, clothed in infinite forces and elements, through which it manifested in reality; just as now the hidden plans of divine providence are carried out through a manifold combination of various phenomena of nature and humanity. Thus, in the world we always see the visible, manifest side; beneath it lie the forces and elements; and beneath them we must also discern God’s thought, which lies hidden there. This thought is the goal of our efforts; its comprehension is knowledge itself, while everything else is merely preparatory information. Just as someone examining a painting who describes the colors, lists the elements, and describes their arrangement and combination has not yet said anything about the painting, because they have not explained the main point—what the painting expresses—so too, someone who, upon examining creatures, phenomena, and events in the world, comes to know how everything is—namely: in things—the composition of forces and elements; in events—the combination of causes and their interaction with effects—still knows neither the things nor the phenomena until he explains what divine thought lies hidden in both, what they express, and what their eternal significance is.

Our senses inform us of how things and events actually are; reason discerns the forces and elements hidden beneath appearances through generalization and induction; the question arises: how can we discern the thought they express?

The answer is simple: how is the artist’s idea recognized? Through aesthetic sensibility—a capacity identical to the one that participated in the creation of the painting. The same applies to created things: their inner essence, imbued in them by the Divine Mind, can be known only through a power of a divine nature. This power within us is the spirit, and within the spirit is the intellect. Thus, when reason, through its labor, has reached the end—that is, the convergence of forces and elements—and has ascertained all that is factual, it must, as it were, take the intellect by the hand and say to it: “Go, see what else is here.” But it is evident that this intellect must be a sound, discerning intellect, and not a blind and corrupted one, just as only a sound sensibility perceives the ideas behind works of art. A sound, discerning mind, as we have seen, is possessed only by those who, having turned from sin to God, have received grace; but in those who serve sin and lack grace, it is perverted and estranged from the truth. Consequently, the knowledge of what is hidden in things is possible only for the former, while remaining unattainable for the latter.

Every thinker bears witness to the fact that the desire to unravel the hidden side of things is indeed inherent in our spirit. The physicist seeks to unravel the meaning of beings, forces, and the elements; the historian, to determine the significance of events; the psychologist, the meaning of every faculty and of the human person itself. Evidently, no one is content with knowledge of the factual side alone, but everyone desires to penetrate deeper beneath it. This is commonly called philosophy, or the ideal aspect of knowledge. However natural this aspiration may be, and however universal and seemingly irresistible it may be, it is not exempt from a necessary condition: to possess a mind that is not only developed by revelation but also enlightened by grace.

Without this, its constructs will be mere fantasy; the entire history of philosophy serves as proof of this; for when the mind is perverted, and the smallest part of the truth remaining in it—in terms of the strength of conviction—is nothing more than a supposition, then everything else that the mind constructs based on what is within it will necessarily be of the same nature: untrue and fanciful. The inevitable consequence of this must be that reality itself becomes distorted, and reason sometimes allows itself to assert as law, power, and element that which in fact does not exist (today’s geologists). It becomes clouded, and then a palpable darkness descends upon the entire realm of knowledge.

It is quite different with a person who is pure in life and enlightened from above. He will not remain silent about the hidden when he senses it, but he will never pass off as the contemplation of truth that which is not such. Omniscience is not within his grasp, but it is affirmed that if knowledge of the hidden aspects of things and phenomena is accessible to a person, it is accessible only to one who is blessed; for that realm is, in fact, the realm of the Divine Mind, where the intellectual treasures of God the King lie. Let no one hope to intrude there by force or of his own accord. True philosophy is wisdom bestowed by God.

Having become one with the mind of God, the mind of a person who has cleaved to God may be introduced by Him into the mysteries of being and phenomena, for among the revelations that St. Macarius the Great imparts to a spirit enlightened by God’s grace, why should one not also comprehend the mysteries of creation and providence, when that spirit undoubtedly possesses knowledge of the mysteries of redemption—the most hidden and most mysterious of all? It is not in vain that St. Isaac the Syrian calls this spiritual intellect the perception of mysteries, the perception of the hidden, and the highest spiritual contemplation (see his words on the three degrees of the intellect). St. Maximus the Confessor teaches: “Just as the foundation of radii, extending in a straight line from a single center, appears in the very center to be completely indivisible, so too will the knowledge of the being united with God be simple and unified regarding all the archetypes of created things contained within Him” (“Christian Readings,” 1835, vol. 1). To this we may also add Solomon’s testimony that God gave him “unfailing knowledge of what exists” and that he therefore “has come to know both what is hidden and what is revealed…” (Wisdom 7:17, 7:21).

If anyone now wishes to seek true ideas, or the ideal knowledge of things and philosophy, let them seek them primarily in the Word of God, then in the writings of the Holy Fathers, and then in our liturgical books. For example, when it is said that the Lord came to rule over all things, that true Christians are kings and priests, that the tongues-like descent of the Holy Spirit is the beginning and foundation of the union of all nations divided by the confusion of languages at the Tower of Babel, that our life is a pilgrimage, that almsgiving is a foretaste of the treasure in heaven, and so on, —all of this represents true ideas of contemplation or a sense of the hidden.

It is particularly remarkable that those enlightened by grace often contemplate the meaning of things without much assistance from reason; that is, their reason does not yet know the actual order of things—or knows it only in part—yet they already contemplate their meaning; whereas, on the contrary, the highly learned person who has forgotten God broadly depicts actual reality and seems to exhaust every detail of it down to the smallest particulars, yet fails to see or articulate the inner meaning within it. If we now evaluate both according to their true worth, it is evident that the former must stand incomparably higher than the latter, for the latter lacks only that which is dispensable—that which is merely a means and which anyone can easily make up for; the former, however, lacks the essential, the fundamental, which he himself cannot make up for. Therefore, when encountering, for example, certain statements in the writings of our forefathers that contradict current empirical knowledge, one should not immediately, in one’s thoughts, belittle them in comparison to some erudite physicist. In his time, this was how the true nature of things was understood; in ours, it is recognized as such—and in the future, perhaps, it will be portrayed yet differently; but the true meaning indicated by the former will remain the same for all eternity. When reading, for example, Basil the Great’s discourses on the Six Days of Creation, you will find there two or three statements that are contradicted by modern physicists; yet he almost constantly reveals the most precious mysteries of things, which no branch of physics can provide. It goes without saying, then, that the most perfect knowledge is possessed by one who combines the grace-filled enlightenment of the intellect with a well-informed reason. But taken separately, the former is far superior and more valuable than the latter.

Such perfection of knowledge in a spirit endowed with grace, however, is the fruit of reason rather than of judgment—or, better yet, the result of judgment being supplemented by reason. What, then, takes place within reason itself? The elimination of its imperfections—not only those that are voluntary, but often those that are involuntary as well—and its restoration to health. When grace comes, it does not bring with it a great deal of information, but it teaches a person to be attentive and, as it were, compels them to examine things closely; it does not explain the laws of thought to him, but instills a love of truth, which does not allow him to stray from the right path or rely too heavily on abstractions; consequently, it places him on the true middle path and establishes him there, something he could never achieve on his own. Consequently, even a person who has not devoted himself to the sciences often becomes judicious and level-headed, and through long life experiences finally acquires true wisdom—enough not just for himself. In a person of a scholarly disposition, however, a special method of inquiry develops, along with a special intuition for discovering the truth and the true path to it—and this is achieved through the help of the virtues of reason, which now, together with others, return to the heart, such as: through diligence and the ability to work, conscientiousness, prudence, humble trust, and especially through God’s blessing—which endows his intellectual endeavors with special qualities: success, durability, and fruitfulness. Such soundness of rational activity is evident to everyone both in his ordinary conduct and in his interactions: in his concepts, which are distinguished not only by clarity, precision, and distinctness, but also by a certain depth of feeling; in his pleasures, which are characterized by fidelity, prudence, tangibility, and discernment; in his reflections, which are characterized by stability, foresight, unity, and coherence. Taken together, these qualities earn him the title of a person of sound mind or a rational person.

Two further remarks remain to be made: one on the influence of a corrupt will on reason, and the other on what happens when reason prevails over the intellect.

While the reason of one who strays, having lost its point of support, wavers this way and that, the will gradually instills its corruption into it. Here the elements of the world mentioned by the apostle come into being: carnal reasoning, demonic wisdom—that is, various convictions are formed to suit the depraved will, such as, for example, that life will not end anytime soon and there is no end in sight, that there is only and life, that prosperity and happiness lie on earth, that one must uphold one’s name and honor at all costs, one must have powerful allies to turn to in times of need, one must know how to take advantage of circumstances, and so on. All of these are held in the mind without scrutiny, and therefore are essentially prejudices; they are rarely expressed in words but are kept deep in the heart and known only to the person himself, coming to his consciousness in the form of secret thoughts during moments free from cares, and more—serving as a hidden driving force that sets his actions in motion.

But even if reason were to remain intact without such interference from the will, one would still have to expect great harm to the highest truths from its predominance over the intellect. This harm is all the more significant—and, as it were, all the more inevitable—when the will exerts a corrupting influence upon it.

It is well known that the primary object of reason is that which exists and occurs both within and outside of us—and to a greater extent, the latter; the foundation of its activity is experience: it begins with experience, and not before. Hence, the principal characteristic of rational knowledge is tangibility. Reason begins with experience, which it transforms according to methods inherent to itself. Whoever stands on the level of reason and acts primarily through it gradually develops a tendency—which later becomes a constant rule—and an intellectual disposition: to recognize as true only that which can be tangibly verified and believed through rational means. In the process, the spiritual world is inevitably and gradually obscured, and knowledge of it loses its significance. This knowledge, as we have seen, presumably resides in a person left to their own devices, whereas reason presents everything as tangibly evident and fosters a need for tangibility. This, of course, must cast a shadow of doubt over the spiritual world and spiritual matters. Therefore, rational scientists in general can be described as wavering skeptics with regard to the invisible and the spiritual. Add to this an evil heart driven by passions, which has strong grounds for desiring that there be no other world and no other laws or hopes besides the visible ones—then a person cannot avoid either doubt or, even more so, complete unbelief.

The fact that reason, through its activity, formulates general principles that are always applicable to a given situation fosters in it a strong confidence in its own understanding, a tendency to comprehend, and to place its own comprehension above all else. Consequently, he fails to give revelation its due honor, and if he accepts it, he insists on interpreting it solely according to his own understanding, or even acknowledges as true in it only what is clearly comprehensible. This affliction is rationalism, which is found in the hearts of almost all scholars, though it does not manifest itself in their words.

Other harmful intellectual tendencies are imposed on the soul by reason for the sake of the subjects to which its efforts are directed.

Outside of us, where we live more by our senses, everything is material; everything consists of the elements, and all changes and phenomena there are nothing other than the consequence of action and reaction, conflict and harmony among the elements. Whoever constantly engages in this alone develops the thought—and eventually the conviction—that there is nothing but matter. This unfortunate disposition—or disease of the mind—known as materialism most often afflicts those engaged in chemistry and medicine. It is always accompanied, as a fatal consequence, by the rejection of the immortality of the soul, of God, and of God’s moral law.

Furthermore, the mechanism observable everywhere in visible nature leads to the idea that everything bears the stamp of inevitable necessity, which no power can avert. Everything is subject to it, yet it itself is subject to no one. This is fatalism, which even the wise Stoics could not escape.

The naturalness observed everywhere—that is, the fact that every thing achieves its purpose by its own power, and that everything that proceeds from it is the fruit of its own activity—leads to the conclusion that no external higher powers, not even the power of God, intervene in this world to aid or assist those who dwell in it. Consequently, there are no miracles, nor is there grace. A person can walk on their own and will reach wherever they are meant to go. This is naturalism.

Reason gives rise to so many dangerous aberrations when it is granted too much power—more than it ought to have. Their existence is confirmed by experience. Here, it is explained only how naturally they arise in a person whose mind is not enlightened by spiritual knowledge—in whom, therefore, this knowledge remains hypothetical, not transformed into something tangible through spiritual experience. And one might further add that if these tendencies naturally develop in a person who does not walk in the right path, then they must be presumed to exist in every such person—if not all, then at least some; if not in full development, then in seed form. Indeed, few are not tempted by them; few do not occasionally find them appealing; and few, at least in their own way, do not come to think: “Perhaps it is so.”

What light shines in a person’s soul after such darkness, upon turning to God and receiving grace! And first of all, all the impulses arising from a corrupted will immediately vanish, like darkness in a consecrated room or unclean forces from a consecrated place. Convictions opposite to these are formed in the heart, in the very process of the penitent’s conversion. When impurity is cast out of the heart, all its consequences are destroyed at the same time. He feels that life is short and one must hurry to do good works, that one must not be embittered, that one must expect everything from God and not from oneself, that one must not pay attention to human opinions, and so on. Second, the harmful consequences of the dominance of reason are either completely prevented—if conversion precedes its development—or are corrected on the spot, and reason is transformed into a serving force, submissive to the intellect. Since evil mental inclinations arise chiefly from the tangibility of reason’s perceptions and the speculative nature of the intellect’s ideas, when left to itself, the destruction of its foundation causes whatever is built upon it to fall of its own accord. This foundation, however, is destroyed in the repentant person who has turned to God and clung to Him; for from that time on, he begins to perceive spiritual things just as tangibly as he once perceived sensory things. This equivalence of tangibility dispels the wavering of doubt, and the fact that the most precious truths are presented to the enlightened mind inclines consciousness toward it and subdues it to it. When, in this way, through this new path, a person comes to know many of the most hidden things—which he did not previously comprehend but now clearly contemplates—he naturally ceases to trust exclusively in his own understanding. Such a person will no longer think that there is no spirit when he lives in the spirit, or that everything is subject to inevitable necessity when he feels a power that has come to him from above, from beyond, or that he can do everything on his own when he has escaped the evil that oppressed him only through the power received from God (the example of Augustine). At the same time, a new life begins for the intellect, and within the person—a new direction in scholarship, if such a pursuit existed or is being pursued. Just as reason previously acted as a master, so now it begins to act as a subordinate, acting on behalf of the spiritual mind. Therefore, just as before, when considering things, a person saw nothing—could not and did not want to see—except the things themselves; so now, in everything, he sees the clearest reflection of the spiritual world, both in things and in phenomena. The entire world is indeed permeated by the spiritual, the Divine (Rom. 1:20); but previously this went unnoticed, whereas now it is clearly perceived. Consequently, all that exists and all that appears is transformed into a vast and unceasing lesson or a book of wisdom, as Anthony the Great said. One can now be convinced that this is indeed the case by reading any of the Holy Fathers. Each of them offers, moment by moment, a vision of the spiritual in the sensible or through the sensible. His Eminence Tikhon has compiled four entire books on this subject under the title *The Spiritual Treasure Gathered from the World*.

It follows from this that the integrity, completeness, and truth of knowledge properly belong to people who have been restored by grace and who live in God. For others, such knowledge is both incomplete and untrue. How true is the thought of Blessed Augustine, which he argued with such persistence: that only life leads to the temple of wisdom, and not the other way around! The false paths of reason are usually discussed in works on logic, and various means of avoiding them are proposed there as well. The value of these instructions is obvious. Whatever one may say, logic alone, without an inner transformation, will accomplish nothing. To whom it is said, “Look, believe in revelation”—that person will perhaps say the same to himself, but in his heart and in practice will believe only in himself; or he will say that God’s help is needed, but will rely only on himself. It is impossible to properly cultivate the faculties of our soul without subjecting it to the healing and restorative graces of God.

In short: for one who stands outside these means, knowledge is such that the spiritual world and its things are hidden as by a cloud and mist; he believes little in them or does not think about them; his rational knowledge is directed only toward the visible, the real, the tangible; what is hidden in things remains unseen; only the most immediate, tangible causes are recognized; the intentions of Providence slip from their attention... Therefore, all their knowledge is superficial: incomplete in its composition, and in its overall spirit, corrupted and distorted by some erroneous mental disposition.

c) The State of the Lower Cognitive Faculties

c) The state of the lower cognitive faculties

The lower cognitive faculties are: internal and external observation, imagination, and memory. They all act almost in unison, and what one does is immediately taken up by another. What the eye sees is instantly captured by the imagination and stored in memory, as if in some archive. Everything external and internal that is subject to our knowledge and pertains to our consciousness is invariably the object of these faculties. They constitute, as it were, the entrance to our inner sanctuary, and therefore hold significant value in the realm of knowledge—and not only there, but in all human activity.

We must distinguish between the initial activity of the imagination and memory—when they merely perceive objects, become aware of them, and communicate them to the soul—and the subsequent activity, in which what has been previously acquired is put to use according to the soul’s needs. The images formed by the imagination and stored in memory are used either in the same form in which they were acquired or in a modified form. The first activity is called recollection, or reproductive imagination; the second is called fantasy. In both, the imagination and memory act together, though each in its own distinct way.

In recollection, the imagination provides the image, while memory confirms that it is the very same one previously known. Therefore, recollection reproduces only what has been experienced before and brings to the forefront of consciousness what was hidden in the depths of memory. The cause of recollection lies largely in the connection between present images and objects and those of the past (in other words, the association of ideas). Different types of this connection give rise to different laws of recollection, such as the laws of coexistence and investigation, similarity and opposition, the whole and its parts, cause and effect, means and ends, matter and form. Another, no less significant part of recollections arises from the movements of the will and the heart. A need, or passion, once aroused, involuntarily directs the mind toward objects by which it can be satisfied, as if riveting one’s attention to them; conversely, the image of an object of passion stirs that passion. This cause of memory plays the most significant role in life, while the first plays the most significant role in knowledge.

But there are also hidden causes of recollection: not knowing why and how images of past objects arise, even in a state of rest and without any connection to one’s current activities. These must be produced either by evil spirits, if the images are bad, or by good spirits—the Guardian Angel—if they are good; this also occurs through the sympathy of souls.

The imagination creates entirely new images, though from previous material and mostly based on ready-made or already familiar models. One must distinguish within it between good, purposeful activity and disorderly, arbitrary movements. In the former, it forms images for the concepts of reason, aids in reasoning by vividly representing a thought in some form, visualizes what is read and heard, and the like… in general, it acts in the interest of knowledge. In the latter, it daydreams or indulges in arbitrary activity, in which it constructs various imaginary stories to please its own heart; this activity is hardly governed by consciousness; on the contrary, it captivates our attention and absorbs the whole person. The realm of dreams is a sleep in which consciousness and self-activity subside and images reign supreme, sometimes under the influence of an outside source.

d) The State of Observation

d) The state of observation

There are two kinds of perception: one external, the other internal.

External observation—that is, the perception of external things through the senses—is altered by one’s way of life not so much in its essence as in its application; for the senses always remain the same, but they are directed toward different objects, and as a result, they differ not so much in their function as in their content. This becomes immediately apparent as soon as one asks who has seen what, who has heard what, or where one is more inclined to direct one’s hearing, sight, and other senses.

Thus, in a sinful state, the senses are not devoted to the interests of knowledge or the perfection of the soul, but primarily to the gratification of the passions. In this pursuit, as they are governed by the passions, so in turn they themselves nourish them. Therefore, for example, the eyes are called “filled with sexual immorality and unceasing sin” (2 Pet. 2:14). Moreover, in this state, they need not examine objects closely, but merely touch upon them slightly; consequently, their ability to observe is increasingly stifled and lost. Meanwhile, the soul is constantly engrossed in the senses: from this arises in it a tendency toward the external, or toward an outward life. As the use of the senses is, so is their content: objects are predominantly sensual—and because of this, some are unable even to imagine sacred objects.

A person who has turned to God and lives a Christian life does not give free rein to his senses; he keeps them strictly under his control and directs them only where he deems necessary, following the example of Job, who “set a covenant before his eyes” (Job 31:1). Furthermore, all his emotions are subordinated to the needs and benefits of the spirit, and they are guided, if not by knowledge—which is not universal—then always by a pious disposition. Therefore, he looks only at what can edify him—at holy images and the like. A new quality becomes evident in him: the measured nature of his emotions or attentiveness to them; their purpose is to examine things thoroughly. Such activity, on the one hand, gradually develops the ability to observe clearly, which in turn fosters keen insight or discernment; on the other hand, because of the soul’s dominion over the senses—or their submission to the soul—the senses do not draw it outward but enable it to remain within itself. Finally, on this path through the senses, true treasures are gathered both for knowledge and for a virtuous life; one acquires such wealth with which one can appear blamelessly even before the King of Glory... It is as if someone were to gather various precious gems and present them to the eyes of others.

At first glance, outward observation seems a matter of little significance in the moral life; yet here it is of great importance.

Through it, the soul receives its first nourishment; and just as food has a substantial effect on the body by altering its humors and composition, so too does observation in some way alter the composition of the soul and lay the foundation for character. In this respect, it is compared to a scent that permeates a vessel that has just been made but has not yet dried. This scent remains in it, if not forever, then for a very long time. The same happens with the soul: the first objects of the senses, so to speak, shape the future person.

They provide the soul with its first arena for exercising its faculties and produce their initial inclination and orientation. From this arises not only a habit but also a tendency to deal with such objects rather than others, for we are usually reluctant to engage in what we are not accustomed to. In this respect, the use of the senses is like the initial direction a tree trunk takes as it emerges from the ground.

Therefore, the use of the senses should not be considered unimportant.

Introspection is the observation of what takes place in the soul through consciousness or inner sensation. This observation is the source of self-knowledge and of knowledge of the human soul in general. It reveals more differences between the fallen and the risen states than external observation does; for here this difference concerns not only the use of inner sensation but also its very capacity to observe. This thought arises from the fact that, although the soul is closer to itself than anything else, we nevertheless have very little knowledge of the soul, and what knowledge we do have is for the most part one-sided and false. In contrast, what a wealth of self-knowledge there is among the holy ascetics, those being healed or who have been healed from the sickness of sin! From this it is evident that the capacity for self-observation is in the worst possible state in some, while in others it is at the very height of well-being. What is usually cited in psychological treatises to justify the paucity of knowledge about the soul should instead be turned into a condemnation of the sinful soul, or an exposure of its disruption by sin, rather than an excuse for our limited understanding of the human soul.

It is said that the ceaseless stream of external impressions draws the soul outward and prevents it from turning inward. But if it is within a person’s power not to succumb to the allure of external impressions, then another cause must be sought for the soul’s ceaseless striving outward—namely, that it is the need of the sinful soul to flee from within itself, where the stench of sin lies, to the outside, where good is hoped for or presumed to exist. A tendency toward sensuality and the visible is one of the first signs and manifestations of corruption. Consequently, one should not expect true self-knowledge from one in whom sin reigns. It can be expected only from one who has renounced sin and is healing himself. In this, it is, as it were, natural, for one of the first acts of grace is the return of the soul’s attention inward, turning it away from the external.

It is said that worldly cares and the duties of service consume all one’s time: in the midst of this busyness, there is no time to think about the soul and what lies within it. The cause lies not in external affairs and needs, but in inner restlessness, which drives a person ever forward. If this inner weakness—this restlessness—were to be subdued, then external affairs would still leave plenty of time for self-reflection. Failure does not stem from a lack of time, for why would there be a special time set aside for tending to the soul when this can and should be done in the midst of one’s duties? One must observe the soul as it acts. Thus, strength does not lie in time, but in the soul’s failure to turn inward. And this failure stems from the soul’s disturbance by sin. Where this disturbance is healed by grace and all of a person’s activity is directed toward a single purpose—toward what is necessary—there a peaceful flow of affairs is established, leaving the soul the opportunity to be within itself and to watch over its own activity with vigilance. External affairs and worldly pursuits then do not hinder one from knowing one’s own soul. Consequently, justifying oneself through these affairs must turn into self-condemnation.

It is said that the activity of the soul is such that it is almost impossible to observe it—namely, it is instantaneous, swift, fleeting, and multifaceted. One cannot fix one’s gaze on it steadily, and even if one does, one cannot break down the elements of the observed action. But within the soul there is confusion, disorder in movements, and agitation arising from inattention, carelessness, and surrendering oneself to the whims of one’s thoughts; and these unwholesome dispositions stem from sin or from a loss of self-control. Whoever reigns within himself by divine grace keeps his inner self under his control and therefore sees where everything is headed. Such a person is characterized by sobriety and vigilance, through which disturbances that arise secretly do not escape his attention. Moreover, through long practice in this inner work, he acquires the keen insight of the mind’s eye, which sees everything within himself with precision and clarity.

In conclusion: there are genuine obstacles to self-observation—external distractions, worldly cares, and the distraction of the mind. These are not matters of unavoidable necessity but arise from sin. Consequently, as long as sin remains in a person, these obstacles will persist, and there will be no true self-knowledge. A person in a sinful state does not know his own soul and cannot know it. These obstacles are gradually removed and then disappear entirely as sin is eradicated; at the same time, the very knowledge of the soul grows and reaches perfection. If, at present, sin—and with it these obstacles—lose their power only in those devoted to God through the action of the powers of grace, then it is evident that true, lasting, and complete knowledge of the soul must be sought only from those who live in a truly Christian manner. Whoever, not belonging to this number, wishes to know the soul—turn to the Holy Fathers, especially the ascetics, and draw abundantly from this source of psychological wisdom.

e) The State of Memory and Imagination

These two faculties are among the active powers of the mind and are therefore usually a reflection of the person as a whole. What fills the memory and what occupies the imagination of a sinner? With sinful things that feed only the passions. This can be seen right now in conversation. A sinner will not even utter a word about spiritual matters, because his memory holds nothing of the sort—as if he had never heard or seen anything of the kind. Of course, he has seen and heard such things, but they have not been assimilated or retained, because his soul is not inclined toward them. As a result of this alienation from spiritual matters, his capacity to imagine and remember them is diminished: due to lack of practice and unwillingness, he is unable to imagine or recall them.

In contrast, for a person living a Christian life, the entire content of memory and imagination is holy, pure, and divine. These faculties are filled with spiritual subjects toward which there is a special inclination, and along with this comes a special ability to imagine and remember them. Conversely, the recollection and imagination of wicked subjects are foreign to him: they are repugnant to him and therefore not accepted by his soul. Just as the former easily imagines and remembers what is sinful and evil, so the latter easily imagines and remembers what is spiritual and good.

e) The state of recollection, or reproductive imagination

The state of recollection corresponds to the state of memory and imagination, for what is imagined and remembered is usually reproduced through recollection. However, one cannot fail to point out a sharp distinction between the causes or laws of recollection that predominantly characterize and are at work in those who live according to the Spirit of Christ and in those who are enslaved to passions and the world. For the latter, the principal cause of recollection is passionate excitement or the stirrings of habitual desires, for in this lies their very life. Accordingly, among the laws governing the combination of images, those that relate more to the external aspect of things than to their internal aspect are predominantly at work; the images in their minds are linked more by external spatial-temporal relationships than by internal causal relationships; furthermore, ultimately, even secret impressions or influences come more from evil spirits than from good ones. There is a servant of Satan near the sinner who follows him and casts a shadow over him, filling his head with passionate images. For the righteous, the opposite is true: secret influences descend upon them from the Divine, from the Spirit that overshadows them and their Guardian Angel, who accompanies them always and assists them in everything; among the laws governing the combination of images, those that pertain to the internal connection of causes, properties, and parts are predominant; as for passions and desires, even if they are aroused, they are suppressed at the very outset. Furthermore, there is a difference between them in the nature of their recollections. There are involuntary memories, which arise of their own accord, and there are voluntary memories, which are evoked by the spirit’s own initiative. In those enslaved by their passions, almost exclusively involuntary memories prevail, for by their very nature they are subject to the internal mechanism of their impulses. In those who live according to the Spirit of Christ, on the contrary, voluntary memories predominate, for they exercise self-control and do not allow anything to enter their consciousness without their knowledge; at the very least, they are zealous about this and engage in an inner struggle directly aimed at it: vigilance and sobriety...

g) The State of Imagination

g) The State of the Imagination

As we have seen, two types of activity must be distinguished here: the rational and the arbitrary. Regarding the former, it can be said that people who are alien to the Spirit of Christ have little ability to represent abstract concepts and truths in fitting images; therefore, in their case, these concepts and truths are for the most part distorted and grotesque. On the contrary, if one is to seek a fitting representation of these truths, it is to be found exclusively among Christians filled with the Spirit of Christ, who imparts to them a special skill or intuition for this purpose, determining the appropriateness of the combination of images.

The latter is found in both groups in the following state:

The main weakness of the imagination among sinners, one might say, is a tendency to daydream. This is not something accidental, but inevitable, as if ingrained in their souls, something that is constant and present in almost all of them. The characteristics of this dreaminess—namely, detachment from reality, distraction, confusion, and the fickleness of thoughts—make its cause clear. When a person has strayed from his true place and fallen into what is false and untrue, his thoughts consequently turn not toward what is true, but toward what is merely imagined to be so—toward deceptive phantoms. Since firmness and constancy exist only in reality, thoughts that have strayed from it must inevitably waver, like a whirlwind or frost. Hence, sinful imagination is constantly fickle.

This fickleness both exposes and, in turn, itself produces a very dangerous state of the soul. Among its fruits, or the qualities that accompany it, are:

Internal corruption: in the mind—a turning away from and aversion to important and difficult pursuits, followed by superficiality or frivolity; in the will—the dissolution of passion. In dreams, the “I” plays the leading role in satisfying one of its passions. A person, while remaining in one place, takes revenge, quarrels, hates, envies, takes pride, wages war, and so on… Since the whole soul is absorbed in this, the dream corrupts the person from within. In emotion—there is unceasing defeat, for the blows of images fall directly upon the heart and make the dreamer like one walking among thorns. But the main thing in this regard is the captivation of the heart. Before one has time to look around or make sense of things, the heart has already conspired with the object and demands action. If a person is a slave to the heart, it is primarily due to the fickleness of the imagination or the dominion of images.

But the evil is not confined to the inner world: it spills over into the external world and there corrupts everything surrounding the person. A passionate person sees everything through rose-colored glasses; that is, things appear to them not in their true form, not as they are, but as they are adapted to and correspond with our feelings and our passions. Conversely, these very things then feed the passions. A dreamer lives as if in an atmosphere of passion, composed of internal images and the illusory external appearance of things.

When this is present both within and without a person—that is, when unbridled imagination imprisons a person as if in a dungeon—Satan begins to rage with all his might in this darkness. When the imagination gives in to uncontrolled impulses, Satan enters the heart and snatches away the Word of God or goodness—like a seed sown along the path—and, on the contrary, sows his own evil, just as in the parable where the enemy sowed weeds among the wheat. Coming to his senses from his daydreams, a person finds that he is inclined toward a certain evil, yet cannot understand how or why.

In this very confusion, amid disturbing images and the enemy’s forces—as if in a daze—passionate plans for sin arise, to the harm of oneself and others: all manner of schemes, cunning plots born of envy, flattery, and malice; intrigues; malicious associations; and, above all, every endeavor aimed at satisfying one’s chief passion.

But, in addition to this, the unchecked imagination of a person who is inattentive to himself also gives rise to persistent dispositions in which daydreaming becomes a permanent character trait. These include: a tendency to live in a world of images, a tendency to make witticisms, joke, and engage in idle talk, an aversion to mental labor, and a passion for reading frivolous books, for games, balls, and the theater.

The imagination is most susceptible to corruption by sin, or this corruption is more noticeable in it than in other faculties. That is why, even for one who has begun to serve the Lord, it is not healed all at once, but gradually—even though from the very beginning he sets a rule or makes a resolution to regulate or restrain this faculty as much as possible within his own limits.

Thus, at the very beginning, he turns inward, calms the turmoil within, and gathers his thoughts. Self-composure is an indispensable quality of a soul turned toward God, through which the waywardness of the imagination is restrained.

In his inner world, thus well-ordered, he builds for himself a spiritual temple—as it were, heaven—in which he strives to dwell in attention, in the presence of God, the angels, and the saints.

From within, this same order extends outward, supporting the inner state. Here, all things are transformed in meaning, refined, or veiled by a certain spiritual covering, so that accidental glances or deliberate gazes do not distract or divert one from one’s intended focus, but rather build it up and sustain it. In addition to this, he is surrounded by angels and the prayers of the saints, which, like rays, are directed toward him, and he thus lives in a certain spiritual, luminous, and divine atmosphere, which contributes to the swift formation of his Christian character.

It cannot be said that their imagination does not run wild at times. But if this happens, it is not by their consent, but against their will. From the very first days, they themselves begin a struggle against their thoughts—a laborious, varied, and unceasing struggle. One might say that their entire attention is directed toward these thoughts and remains fixed on them until the very end. Hence, who among those who have struggled does not know the insidiousness of thoughts? And what a vast array of descriptions of these thoughts and the ways to overcome them can be found in the writings of every ascetic who has written on the subject? However, labor and time eventually subdue the imagination, and peace, stillness, and light take root in the inner world, like the sun shining forth after the clouds have dispersed. The foundation for this lies in the very act of conversion itself, for it places a person in his proper order, in his proper place; it returns him to reality, and with that, the capriciousness of fantasy—or daydreaming—loses its foundation. Furthermore, constant, productive pursuits deprive it of nourishment, and it withers away like a drying-up tree.

h) The State of Sleep

A third of life is spent in sleep. It is impossible for it not to have profound significance for life. In the natural order, sleep renews one’s strength and shapes the human being as a unity of soul and body. Therefore, there must necessarily be a great difference in how those who live according to the spirit of Christ and those who live contrary to it relate to sleep. Although free will does not participate in it, the grace-filled transformation affects existence itself and, consequently, that which lies outside the realm of freedom.

Here we are not speaking of the body’s sleep, but of dreams. Dreams are the spontaneous movements of the imagination during the body’s sleep, in the absence of self-awareness and the active exercise of the will. Three degrees of dreaming are distinguished: delirium—during drowsiness; dreaming proper, or dream-like reverie, during the body’s full sleep; and the secret, unremembered sleep, during the body’s deep sleep. In their formation, the life of the heart reigns supreme with images. When the soul loses control over itself, the images of the imagination, as if breaking free from their bonds, fill the entire realm of the soul. Here, images from different times and places—present and past, good and evil—mix and combine according to laws that are impossible to comprehend. The dreamer’s own personality is lost: he is inserted into the dramas presented by the imagination as an outsider and undergoes strange transformations—at times rejoicing, at times suffering, at times exalted, at times humiliated, and so on. Since the soul loses its autonomy in sleep, it is subjected to an even stronger influence from the other world than in waking life; a good soul is influenced by the good, and an evil one by the evil. In the dream itself, however, the dreamer considers himself a person who reasons, desires, and decides between good and evil. This involvement sometimes extends to the point where, upon waking, the dreamer grieves or rejoices, feels ashamed or commends himself for how he behaved in the dream. Among these dreams, three types are distinguished. Some are disordered, of which Sirach writes: “As one who is carried away by the steppe, or chased by the winds, so is faith carried away by sleep” (Sir. 34:2). Others are instructive, which are instilled in a person beginning to regain consciousness by God or a Guardian Angel. Job speaks of these, saying that during his “sleep and in night visions”—when sleep overtakes a person, when he lies on his bed—God “opens his ear” and, having instructed him, “imprints” this knowledge upon him in order to “turn a man away from evil, to remove pride from him, and to keep his soul from the grave” (Job 33:15–18). Finally, there is a third kind: special dreams—divine, prophetic dreams. God Himself speaks of them: “If there is a prophet among you… I will reveal Myself to him in a vision, and I will speak to him in a dream” (Num. 12:6).

Dreams reflect the state of the heart. For the most part, they can be regarded as indicators of our moral condition, which is not always apparent when we are awake. For a carefree person, enslaved by passions, dreams are always impure and passionate: the soul becomes a playground for sin. For a person who has turned to God and is zealous for the purification of the heart, dreams are sometimes good and sometimes bad, depending on which state prevails, and sometimes on the state in which one falls asleep. Such a person is frequently subjected to attacks by demons, who sometimes strongly tempt the inexperienced, as St. John Climacus observes. This compels the vigilant person, as he goes to sleep, following the Church’s instruction, to cry out to God and his Guardian Angel, so that his sleep may be preserved free from every devil and dream, and so that he himself may be further strengthened in goodness through his sleep. As the heart is purified, so too are the dreams, so that for the saints and the perfect, they are, as it were, a continuation of their waking activities. Does this not even extend to the preservation of self-activity and self-governance?

From this examination of the cognitive faculties, it becomes clear that a person who does not walk the right path and does not accept restorative forces is separated from the spiritual, invisible world and does not know it as he ought; he knows the visible world only superficially, and even then only if he engages in its study; for the most part, he merely sees it and observes it. Imagination prevails in such a person; in the midst of its activity, he lives as if in a fog, among a crowd of phantoms, and is frequently subjected to the close influence of evil spirits. For a person living according to the spirit of Christ, everything is different: the lower faculties, especially imagination, are subdued and transformed into instrumental forces that no longer dominate, as they ought; on the contrary, the higher faculties operate at full strength. His mind is a treasure trove of God’s mysteries, for it enters directly into communion with the invisible world and experiences it directly through his spirit. At the same time, he acquires the ability to penetrate the mysteries of creation and providence to such an extent that, even though he still lacks much information and even though his reason has not yet made the necessary preparations by analyzing the visible order of things or the course of events, this does not prevent him from unraveling their innermost, eternal meaning. Although reason is not always enriched with a wealth of knowledge, it always returns to its proper place and, striving to fulfill the virtues proper to it, acquires, over time, sound judgment, which is capable of judging everything within its sphere and, not infrequently, deliberates thoroughly and unhurriedly on matters outside its immediate scope.

2) The State of a Person’s Active Powers

The second class of powers within us consists of the active powers. They, too, exist on three levels—corresponding to the cognitive powers. Highest of all is conscience, which conveys God’s will to the mind—the highest, most detached power. Next comes the will, which is concerned with the organization of our temporal existence and our temporal relationships. Lowest of all is the capacity for base desires.

a) The State of Conscience

Just as the intellect is destined to reveal to man another, spiritual, and most perfect world and to make known its structure and properties, so conscience is destined to form man into a citizen of that world, to which he must eventually migrate. To this end, it proclaims to him the laws of that world, obliges him to obey them, judges him by them, and rewards or punishes him. Conscience is called practical consciousness. In this regard, it can be said that it is a power of the spirit which, being aware of law and freedom, determines their mutual relationship. Depending on its functions or actions, conscience is seen as a lawgiver, a witness, a judge, or a rewarder. In all these aspects, great differences are evident between the conscience of a good Christian and that of a sinner who has fallen away from God. Precisely because the sinner has separated himself from God, one must expect that his conscience cannot be sound; for if it exists, it is the voice of God in the soul (the lawgiver), His eye (the witness), and the representative of His justice (the judge and the dispenser of retribution); upon falling away from Him, all these divine, so to speak, inspirations upon us through the spirit must weaken and diminish in number and strength. Moreover, conscience does not act alone, in isolation, but employs other faculties as mediators and instruments: reason, the will, and the power of feeling. If these are disordered in their proper functions, then one cannot expect conscience to function rightly either.

There are involuntary, unintentional, so to speak, deviations of conscience from the paths of truth—as if they were errors—and there are deliberate distortions of it, or corruption of conscience, arising from opposition to it in order to indulge vices and passions. These two aspects are immediately evident in all three actions of conscience.

Thus, the role of conscience as a lawgiver is to set forth the laws by which a rational and free being ought to act, and to incline the will toward them by the force of its obligation.

There is no need to mention how little power conscience has to move the will to carry out its prescriptions, even those that are clearly recognized. It can still manage to do this somehow if it does not encounter any passion or inclination, but as soon as such a conflict arises, its voice is not heard, and by its power alone a person cannot overcome himself. Therefore, people often sin because of the powerlessness of their conscience; they know many virtues only by hearsay, and merely take pleasure in many of them, just as they dislike certain vices only in words and only for a time or on certain occasions.

Even the very act of making laws—which seems to be the easiest of tasks—is carried out incorrectly by the conscience. The dictates of conscience are perceived as demands. Since other needs—whether natural or acquired later—also make their demands, it is not surprising that a person, in the confusion reigning within him after the Fall, sometimes cannot discern which to obey. Thus, regarding the principal principle of moral action—or that toward which all attention should be directed and all thoughts focused—conscience is, for the most part, almost entirely silent; therefore, a person is compelled to ask: “By doing what will I inherit eternal life?” —and when confronted with such a question, he becomes confused and is forced to admit his ignorance; and if he occasionally offers an answer, it consists of perverse principles devised by a perverse mind in collusion with his inclinations, as was the case with the Pharisees, Sadducees, Stoics, and others. But when the fundamental principle is unknown, not only is the thread of mutual subordination and the relationship among particular laws lost—and some are elevated above others without reasonable grounds, based on chance circumstances—but much is also included in the law that ought not to be law. Thus, for example, one person places civil service above all else, another places worship above all else, and yet another places the scholarly pursuits of a scholar above all else. As for specific cases—that is, when conscience must immediately determine how a person should act in a given situation—there is even greater uncertainty, short-sightedness, and confusion. Here, for the most part, conscience either leaves a person to his own devices—which is why he often neglects what is good and does what is evil simply out of ignorance of evil—or wavers between “yes” and “no,” leaving a person in indecisive uncertainty as to whether what he is doing is right; or calls the bitter sweet and the sweet bitter—and this is true even of lawmakers who have devoted themselves to this task, people experienced in life. In general, conscience leaves a person to act at random, driven by circumstances, without inner certainty or approval. It is evident from all this that this lawgiver has been removed from office, deprived of authority, and has grown so weak that he no longer stands up for his rights; on the contrary, some other force—a false conscience—appears to be at work.

The law-giving conscience is subjected to even greater corruption and distortion when it encounters selfishness and submits to it. Here, first its laws are reinterpreted, then perverted, and finally replaced by entirely different ones—arbitrary and even contrary to true laws. We readily believe what we love, and we strongly desire that the truth be on the side of what we love. Therefore, if we happen to hear the voice of conscience with a commandment contrary to our inclinations, it holds less persuasive power for us than the demands of the heart. In such circumstances, doubt immediately arises regarding the true meaning of the commandment; we ask skeptically: Is this really how it should be understood? Is this what the law requires? Does it apply to everyone? Does it apply to me and my situation? In the midst of this reflection, such matters are for the most part merely set aside, left in doubt for another time; but soon afterward, thoughts pleasing to the heart arise, the law is reinterpreted, and we distance ourselves from fulfilling it under various pretexts. Thus, under the pretext of preserving one’s health, people shirk fasting and abstinence, and under the pretext of maintaining family well-being and meeting needs, they refuse to give to charity; they take interest under the guise of just retribution; in defense of their honor, they engage in duels, and so on. All of this, however, is only half as harmful—if we consider it in the short term—when it pertains to individual cases and, moreover, to a single person; but long-term behavior of this kind, accompanied by a reinterpretation of the law’s meaning, leads to its complete distortion in the conscience, and a perverse rule takes its place. That is why stinginess is regarded as thrift, extravagance as generosity, anger as a sense of noble indignation, indulgence as leniency, cruelty as zeal for the truth, flattery as flexibility of character, cunning as prudence, and pride as a sense of dignity. If, in such a situation, someone finds themselves in a circle where the aforementioned views are accepted and upheld as rules governing a person’s outward behavior in all circumstances—is it any wonder that they would take these rules to be the definitive law of conscience, and come to regard compliance with them as both a righteous act and a virtue, whereas, on the contrary, a life or actions that do not conform to them will be condemned not only by words but also by the sense of conscience.

Conscience, as both witness and judge, is aware of how a person has dealt with the law it prescribes, and, by applying that law to the action along with all its circumstances—both internal and external—it determines whether the person is right or wrong. The judgment of the conscience, as they say, is incorruptible. This is indeed the case, though not always. One can expect inaccuracy in the judgment of conscience in all those cases where the “legislation” of conscience is itself flawed, for then there is no basis for judgment. Furthermore, for the judgment to be accurate, one must consider the act in all its parts, especially the internal dispositions present at the time; but in the case of a sinner, whose mind is constantly clouded, much may well be overlooked. Therefore, his conscience has nothing upon which to base its judgment. Finally, no less important in this regard is zeal for righteousness, so as to relentlessly pursue all that is criminal; for without this, much of what has been observed may be overlooked; this is yet another reason for the unreliability of the judgment of conscience in a sinner, for he is a sinner precisely because he lacks zeal for righteousness. It follows from this that conscience ought to act as follows: zealous for the truth, it should carefully monitor a person’s deeds, and the moment even the slightest irregularity is found, it should immediately bring the person to trial and judge him, without hypocrisy. But such actions are absent from the conscience of a sinful person. How, then, can one expect a fair judgment from such a conscience?

Its unreliability is evident from the very fact that, according to it, every person sees himself as better than he actually is. Except in extreme cases and when it comes to serious sins, everyone is ready to say, “What have I really done?” That is why God-fearing judges speak of themselves and say to themselves, “Cleanse me from my secret sins.” Conscience in a fallen state is like a broken mirror. Just like a broken mirror, it no longer presents our deeds and ourselves as they ought to be. Such is conscience as a witness and judge when it is not clouded by passion; but in this case, its scales tip even further toward the wrong side, and its judgment is distorted. When conscience judges particular cases on its own, its judgment is sometimes still accurate; but as soon as it comes to judging our own passionate deeds, the judgment of conscience is always flawed. Such is the judgment of the ambitious regarding ambition, of the miser regarding miserliness, and so on, whereas in other matters the same conscience remains vigilant. A significant sign of a distorted conscience is the tendency to shift judgment from oneself to others. Conscience is given to us so that we may judge ourselves; if it judges others, it must be said that it has taken on a task that is not its own. This condemnation of others can now be viewed both as an indication of how our judgment of ourselves ought to be and as an indictment of the constant failure of the latter. Thus, in condemning others, judgment is usually swift and instantaneous, whereas when it comes to ourselves, it is slow and delayed—and it ought to be the other way around. Our judgment of others is relentlessly strict, whereas our judgment of ourselves is always cloaked in leniency—and yet the opposite is what should be the case. Our judgment almost always ends with the thought, “I am not like other people…” Just as a merchant judges the affairs of a jurist strictly, and a secular person judges spiritual matters, and so on! Whereas condemnation flows ceaselessly from the heart toward others, we love to cover ourselves with excuses. Self-justification is almost a universal sin. We cite weakness, ignorance, circumstances, temptations, examples, the number of participants—and justify ourselves with all manner of things! If, in the end, this fails, we stubbornly stand our ground. Stubborn denial is the fruit of a severely damaged conscience and, at the same time, of strong selfishness. A person’s inner voice speaks against their own better judgment: “I’m not to blame, it’s nothing, it’s trivial!” And in doing so, they employ various twists of logic, primarily regarding the act in question, straining to frame it as a situation in which such acts are excusable.

Conscience as a judge. As soon as judgment is passed, and a person acknowledges within themselves, “I am guilty”—grief, anguish, self-reproach, remorse, or the torments of conscience begin. Such feelings are the very reward for sins from the conscience, just as, conversely, the joyful feelings of a clear conscience are the reward for righteousness. What this is and how intense it can be is demonstrated by the torments to which great criminals are subjected by their conscience, when it terrifies them both internally with anguish and externally with phantoms— —both in reality and in dreams. But again, how much injustice there is on this side as well! There is one basis for this: the injustice of the first two actions—legislation and the courts—for why torment the innocent? Another is the state of the heart—a hardened heart remains indifferent, no matter how much it is blamed. Because of this, the awareness of one’s guilt mostly remains in the mind, without troubling the heart, and a person often says: “I am guilty, but so what?” —and remains a cold spectator of his own sins, which are often by no means insignificant. The circumstances of time and place play no small role in this. Thus, a recent crime still troubles us quite deeply, but with the passage of time it becomes merely a faint reminder; the scene of the crime also troubles us greatly, but far from it we are at peace. Often, the conscience is afflicted by excessive scrupulosity, whereby, regarding almost every action as a sin, it constantly troubles and gnaws at a person. The state of one who is subjected to such judgment is agonizing and is therefore a pathological, unnatural state.

But all this happens of its own accord, without our malicious involvement. Where intent comes into play, however, we either distort the conscience’s judgment or silence it. This is achieved through various methods of numbing the conscience. This numbing also occurs naturally as a result of frequent falls into sin, for it is well known that the second fall causes less torment, the third even less, and so on, less and less, until finally the conscience becomes completely numb: do whatever you want. Out of fear that the numbed conscience might somehow awaken again, people resort to various tricks. These include: choosing an indulgent confessor, a false confession, falsely reassuring oneself with absolution, limiting further amendment to mere outward appearances or to external acts of piety alone, and placing excessive hope in the Lord’s mercy; or, even worse, convincing oneself that the pangs of conscience are merely superstitious fears carried over from an inexperienced childhood; deliberately removing oneself from people, places, and even subjects of reflection that might disturb the conscience; deliberately seeking distraction or exposing oneself to vain, mind-numbing, and powerful impressions; and finally, to top it all off—boasting about one’s sins. By such means, one gradually succeeds in completely silencing the conscience, and it remains silent for a time.

Thus, a conscience in a sinful state—according to the law, judgment, and retribution—is either inherently flawed or deliberately distorted for the sake of the passions. Because of this, some freely give themselves over to the full outpouring of their passions and a sinful life, for when the conscience is reconciled with the passions, who can bring them to their senses? Others live in cold indifference, neither good nor bad. In both cases, their conduct is clearly perverted, and it will remain so until their conscience is awakened. The extent of this corruption determines what happens to a person as a result. For some, even after a severe and agonizing crisis, return to the true life; others, on the contrary, upon the awakening of their conscience, succumb to despair and drink the bitter cup of lawlessness to the dregs, only to later drink the cup of God’s wrath to the very bottom.

In a person who has turned to God and restored his grace-filled communion with Him, the erring conscience is set aright, and the distorted conscience is corrected in all three of its functions. The first ray of grace falls upon the conscience and, with its divine fire, purifies it, as gold is purified in the crucible. When conversion takes place and communion with God is restored, then the conscience regains all its original strength. What, then, will prevent the voice of God—the law of conscience—from penetrating to the depths of the soul? What will prevent the ray from the eye of God—the judgment of conscience—from falling upon a person’s deeds and intentions and illuminating them? Or why could the soul not be warmed by the warmth of God’s anticipated favor or tremble with fear of God’s wrath? The partition between God and conscience has been torn down; the faculties necessary for conscience have been restored; consequently, conscience possesses all the means for proper functioning.

Thus it becomes sound in its legislative function. Awareness of God’s laws rouses the sinner from slumber, but it does not subsequently diminish; rather, it is elevated. This is facilitated by grace itself, which, like “the anointing that teaches” everyone how to act (1 John 2:27), guides him in all the ways of life, both secretly and openly. This is furthered by a thirst for the Word of God, from which the repentant sinner does not turn away, but seeks to hear or read it, absorbs it, nourishes himself with it, and transforms everything drawn from it in the depths of his heart into rules and principles, thereby illuminating his conscience. This is furthered by life itself. Feeling certain that he is walking in God’s will, he carefully examines God’s will for himself and in all circumstances that concern him, and whenever faced with sin, he says to himself: “If I commit this evil deed, I will sin before God”; and regarding good: “My heart is ready, ready!” In this way, he becomes accustomed to a life of righteousness within his own sphere and no longer needs to consult the book of laws, but knows them directly, like an experienced jurist. As for the assaults of the depraved will, although they are felt, their voice is suppressed at that very moment; even if it were still audible, lawful activity in defiance of them is not abandoned, for one is determined to walk in God’s will without self-pity, with every kind of sacrifice, amid all kinds of hostility, both internal and external.

It proves itself reliable in the process of judgment. A vigilant and sober eye, fixed upon oneself, perceives all the nuances of internal and external affairs. When, at the same time, on the other side stands the pure mirror of conscience—what prevents the matter from being reflected in this mirror in its true form, and thus the judgment of conscience from being true? Judgment is the application of a principle to a particular case. If both the principle and the case exist, the judgment cannot fail to occur; and if both are true, it cannot be false. The perfection of this act of conscience is further enhanced by the fact that it is considered the greatest sin to condemn another, and when this happens unintentionally, it is atoned for by deep repentance. But when the judgment is directed entirely toward oneself, it is carried out without concealment, without false leniency, in full detail and completeness, addressing not only deeds and words but also intentions and thoughts. To guard against errors in this matter, an outside judge is chosen (a spiritual father or an experienced elder to whom everything is revealed), who decides the matter and whose decision is accepted as God’s decision. Here one will find no crude self-justification or lack of self-awareness, for life is spent almost entirely in self-condemnation and feelings of repentance; one’s deeds are not considered perfect or complete, nor is one’s self deemed worthy of mercy. How fruitful such dispositions are! First, they bring peace to the soul, undisturbed by any earthly troubles, for the guilty person feels himself worthy of every punishment; then they bring purity to life, for the more one condemns one’s deeds or aspects of one’s conduct, the more perfect they must become, if such reevaluation is undertaken with the aim of attaining perfection. It is also effective in retribution. Petrified insensitivity is driven out when God’s grace stirs the whole being of a person; there is also constant prayer for final deliverance from it. Therefore, just as a slight fluctuation in the atmosphere is immediately reflected in a barometer, so too, in the converted person, the sting of a conscientious accusation immediately leaves a wound of painful contrition, or the balm of justification anoints the soul with the unction of peace and fills it with the delightful fragrance of joy. It should be noted here that the torments of conscience take on a completely different character here than they do in the unconverted. They are comforting and touching; they do not embitter, alienate, or consume. Perhaps this is because, after conversion, amid zeal for pleasing God, only a few, unexpected, and unintentional sins occur. True, past deeds are not overlooked either; when necessary, they are actively recalled, examined in detail with all their circumstances and consequences, and subjected to an inner judgment, as if the hour of death, God’s judgment, and the final verdict had arrived; and in a heart thus laid bare, all that has been done contrary to God’s will is washed away with tears; yet even this does not crush their spirit with despair. The spirit may be crushed by the comparison of the past with the future, but it always ends in comforting peace in God: “I am a sinner, but Your creation; I turn to You—may Your will be done!” And in this burning of conscience, they deliver themselves from the fire of the future. The peace of conscience among the saints did not preclude such brokenness of spirit; on the contrary, many spent all their time in tears, while others were dry—as they said—because they constantly remembered the fire of Gehenna, which scorched them unceasingly (Macarius the Great). Such a state of conscience, on the one hand, brought them a sobering clarity that was refreshing and uplifting; on the other hand, in their relationship with God and in every aspect of their lives, it filled them with sweet peace, inexpressible joy, and all-encompassing divine bliss. “The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding,” rested upon them (Phil. 4:7). In this state, they received an irresistible inspiration to perform works pleasing to God. The Apostle Paul held the testimony of his conscience in the highest regard and, for its sake, endured all manner of afflictions. Others felt the same way (Job 27:6). This is the comforting manna and the strengthening heavenly food brought by angels from heaven. This is the joy of the Holy Spirit, or the power by which, following the apostle, one can rejoice unceasingly.

The fruits of such a state of conscience are: first and foremost, boldness before God, by which one turns to God unashamedly and without doubt, like innocent children to their father; then—vigorous, strong, and swift action, for a pure conscience draws upon divine power, which, filling the entire soul, endows it with tirelessness, unceasing labor, and the ability to overcome obstacles—which, in fact, is the very essence of the freedom of the spirit proper to human beings; finally, the will merges with the conscience, and all inner rebellion ceases: a person enters a state in which the law is no longer a burden to him, because he himself is entirely filled with the law.

b) The State of the Will

Below conscience, among the active forces, stands the will, to which the organization of our earthly, temporal life belongs: undertakings, plans, morals, actions, behavior—in short, everything through which a person expresses himself outwardly from within. It can be called the capacity for aspirations and dispositions. Its primary object is the good. Its modes of action are desire and aversion: turning away from evil and striving toward good—this is the essence of life. A person cannot desire evil or turn away from good; rather, they can only regard evil as good and good as evil, and—deceived by the former—desire it under the guise of good, while rejecting the latter, perceiving it as evil.

The inevitability—or the basis and source—of our aspirations and desires lies in the incompleteness of our being. The sense of this incompleteness compels a person to seek objects with which to fulfill themselves. In this respect, a person is like parched earth or a sponge; the number of needs corresponds to the number of its openings. The object in which a person hopes to find satisfaction for his need is considered a good, which is all the higher the more comprehensive it is. It is evident that the supreme good for a person can be only that which fully and comprehensively satisfies him. Such a good is God alone. If, furthermore, the strength of a desire is determined by the quality of the expected good, then the desire for God must be our highest and strongest desire. We must also expect this for the following reason: desire is a reflection of need, and need is a reflection of the nature of our being. Since man is created in the image of God, his primary need—and consequently his desire—must be a longing for God and divine things. “What do I have in heaven, and what do I desire on earth, … O God of my heart and my portion forever” (Ps. 72:25–26).

In man, in his innocent state, this righteousness did indeed exist in his heart or will, but through the Fall, a transformation was bound to occur—and indeed did occur. Where did his will turn? As is evident from the circumstances of the Fall—toward himself. Instead of God, man loved himself with infinite love, made himself his sole goal, and regarded everything else as a means to that end.

From this it is evident that the primary disposition, lodged in the very depths of the soul of a fallen human being who has not yet been raised, is self-love, or selfishness. This disposition is so natural, universal, powerful, and irresistible that Aristotle (a pagan) wrote in his moral teachings: “Even a good person does everything for himself; therefore, one must love oneself.” This is why, at the very beginning of a good life in Christ Jesus, one is commanded to deny oneself, and then, throughout the entire course of following Christ, “not to please oneself” (Rom. 15:1) and “not to seek one’s own interests” (Phil. 2:4). When Macarius the Great advises us to look deep within ourselves and slay the serpent lurking at the very bottom of the heart, he means by this serpent self-love (Discourses 1, ch. 1).

All vicious dispositions, or all moral evil, stem from self-love, as Theodore, Bishop of Edessa, says (On the Love of Good, vol. 3, ch. 93). “Self-love is the mother of unspeakable evils. Whoever is overcome by it enters into an alliance with all other passions.” It is not difficult, however, to observe that among these passions there are primary and principal ones, standing at the head of the others, themselves headed by self-love. These primary manifestations of self-centeredness are pride—or, more generally, the thirst for exaltation—greed, or the love of gain, and sensuality—or, more fully, the thirst for all manner of pleasures and delights. This is confirmed by experience and simple observation: no matter which passion you take, if you trace it back to its source, you will always arrive at one of the aforementioned primary passions. Therefore, St. Maximus the Confessor says (On Love, Book 2, Chapter 59): “Guard yourself against the mother of all evils—self-love. For from this are born the first three passionate thoughts—lust, greed, and vanity—from which the entire host of evils subsequently springs” (see also Theodore of Edessa, chs. 61, 62, and Gregory of Sinai in *On Love*). The world is self-love made tangible, or the sum total of its manifestations in people and their actions; for St. John the Theologian divides everything in the world into three categories: “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life” (1 John 2:16), that is, everything there is driven by the action of these three passions. It is the arena where the activity of the sinful will unfolds in all its breadth.

Each of these primary passions, in turn, gives rise to a multitude of others, imbued with its spirit and character. They leave their mark on all of a person’s faculties as well as on all his activities, thereby complicating his passion and multiplying his passions.

Carnal lust is an insatiable desire for pleasures, or the ceaseless pursuit of objects capable of delighting the soul’s internal and external senses. It compels one to make one’s own pleasure the sole goal, or to live for one’s own pleasure and to direct everything one encounters and everything one undertakes toward that end. The variety of specific inclinations arising from it depends both on the objects of pleasure and on the faculties through which it is experienced. Thus, from the pleasures of taste arise gluttony, drunkenness, and overindulgence; from sexual passions—debauchery in various forms; from the faculties of movement—distraction or laziness; from the emotions of the soul—corrupt love and dreamy sensuality through the imagination, and so on. Its principal products, however, are gluttony, fornication, sloth, and frivolous amusements.

Whoever is possessed by this passion is compelled by it to act in accordance with its nature in every situation, and it imprints its spirit on everything.

Thus, with regard to religion and the knowledge of God, those who are given to sensual pleasure, due to their characteristic frivolity and their almost exclusive focus on the external, do not take the truths of theology deeply to heart, wherefore these truths not only remain fruitless, as if they had no roots, but are also subjected to fierce internal attacks from inclinations directed toward a different order; and this latter circumstance inevitably leads a person devoted to pleasures either into a state of indifference toward the truths of the faith or, even worse, into doubt regarding them. In their worship, they seek a pleasant liturgical service, and in churches they seek not the glory and honor of God, but the delight of hearing and sight. In their innermost worship, they seek above all sweet stirrings of the heart and strenuously evoke them, which is why “in time of trial they fall away” (Luke 8:13), when the truth requires them to endure afflictions, whether internal or external. They are “enemies of the cross; … God is their belly” (Phil. 3:18).

With regard to themselves. The hedonist is entirely preoccupied with pleasures—and only the present ones at that—saying to himself, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die” (Isa. 22:13, 56:12; 1 Cor. 15:32; Eccl. 2:6)—he does not even think about the future and therefore does not consider the consequences of his life, even those just beginning, even when he is suddenly struck by illness, poverty, or disgrace. He holds his soul in contempt; his body alone “feasts lavishly” (Titus 1:12; 1 Tim. 5:6). Consequently, you will find in him neither precise nor worthwhile concepts, nor firm rules for living. Both in his actions and in his thoughts, he is as fleeting as dust in the wind. He is alien to serious, steady, strenuous, and long-term pursuits; therefore, he cannot produce anything of his own that might outlive him.

And he is no better in his relations with others. True, he is reluctant to personally offend others, because that might lead to trouble. But anyone who does not share his disposition or is unwilling to participate in his endeavors is not only a stranger to him but also an enemy. Yet, should the need arise, he is ready to resort to all manner of injustices: deceit, breaking his word, false promises, and cunning tricks. He has a tendency toward friendship, but he usually chooses his friends not based on true merit, and these friendships are short-lived. In his interactions, he may show a desire to be polite, but this is immediately followed by barbs, sharp remarks, mockery, and sometimes even insolence.

Little good comes from such people, whether in everyday life or in civic affairs. In fact, they are incapable of either commanding or obeying properly. A hedonist—as a father, husband, master, or boss—is the worst of all. Children, a wife, the family, and those entrusted to his care suffer as a result. The cause of it all is the indolence and false meekness or leniency that have become second nature to him, because discipline is often accompanied by unpleasantness. Among those of a lower rank in all walks of life, there is no open rebellion, but almost always grumbling, sluggishness, and laziness; in general, they are more “hearers” than doers of the law (James 1:22).

Greed is an insatiable desire to possess, or the pursuit and acquisition of things under the guise of utility, solely so that one may say of them: “They are mine.” There are many objects of this passion: a house with all its appurtenances, fields, servants, and above all—money, because with it one can obtain anything. Others, however, are exclusively drawn to silver and gold. Consequently, this passion can be seen primarily in two forms: the love of silver and the love of wealth, or avarice. Judging by its manifestations, under the influence of vanity it takes the form of ostentation; from pride and a lust for power—universal shrewdness, striving to seize all commerce into one’s own hands; and from madness—stinginess. This passion is constantly accompanied by agonizing worry, envy, fears, sorrow, and grief. The title befitting the person who possesses it is intriguing; for he will not take a single step without it bringing him some benefit, and everything his hand touches—be it a word or a thought—pays him its tribute. Then, once an object has entered his domain, he declares: “It is mine forever...” This exclusivity of possession, resolute and heartfelt, draws a sort of fence around his possessions and cuts off everyone else.

With regard to religion. He has no time to know God; therefore, he holds to the faith as he has heard and accepted it, and as he is able to imagine it with a soul cluttered with sensual things. Above all, he is prone to superstition, anthropomorphism, and idolatry. His intense and exclusive love for material things casts doubt on his inner worship of God, for, as the Lord says, “You cannot serve both God and mammon” (Matt. 6:24). Therefore, he is directly called an idolater (Eph. 5:5; Col. 3:5; Matt. 19:22; Job 31:24; Ps. 118:36). He seems to honor God, but not with his heart, rather with something external—and even then, only in the hope of increasing his profits or out of fear of losing what he has and a desire to preserve it. Therefore, he is inclined toward outward worship and loves the wealth and splendor associated with it. The passion for gain, in the absence of straightforward paths, sometimes leads him to sorcery and other absurdities (1 Tim. 6:9).

Regarding himself. Certain virtues are strikingly apparent in the avaricious person. He appears to be thrifty, yet is actually stingy; his labor and diligence are solely for gain; his abstinence from pleasures and delights is only to avoid spending. In truth, he cares neither for his soul nor for his body: he sacrifices himself to material things. His preoccupation leaves him no time to enjoy his acquisitions, and therefore there is no peace in his soul. Should misfortune strike, he is ready to fall into despair, easily loses his mind and goes mad, and sometimes takes his own life.

Toward others, he is inhuman, envious, treacherous, faithless, and a troublemaker; he does not like to do good deeds for free, unless his vanity compels him to; he knows no lasting friendship. There is no injustice that a self-serving person would not commit, as Judas demonstrated (Matt. 26:15). From him come theft, sacrilege (Josh. 7:1; Acts 5:1), murder, and betrayal.

“The greedy” are unfit members of the household, society, and the Church (Prov. 15:27, 15:29; 2 Kings 5; 1 Tim. 3:3; Phil. 2:20–21; 1 Pet. 5:2). The lowest among them are usually submissive, thrifty, and work hard to save a penny here and there, but they are prone to deceive their master or boss, to steal for themselves in any way they can and cover their tracks, and they immediately abandon them as soon as they face any trouble. Those in higher positions or in some form of authority—there is nothing worse than their neglect and indifference toward others. They care for no one—neither for the truth nor for people. No one likes such a boss, for he always wants to skim off a kopeck somehow; therefore, they are disloyal to him and seek in every way to outwit him. At home, he treats everyone poorly, just as he treats himself, neglecting his children and his entire family. Thus, rudeness and ignorance take root.

Pride is an insatiable desire for elevation, or a strenuous pursuit of things through which one might rise above all others. Self-love is most evident here. It is, as it were, the very face of pride, for here the sole concern is with one’s own self. The first and most inward manifestation of pride is conceit, by which all others are considered inferior to us; even those who far surpass us are, in comparison to us, not very important. As it breaks through to the surface, it seeks out objects that elevate it and, judging by them, changes itself. When it focuses on trivial things—such as physical strength, beauty, clothing, family connections, or other such matters—it is vanity; when it turns to ranks of honor and glory, it is a lust for power and ambition; when it delights in rumors, gossip, and the attention of others, it is a love of fame. In all these forms, however—except, perhaps, for conceit—pride is accompanied by willfulness, defiance, self-assurance, arrogance, pretentiousness, contempt for others, ingratitude, envy, a wrathful disposition bordering on vengeance, and a vindictive nature. Its principal branches, however, can be considered envy coupled with hatred and anger coupled with a vindictive spirit.

In the Word of God, the proud are also called “those who are wise in their own eyes” (Rom. 11:20, 12:16; 1 Tim. 6:17; Isa. 14:13), pompous (1 Tim. 6:4), haughty (Deut. 8:14, 17:20; Ezek. 28:2), and scornful (Luke 18:9, 18:11; Gal. 5:26).

One who exalts himself above all others in his heart—in matters of religion and the knowledge of God—is the most dangerous person. He is capable of falling into the very abyss of wickedness. Due to his tendency to set himself apart from others, he either invents new opinions himself or readily accepts those invented by others, opinions that are distinguished by a certain loftiness and strangeness. Often, to demonstrate his distinctiveness from the common people, he rejects the most obvious truths, such as the existence of God, the immortality of the soul, and so on. Therefore, such people are rightly considered inventors of heresies (1 Tim. 6:4–10). In general, his characteristic argumentativeness and stubbornness in holding to accepted opinions are very detrimental to the truth. In outward worship, he favors stiffness, ostentation, and artificiality; in inward worship—tension, loftiness, and abstraction; in prayer—lofty verbosity; in the display of piety—eccentricity: everything in his own way, not like others; he may also adopt all forms of worship for the sake of glory and vanity and turn them into means of satisfying his lust for power, like Jeroboam (3 Kings 12:28–29).

Temperance, diligence, thrift, patience, and perseverance give him the appearance of a strict fulfiller of his duties toward himself, but only in appearance; for all these are instrumental virtues, not essential ones, and therefore their value depends on the spirit with which they are undertaken and maintained. It is true that he is more concerned with the cultivation of his soul, but for what purpose and in what spirit? Is it to show off, or perhaps to uphold the glory of science, or his own glory and that of his rank, and so on? For this reason, he devotes himself more to whatever is in vogue in his time. But he is quick-tempered, hot-headed, and gives himself no rest; as a result, he soon exhausts his strength and brings illness upon himself.

Toward others, he is the most unjust of men: he attributes everything to himself and nothing to others; he is always eager to command and never to obey. In his view, others must be means to his ends, and indeed he acts upon them either by force, when he is already powerful, or by cunning, while he is not yet powerful. He is, therefore, a hypocritical politician; do not expect gratitude from him, for he claims the right to accept services from others as a tribute. He does not hesitate to insult, use force, show contempt, or intimidate when the opportunity arises. He prefers to be feared rather than loved. His friendship lasts only as long as it serves his purposes.

In everyday and civic life, all disorder stems from such people. Those of lower rank with this character do not wish to obey; they do not tolerate the bonds of duty imposed upon them, which is why they are always ready to revolt. Those of higher standing are self-willed and hard-hearted; they punish harshly and are reluctant to forgive; they seek to rule by word and glance rather than by persuasion (1 Pet. 5:3). In their dealings with others, they love to set the tone, but they are respectful toward only a few, and sincere toward no one. Therefore, they are intolerable in society, hated by people and by God, Who opposes them and often humbles them for their own instruction (Matt. 23:12; 1 Pet. 5:5; James 4:6; Job 9:13, 40:6–7; Matt. 11:23). In the family, there is no peace, only strife and quarrels; children become rude; servants act willfully; wives are sometimes grieved, sometimes grow accustomed to their stubbornness.

These are the immediate offspring of self-love: lust of the flesh, lust of the eyes, and worldly pride—along with the passions that arise from them. There are, however, as the Holy Fathers note, among those arising from them certain primary ones, as it were, necessary and ever-present companions. Five are recognized as such: anger, fornication, sorrow, sloth, and vanity. Their origin from the first ones is very simple. Thus, sensuality manifests itself primarily in two passions, gluttony and fornication, and is accompanied by laxity and sloth; sorrow and envy are always associated with the love of money, while anger and vanity are associated with pride. These five derivatives are placed in the same category as the primary ones, due to their prolific nature, so that the primary or fundamental passions are considered to number exactly eight or seven, for some do not distinguish vanity from pride. See on this subject Theodore of Edessa—Chapter 10 (The Love of Goodness, Vol. 3); Evagrius on Various Thoughts (The Love of Goodness, vol. 1, ch. 1:24); “Orthodox Confession,” part 3, question 23 and following. See the same in The Ladder in the chapters on these passions. In these articles, the characteristics of each vice are defined with sufficient completeness, and the passions derived from them are described in sufficient detail. St. Gregory of Sinai chose a particular approach to the development of the passions (On the Love of Goodness, vol. 5, chs. 78, 79). He divides them into mental and bodily passions; the mental ones are further subdivided according to three faculties: the thinking, the desiring, and the irritable. But it is not difficult to see that he does not depart from the general classification, but merely addresses the question of how the threefold nature of self-love is reflected in the parts of the human being and in his faculties. Therefore, the passions arising, for example, from the faculty of thought, some possess the qualities of pride, others of lust, and still others of sensual pleasure. At the very least, the organization and development of the passions in this way is possible and can bring undoubted benefit to life. Here one can discern the significance of each passion and, based on that significance, scientifically derive remedies against them—though these will be the very same remedies now proposed based on the experience of the godly Fathers. It goes without saying, however, that such a task requires both a close familiarity with the writings of the Holy Fathers and a profound understanding of the human nature. But who is satisfied with this? Peter of Damascus (see *Slavic Philanthropy*, Part 3), having gathered 298 names of passions from the Divine Scriptures in no particular order, adds: “This is what I found in the Scriptures, but I could not arrange them in order, nor do I dare even attempt to do so; for, in the words of St. John Climacus, if you seek knowledge of evil—that is, a rational understanding and explanation of it—you will not find it.

As for these passions in their application to each individual, it is impossible to comprehend how varied—and at times grotesque—their combination is in a single person. Every person who is enslaved to sin always possesses the self with its three offspring and some of the five passions; it is only that in one person one predominates, in another—another. Along with them, a whole host of passions resides within a person, sharing the character and spirit of their progenitor, which varies among people due to the influence of gender, age, and social status. A detailed description of possible combinations would be an excellent guide to self-knowledge, for a person must know both their primary passion and its entire family within themselves. In this interplay, they sometimes reinforce one another or restrict one another, which gives rise to a multitude of apparent virtues with which people usually delude themselves.

His history best explains how his passions take on various forms. Everyone is born flawed—with a self, or the seed of all possible passions. Whether this seed develops predominantly in one direction in one person and in another in another depends, first and foremost, on the temperament inherited from one’s parents; second, on upbringing; and most of all, on imitation, which is nourished by the examples set before them, customs, treatment, or the company they keep. Like a young tree, a person, amid these circumstances, involuntarily leans in one direction or another; and then, having set out on the path of life and acting in that same direction, becomes established in it through habit, which becomes, as they say, a second nature. And thus a person becomes defined by the passion that has taken hold of them, or hardened by it, and their entire nature is permeated by it.

Once established in this direction, a person sits as if in a dungeon in chains, and can no longer extricate themselves from it on their own. These passions—or evil inclinations of the will—form, of themselves, an impenetrable veil, or a strong barrier, that does not allow God’s saving light to reach them. And, first of all, for every passion there is a range of objects that satisfy it, which a person regards as good and whose possession he sets as his ultimate goal. As with these goods, he merges with them with his soul, as it were, chemically, and lives within them; and therefore cannot turn his gaze inward until another influence comes along, merges with his heart, and draws him away from them. Second, having grown accustomed to moving within the circle of these objects, a person inevitably encounters certain thoughts that indulge his passion and conceal it from the eye of conscience. Such thoughts give rise to specific sinful tendencies, which can rightly be called prejudices of the heart or the will. There, self-love keeps a constant thought in a person’s mind that he is better than others, glosses over his shortcomings, and makes him always appear good in his own eyes. Indulgence assures us that pleasures are so natural to us that we cannot do without them; for why should we deny ourselves them when nature itself has inclined us toward them? And distraction and frivolity prevent us from delving deeply and discerning where true strength lies. How much justification there is in the love of money! You can’t get by—save for a rainy day, a house is a pit, and so on—yet in the meantime, worry drives everything forward and forward. Pride says: Who else is going to fill these or those positions? If everyone starts refusing, then what?—once you’re set on this path, what can you do?.. And here certain seemingly good qualities, also driven by passion, catch the eye. In this evident mingling of the heart with visible goods and with the depraved principles that justify passion—even though they are apparently of a prejudicial nature—lies the most solid barrier to the action of grace upon the sinner’s heart and to his conversion. Under the influence of these causes, none of those possessed by passions consider themselves wicked, see no need for correction, or recognize what needs to be corrected. In those upon whom grace acts, however, a substantial change takes place in the disposition of the will. This change occurs when, through the crushing power of repentance, the self is transformed and the person, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, ascends to the assurance of salvation and resolves to serve the Lord until the end of his life; for this reason, in the sacrament of baptism or repentance, he is ineffably reunited with God through the Lord Jesus Christ and becomes a partaker of the divine nature. Just as before, having fallen away from God, he focused on himself and clung to the transitory for his own sake, so now, upon conversion, having renounced himself and all creation, he clings to God with his heart. Hence, the principal dispositions of the Christian’s will are: self-denial and zeal to remain in communion with God—that is, love.

Self-denial is the rejection of self-love. It pursues everything bearing the mark of selfhood, hates it, and turns away from all things that nourish it; it regards all temporal, bodily, and external advantages as nothing; it withdraws its heart from all created things. In this last respect, it consists, in fact, not in the lack or abandonment of things, but in withdrawing the heart from them, or in a state in which all things are regarded, as it were, as foreign, extraneous, not occupying the soul and not binding it to themselves; therefore, it is synonymous with impartiality or dispassion, when everything except God is foreign to the heart.

Being by its very nature a rejection of self-love, it also bears fruit or gives rise within us dispositions that are completely opposite to those produced by self-centeredness, namely:

Instead of pride, the self-sacrificing person possesses humility—a disposition by which he considers himself the most insignificant of creatures, worthy of every contempt and humiliation; attributing only sins to himself, he ascribes all that is good to the source of all good—God; he does not claim any advantages over others for himself, but considers everyone else superior to himself. This is self-abasement, combined with a sense of his own poverty and weakness.

Instead of self-interest, he possesses not only selflessness and non-acquisitiveness, but also a sense of being a stranger. He calls nothing his own, but regards everything as God’s, and himself merely as a steward of God’s property, which is why he freely shares it with all who are in need. He considers everything he has—his house, his lands, and his villages—to be entrusted to him only for a time. In his heart, he has no permanent home here, but seeks the city to come; therefore, he sends everything ahead to his heavenly homeland.

Instead of lusts and pleasures—self-mortification and self-mortification. There is no sorrow, no matter how much he considers himself worthy of it. Therefore, just as one living in sin pities himself and treats himself as if he were a sore spot, so one who has turned to God is angry with himself and ready to torment himself, to starve himself, to deprive himself of sleep, and to exhaust himself with labor; he is glad when he is insulted or struck, and he is insatiable in his self-torment.

Love for God—or the longing to abide in communion with God as the supreme good and to find peace in Him, or the awareness of bliss in His communion—is poured into the heart of the one who has turned to God through the Holy Spirit and directs his entire being toward God. This love is a real tasting of divine bliss, not a mental or imaginary one. Therefore, to those who wonder how one can renounce everything, it must be said: to renounce all created things in order to unite with the Creator means to exchange an imaginary good for the true one. Love is the necessary complement to self-denial or renunciation of all things. One who has tasted the sweet does not desire the bitter, and one who has tasted God will desire nothing but Him. Consequently, true self-denial goes hand in hand with communion with God.

From this love—or thirst for the Divine—the following constant dispositions, by their very nature, develop or take root in the heart, constituting the positive foundation of Christian activity: walking before God. He beholds God before him and acts in His presence as if acting on His behalf. His attention, along with his heart, is fixed on God; he does not, as it were, take his eyes off Him. That is why it is said that his innermost being is in God. Gregory the Theologian says that one ought to remember God more than one ought to breathe. That is why some have sought to link this remembrance to their very breath.

Zeal for pleasing God—that is, the constant, diligent, and sincere fulfillment of every known will of God—without self-deception and without any leniency, even if it costs one’s life. It is accompanied by a careful discernment of this will and a prompt commitment to its fulfillment despite all obstacles. The Apostle Paul expresses this disposition with the word: “I pursue.”

Sorrow for God, by which, on the one hand, he longs to be released so that he may be with Christ, so that the kingdom of God may come for him more quickly; on the other hand, he laments the incompleteness of God’s glory in himself and others, which is why he sheds tears in almost unceasing feelings of repentance. It is the nature of the one who loves to desire to be in the presence of the Beloved; therefore, it is sorrowful when, while living in the body, one is separated from the Lord. From this it is self-evident that the order of a Christian’s life, or the pattern of his conduct, must correspond to these two fundamental principles—self-denial and love. This is indeed the case, as exemplified by the saints. Thus, a Christian always possesses this.

Self-resistance and self-discipline: that is, he constantly resists evil within himself and inclines himself toward good. When evil impulses arise, they must be stopped; when one must do good but the heart is reluctant, one must compel oneself to do so. In this lies man’s unceasing struggle with himself. Through constant practice in this struggle, he finally forms within himself a good person who acts willingly, extinguishes evil, and transforms the activity of his powers toward good (Macarius the Great, On the Guarding of the Heart, chs. 12, 13; On the Freedom of the Mind, ch. 18).

Since evil is not eradicated all at once but still lingers within the person who has turned to God, he is commanded—or it is natural for him—to maintain constant vigilance and sobriety, so as not to overlook, through inattention, anything harmful and thus fall. He is an alert guardian over himself, one who remains in constant anticipation of an attack and immediately sees the approaching enemy with a discerning mind. It is also characteristic of him to maintain constant exertion of his strength, banishing all laxity. One cannot say, “ , that is enough exertion”—for there are those who, having spent five or six years in peace, became disheartened and fell (Macarius the Great. On the Revival of the Mind, § 3). Therefore, a true Christian is always just beginning; he still thinks that he has not labored, that he still stands at the threshold, that he has not yet attained it. The thought of letting oneself slacken is the most deadly of all. That is why they command: commit yourself to labors and feats until the end of your life.

It is evident that these latter dispositions—struggle, sobriety, and unrelenting effort—as they combine self-denial and love, may be called central or primary and are therefore imprecise. Through them, dispositions arising from self-denial and those stemming from love subsequently develop, and all of these, taken together, culminate in perfect self-denial and perfect love. This, one might say, characterizes asceticism, or points out to it the true path and, at the same time, the true meaning of the Christian life.

Everything said so far concerns the directions of the will, which constitute its material aspect. But just as reason, in addition to its material aspect, also has a formal activity, so too does the will have a kind of formal activity. Let us define it briefly.

The activity of the will is directly grounded in desires. Its task is to bring disordered and, so to speak, as yet unqualified desires into order, to harmonize them with one’s goals, needs, and the existing order, to determine human actions and undertakings, and to outline an entire system of rules for the order of one’s social and domestic activities. It is as active as reason is in cognition.

In this activity of the will, three parts are distinguished: choice, resolve, and the action itself. In choice, one seeks what to settle on; in resolve, the wavering of desires is settled on a single option, which, once the means are discovered, is put into practice. In all these aspects, there are significant differences between the sinner and the seeker of truth.

Choice. What is chosen, and how? It is important to understand that the nature of things is already predetermined. It is determined by the fundamental character of life. Just as one person turns only to what nourishes self-love—that is, to pleasures, interests, or distinctions—so, on the contrary, another’s every intention is directed solely and exclusively toward pleasing God; he considers only what is true and honest, even if it involves virtue and praise. It can be said that the sum of the first person’s actions, in all their forms, is entirely of a passionate and self-centered nature, whereas the actions of the other are all imbued with a selfless striving toward God. Exceptions are very rare, and even then, perhaps only in appearance. But here, too, lies the basis of the difference in the form of choice—for while one chooses between two objects, both of which are desirable, choosing without strain or inner conflict, the other, on the contrary, chooses not only one good out of two, but also in defiance of rebellious, passionate desires and thoughts; therefore, his choice is always the result of a struggle and victory, or is accompanied by them to a greater or lesser extent. Moreover, the former often finds it unnecessary even to choose, for he acts according to an established routine, in which there is no need to pause, think, or reason; the latter cannot follow an established order; on the contrary, even routine matters require his full inner engagement, as if they were being done for the first time. The former often yields to the pull of desire and does whatever his will naturally inclines him to do. The latter, with keen thought, always looks ahead and chooses from what lies before him only that in which he sees a reflection of God’s will. The former, out of self-confidence and arrogance, often allows himself to act on a whim, expecting that everything said and done by his exalted person will be good and worthy of universal approval. The former does not allow himself a single moment of carelessness; with full attention and conscientiousness, he examines every circumstance, even the smallest, and proceeds with a matter only after clearly recognizing God’s will in it. The other often makes choices simply because he wants to, out of self-will and the corruption of his will, whereas he ought to submit in all things to the judgment and guidance of reason. The latter maintains a constant orientation opposed to his own will, which is why he suppresses its rebellions at the very first sign of their emergence. Consequently, just as the former fosters self-will and disobedience through his choices or lack thereof, so the latter cultivates within himself rational obedience and willing submission to God’s will.

Resolution is an internal act of the will, instantaneous, measured by the steadfastness of desire rather than by duration or direction; therefore, it is, so to speak, the same regardless of the nature of the matter at hand. One must, however, distinguish certain actions that precede and accompany it. It is well known that after a choice has been made, in the transition to resolution, the heart and will are inclined toward the object. But for some, this inclination often precedes the choice itself; it almost always determines the choice—at lea —and merely awaits its conclusion to burst forth from the heart, which is why it never involves difficulty, requires no special effort, and hardly constitutes a distinct act. For others, the inclination of the heart toward the object is not so natural—at least in the early attempts—and cannot be instantaneous; it is a task that is not effortless, sometimes not brief, and involves a distinct act requiring full attention and effort. Therefore, in such cases, people often act—without having succeeded in winning over their hearts—against their will and in spite of their reluctance. This submission and flexibility of the heart are acquired through prolonged, laborious effort.

For one person, the measure of desire is the measure of hope. It seems to him that the undertaking he has conceived is already within his grasp. Vitality, stirred by the flow of blood, leads him to believe that his own strength is sufficient to carry out his endeavors without outside help; therefore, his actions are carried out as much with eagerness as with self-confidence. For another, this is not the case. Without the intoxicating fervor of desire, yet with a steadfast intention, making a prudent choice, and anticipating obstacles and dangers both within and without, they set about their work gradually and without arrogance, straining all their strength, but expecting success solely from the help and blessing of the Most High.

Up to this point, it seems as though all the advantages lie with the first, but from this point on—that is, from the act of resolve—a turning point begins. Resolve is an instantaneous, internal act; yet it possesses varying degrees of strength and firmness. This firmness cannot be determined by the measure of one’s prior desire. It is the fruit of complete steadfastness of spirit, not merely the fervor of a single force—whether of the will or the heart. If the former lacks integrity of spirit, then his resolve cannot reach the strength that the latter always possesses. It can be said with certainty that the former’s resolve is always wavering; the latter’s, on the contrary, is unshakable; for the former is characterized, both in general and in particular, by timidity and instability—especially when fulfilling demands or undertaking endeavors requires disturbing his most sensitive aspects. The latter marches courageously before kings and rulers toward torment and death—why? Because of firm resolve, for in him it is an unshakable strength. After this, to whom should we attribute the highest degree of perseverance in one’s affairs? To the latter. The former is weak in himself and attempts to conduct his affairs more through the hands of others.

Action is the natural fruit of choice and resolve. But before that, means must be chosen, and the action must be adapted to the ordinary course of life, where one’s own person, as well as other people and things, are taken into account. In carrying out these activities, the former does not hesitate to use both lawful and unlawful means, while the latter uses only lawful ones; the former resorts to trickery, while the latter always acts openly and sincerely; the former’s attention is directed more toward external relations, while the latter’s is directed toward internal ones; the former relies on politics, while the latter on spiritual wisdom; the former defends himself more, while the latter defends the glory of God, the holy faith, and eternal salvation; the former has only the task itself in mind, while the latter also considers its fruitfulness; the former uses only positive, obvious means, while the latter’s are often mysterious, inspired by faith; the former is fearful and doubtful, while the latter walks in hope (Isaac of Sirach, On the Three Degrees of the Mind), and so on.

The task itself is characterized by its subject, purpose, and means, but there may also be considerable differences in how it is carried out. Thus, for the former, the most necessary tasks are those aimed at satisfying the passions, while for the latter, they are the tasks of salvation; with regard to these latter deeds, the former suffers from procrastination, while the latter rushes toward them with unbridled zeal; if the former indulges in them, it is only outwardly, while the latter always invests his heart in them as well. Their entire conduct from morning to evening is opposite, if compared at the same hours. For the former, his actions are merely superficial; for the latter, they are substantial and fruitful. The consequences of their actions: for the former, all joy and merriment end with the action itself; for the latter, it either begins or intensifies there; there, the completed action takes root as a passion or habit for similar actions; here, it strengthens resolve without restricting freedom; there, the deed is often followed by external approval mixed with internal shame; here, it is not uncommon for external troubles to be accompanied by internal approval; there, the good consequences are claimed for oneself, while the bad ones are attributed to others; here, the bad ones are attributed to oneself, while the good ones to others; there, one tears one’s hair out over failure; here, everything is entrusted to God, from whom everything was expected.

Frequent actions of a certain kind give rise to inclinations, or permanent dispositions. What these are in each case has already been shown.

c) The State of Lower Desires

c) The State of the Lowest Desires

Finally, there are also many differences in the lower desires between people who serve God and those who are devoted to sin. We have needs. There are few of them, and they arise from the nature of our being. There can be many objects to satisfy each need; for example, how many kinds of food and drink are there to satisfy the need for nourishment? Once an object has been experienced, it becomes the object of desire whenever the need arises. Frequent satisfaction of the same desire forms a disposition. Thus, desires stand at the crossroads between needs and dispositions. Therefore, although they seem insignificant, they nevertheless possess great power in life.

They can be defined as follows: they are inclinations of the will toward one object or another under the guise of pleasure, as conceived by the senses and the imagination. Here, the differences between good and bad desires become immediately apparent.

This is both because desires are directed more toward what is sensually pleasant—the seat of which, as we have seen before, is in the body—and because they are aroused by the senses; in some, this capacity has become mired in sensuality, becoming carnal, “animalistic” (2 Pet. 2:12–13), presenting the most obvious evidence of human degradation and corruption. In others, who instead of seeking pleasure nurture a thirst for self-mortification and self-restraint, these desires are, when necessary, confined to the most essential limits, and when unnecessary, suppressed, in permissible—or, as they say, innocent—pleasures; and even if they are occasionally indulged, as St. Anthony the Great demonstrated with the example of the onion, they are immediately and strictly controlled and used not for enjoyment but, so to speak, to deceive the body and the senses. In general, however, they are diverted from sensuality and accustom themselves to spiritual matters, to the building up of the spirit rather than its ruin. This subjugation of the carnal by the spiritual reaches such a degree in some that, instead of the natural pleasure derived from the sensual, they feel aversion and distaste for it—even, for example, toward sleep and food. Therefore, even if the lower will manifests itself in two actions—desire and aversion—these are present in inverse relation in the good and the evil. Where one person has desire, the other has aversion, and where one person has aversion, the other has desire.

Other distinctions depend on the connection between desires and the imagination. The image of an object evokes desire all the more vividly the more vividly it is imagined. Thus, through this “collusion,” so to speak, between desires and the imagination, some of the latter’s properties naturally pass to the former. And herein lies the difference. Thus, in the former, the imagination constantly plays with images, and since these images are innumerable, diverse, confused, and changeable, his desires are infinitely varied, for the most part confused—like a dream—and changeable to the point of capriciousness and eccentricity. His imagination moves of its own accord, according to the laws of the interconnection of images; and his desires follow a certain habitual sequence, mechanically, as if without his knowledge, and of their own accord evoke one another or cut one another off. His imagination reigns supreme, and he lives within it—or in its world—as if in some elemental composition, unable to free himself from its charms. He is a slave to his desires. They torment him incessantly and hold him as if in a snare. Because of this, he moves only from desire to pleasure and from pleasure back to desire.

In another person, on the contrary, all this evil is cut off along with the ordering of the imagination. At first, a struggle is waged against desires, just as against thoughts, and it is fought with difficulty and sorrow, but not without success. Finally, even the desires are pacified. Therefore, here you will find neither their wayward turmoil, nor their domination over freedom, nor their mechanical movement. They are subject to a higher authority and are governed by it. One might even say that they are born only at the behest of this authority, and otherwise remain silent or lie dormant in their hidden recesses.

Here is yet another distinguishing feature. Desires stand at the crossroads between needs and inclinations and determine their formation. In the former, this is inevitable. But if an inclination forces itself upon a need, confining it to a specific form, and distorts it or gives it a false, unnatural direction, then one must conclude that, in the former, both the need and nature are in a state of forced subjugation. Conversely, in the latter case, the transition to inclinations is halted by the taming of desires. Therefore, the latter must naturally weaken and fade away, and as a result, the need returns to its natural state. Through the taming of desires, nature is freed from the bonds that constrain it and restored to its proper order.

In short, the active forces—or the active, aspirational aspect—of our spirit, in those who remain distant from God and give themselves over to sin, have strayed from the higher, spiritual world, whose laws, revealed in the conscience, are at times obscured and at times distorted, then took on various selfish inclinations, or turned into passions, and finally surrendered to the dominion of confused, disordered, and illusory desires. In a person who has turned to God, divine grace heals this corruption. It imprints the divine laws upon the conscience, then, in accordance with them, changes and transforms the dispositions of the will; as for the lower desires, it pacifies or even suppresses them, but in any case subjugates them and places them at the person’s disposal.

3) The State of the Sensitive Powers, or the Heart

While the mind seeks to gather everything into itself, and the will seeks to express itself outwardly—or to reveal through deeds the richness of its inner acquisition—the heart remains within itself and revolves inwardly, without going out. It is evident that it lies deeper than those active powers and constitutes, as it were, a foundation or basis for them. However, in this position, it is not merely a stage for the actors performing upon it, but actively participates in their movements. Their activities are reflected in the heart, and conversely, the heart reflects itself in them. Therefore, it is rightly regarded as the root of the human being, the focal point of all his spiritual, mental, and animal-physical powers. Given its significance within a person, it must also hold exceptional significance in relation to everything outside of him, for a person is connected to all that exists. This connection can be established only at the center of his being, just as the connection in a clock is established by the alignment of the centers of all its wheels. If the center of the human being is the heart, then it is through the heart that he enters into connection with all that exists. It is in these two respects that we must define the various states of the heart—that is, as the center of forces and as the point of contact with all that exists outside of us.

a) On the heart as a point of contact or the seat of sympathy

With whatever we have a living union, we find it pleasant to be together; in its presence, we are in our element; otherwise, we feel a living sympathy toward it. If everything outside of man with which he can have a living union is God and the divine order of things—the spiritual world and the material world—then these constitute, as it were, three realms in which it should be pleasant for man to dwell, and with which he should have sympathy. What, then, is this sympathy?

In a sinful person, delight in God and sympathy with the divine world are stifled and perverted. Here are some signs of this: God embraces man, sustains him with His power, nourishes him with the bounties of His goodness, yet he does not feel it. Consequently, his heart has become numb and frozen toward the Divine; it does not receive impressions from Him. And if it does not receive impressions and does not experience Him, then it cannot feel any attraction to Him—as to something unknown—nor can it discover that it is sweet to dwell in Him, that He sympathizes with it; for one cannot tell a person that he finds pleasure in being in this or that place, among these or those things and people, when he has not been there and has not seen them. What this ignorance or silence of sympathy is, is evident, for it is almost universal. For sinners, the Divine is uncharted territory, and when asked, they cannot say whether it is good or bad there, except perhaps speculatively, without conviction or conviction; and if anyone were to say how good it is there, there would be no need to ask about it. This is the first point.

Second, whoever tastes the sweet will not desire the bitter. What is sweeter than the Divine? Should it not, therefore, consume the whole person, drowning out all other sensations? An inevitable consequence of a living union with God should be indifference to everything else. The heart is a vessel: if it is filled entirely with the Divine, where is there room for anything else? If there is now a heart with strong attachments to anything other than the Divine, then it must be said of it that it has lost its sympathy for this world and is separated from it. The sinner’s heart, however, is always attached to something, because it is passionate. It generally delights in the sensual and the sinful; but there is always some one object in which it is wholly absorbed, in which it dwells day and night, which it embellishes in myriad ways in its daytime dreams and nighttime reveries; that is to say, there is something that takes the place of God and, like an idol, stands in the depths of the heart, in its most secret and hidden recesses, so that the person may admire it alone. Every passionate person is, in essence, an idolater.

Finally, if the Divine is unknown, but on the contrary, something else—the opposite—is sweet, then upon encountering images of the Divine, the sinful person must either be indifferent to them, as to extraneous objects, or feel unease at their presence, feel as if out of place here, turn away, and flee. Why does a sinner not wish to participate in sacred rites, to be in church, to hear singing, to look at holy images, to listen to the Word of God, to read spiritual books, or to pray? Because all of this is unpleasant to him, repelling him; it is not to his liking, is not accepted by him, does not nourish him, but torments him. The heart possesses the properties of elastic bodies. Just as these repel objects when pressure is applied from the outside, so too does the heart push the Divine even further away from itself and detach itself from it when forced into contact with it. Just as water expels a stick immersed vertically into it, so the heart hastens to free itself from that which enters it from without—from another world.

But a person who has turned to God and received Divine grace also perceives his kinship with the Divine; as one born of God, he abides in God and in the Divine world, being, as Macarius the Great says, rapt into that age. Having tasted the many blessings of the Lord, he has also come to know the sweetness inherent in divine things. From the very first turning to God, he resolves to suppress and eradicate within himself every passion, and to this end he directs all his inner power and all the strength received from God. First comes the struggle, and then the light of dispassion, or the “heaven on earth,” as St. John Climacus says. But this is already in the final stages of perfection. To cultivate such a disposition, immediately upon turning to God, he surrounds himself with objects that reflect the Divine and sets aside activities capable of nourishing spiritual feelings, such as prayer, contemplation of God, worship, reading the Word of God, and so on. By separating himself through these from all earthly things and suppressing his earthly senses from within by the power of the spirit, he gradually succeeds in detaching himself from everything and becomes accustomed to partaking of the Divine and, in it, to foretaste eternal bliss. This is what must be kept in mind when forming the heart according to the spirit of the Christian life—to revive communion with the Divine, to ensure that a person finds it pleasant to dwell in that world, so that he may be at home there as in his own element. Otherwise, it causes suffering rather than bliss. Even in paradise, a sinner experiences unbearable torment.

Now regarding communion with the spiritual world—that is, with angels and people (for what is the body in a person?). What does it mean to feel fear at the appearance of holy angels—a crushing, agonizing fear? This is greater than if they were alien to us or of an entirely different nature. Where, then, is the kinship and communion? And this is true even of people, as experience shows (in the Old Testament), who, though raised according to carnal principles, are nevertheless part of God’s order. As for sinful people, one might say they do not even appear to them because they cannot bear their presence. Another, even greater sign of alienation is disbelief in their existence. If the very thought of them has no place among our thoughts, what can be said of the heart, which is even deeper than thoughts? Whatever a person does not believe in, he rejects with hostility; it is not to his liking. Should we not therefore attribute, in sinners—at least in some of the chief ones—hostility and animosity toward the angelic world, and not merely a lack of sympathy? And with regard to people, does not the fact that at first glance almost everyone seems like a stranger to us—that a coldness flows from them to us and from us to them, and that afterward indifference toward them remains in us forever—signify a loss of sympathy? Rare exceptions to this do not contradict the general conclusion; on the contrary, they demonstrate even more clearly the perversion of sympathy. There are instances of instant empathy and kinship with certain individuals without prior interaction; but, aside from the fact that this often conceals grave errors—even those leading to a person’s ruin—it is almost always the result of like attracting like. Indifference is not universal, for we harbor affection for some; yet even this is tinged with falsehood and always leads to falsehood. Moreover, what do antipathy and hatred signify—by which some, without any cause, and others as a result of mutual interactions, cannot bear to look one another in the eye? And what else is this savagery, by which people take pleasure in the destruction of others, if not a complete perversion of sympathy for humanity?

Having thus separated himself from his kindred, what does a man take pleasure in? Where does he spend his time with pleasure? In what context does he find delight? He is truly in his element only where he sees a reflection of his own face, with its iridescent radiance, whether in objects or in people—for example, among the products of his own mind and activity, or among vain things that attract the attention of others, or among people through whom his self-satisfaction is nourished, and so on. It is clear that he has turned away from others and sympathizes only with himself.

In a person who has turned to God, grace heals this affliction as well. In self-denial lies the seed of hatred for everything bearing the mark of our ego; and this does not attract, but rather drives the self-denying person away from himself. At first, this is not so easy and is accomplished with effort, but later it becomes, as it were, a natural feeling. Furthermore, the degree to which one’s passions are subdued is the degree of one’s union with humanity and the angels. At first, he strains to think and feel that there is neither Jew nor Greek— —neither slave nor free, neither male nor female; and finally he reaches the point where, like Macarius the Great, he would wish to embrace all humanity in a single embrace and consider even the lowliest person in the world as kin. As for his relationship to the angelic world, he lives, as it were, within it; it happens that he often sees angels, draws sustenance from them, sees them in the presence of others, hears them singing, and all this with such rapture and joy that it has even become a rule to distinguish demons, transformed into angels of light, from true angels—by the joy and peace that remain in the soul at such times. From this it is evident that communion with the spiritual world is fully restored in a person through Divine grace when he turns away from sin and turns to God.

Sympathy with the material world is keenly felt by everyone; it is particularly strong during spring and summer, both toward all of nature and, even more so, toward living, organic creatures. But even here, does not the very fact that this sympathy is stronger than others—when it ought to be weaker—indicate, at the very least, its misguided nature? Again, what does it mean to enslave living creatures for the sake of our animal economy, when they are subjected to torment and suffering without any compassion? Or does it mean a person’s attachment exclusively to a single place and climate, whereas, by nature, he could happily live anywhere? These are distortions of this compassion, and the fact that he sometimes has no feelings whatsoever toward nature testifies to his numbness.

It does not matter if such phenomena remain among people who please God. However, as experience shows, they almost effortlessly cease to torment animals—precisely out of compassion; they display, without fear for their lives, a readiness to dwell in any place on earth (Basil the Great), an ability to find peace in both cold and heat, and all the more—a need to live and breathe nature not to please the flesh (Anthony the Great), to rejoice in God’s creations, and to walk among them with joy and wonder. All these are the most obvious signs of the return or restoration of empathy toward the material world. Nevertheless, again, this trait is not such that one would regret its absence, were it not to exist. For what is most important in a person is the spirit, and it can absorb the flesh with all its seemingly noble impulses; moreover, even in nature itself, not everything is now as it ought to be.

b) On the Heart as the Center of the Human Being’s Powers

b) On the heart as the center of the human being’s powers

All the faculties of the human being, at every level, are reflected in the heart through their activity. Consequently, the heart must contain spiritual, emotional, and animal-sensual faculties, which, however, differ so greatly—both in their origin and in their properties—that the very capacity to feel must be considered in three distinct forms.

c) The heart as the abode and repository of spiritual feelings

c) The Heart as the Abode and Repository of Spiritual Sensations

Such spiritual feelings are those changes in the heart that arise from the contemplation of, or the influence upon it by, objects from the spiritual world. Collectively, they may be called religious feelings.

Since the sinful soul is separated from God and the divine world, religious feelings in their true form cannot exist within it. They are almost entirely absent. This is best seen by comparing the state of these feelings in a sinner and a true Christian. Thus, the first person’s vague sense of dependence on God exists in varying degrees of weakness, ranging up to its complete disappearance or even rejection: “Depart from us”; whereas in the other, it is so strong that he feels God’s hand upon him, feels how God sustains him with His power. And faith is a feeling. The former presumably knows of the existence of the objects of faith, if he has not yet sunk into unbelief; the latter lives by faith and affirms its kingdom as his very being. Furthermore, the various feelings poured into the heart by faith—arising from the perception of goodness, justice, power, and providence, such as fear, reverence, submission to God’s will, hope, love, and others—cannot, by that very fact, either exist at all or be active in the first person, since he lacks faith—their source. For him, they are merely thoughts and ideas, not actual feelings. The same must be said of gratitude, praise, and even prayer. But for the second person, all these feelings constitute, so to speak, the natural element in which he lives. His entire life consists of a transition from one of these feelings to another. It is characteristic of one who lives in God to be filled with feelings that flow from the action of upon his soul. What can be said about the feelings that arise in the soul as it is transformed for the better—feelings that constitute the natural composition and consequence of that transformation, such as: the awareness of one’s guilt before God, shame before Him, repentance, the fervor of zeal for pleasing God, and the sense of mercy in Christ Jesus—our Lord—and salvation through Him? This is the exclusive privilege of those who have turned to God and serve Him. Who can taste the sweetness of what they have not accepted or experienced?

But as a most obvious distinction, we must point out the following circumstances.

It cannot be said that a sinner has no religious feelings at all; but their predominant tone is a sense of paralyzing fear—a feeling that is, in a certain way, painful and restless—as a result of which they are unwilling or even afraid to lift their mental eyes to heaven toward God, and they walk, as if under the cover of some impenetrable vault, in dark godlessness. In one who serves God, on the contrary, the predominant feeling is that of sonship with God—a feeling that draws one close, a sweet feeling that captivates the whole person and casts him into the bosom of God’s boundless goodness. The apostles repeatedly and at length speak of this feeling, for they were preeminently filled with it.

Consequently, the entire life of the former is spent in a kind of hopeless fear or indecision in his affairs. He relies only on what is obvious—that is, on direct means provided by his own available resources and the assistance of others; in general, he does not rely on God, but on something outside of God. And this, besides signifying a distortion of his inner religiosity, keeps him trapped in agonizing doubts and fears. The other, on the contrary, walks by faith. He does not reject natural means either, but he believes their power depends on God; and if there is any deficiency in them, he is not hindered in his activity—he undoubtedly asks and receives. Near is the Lord, Who said: “Whatever you ask for with … faith, receive it” (Matt. 21:22). This quality is particularly elucidated by St. Isaac the Syrian in his words on the three degrees of the mind.

d) The heart as the repository of the soul’s emotions

The affections of the soul are those movements of the heart that arise within it as a result of changes occurring in the soul due to its inherent activity. They are divided into theoretical, practical, and aesthetic, insofar as they arise from the influence of reason and the will, or are the result of the heart’s turning within itself or in its grace.

Theoretical emotions arise from the heart’s relationship to knowable truths. Here, the intellect’s desire to know is stirred into activity, and then, at the end of its labors, deposits the fruit of those labors in the heart. The former is curiosity; the latter is the sense of truth in varying degrees. This includes various degrees of conviction and various forms of unconviction, such as: certainty, doubt, probability, disbelief, rejection, perplexity, and so on. The differences in this regard are evident from the very beginning, for who is tormented by disbelief or doubt, or persists in rejecting the truth? A person who has fallen away from God, Who is the truth. Moreover, is he even capable of knowing the truth when he is weighed down by vanities? Even if such a person devotes himself to the sciences, one might question whether his curiosity is sincere. Does he do everything out of love for the truth, or merely out of duty and for some extraneous motives? Moreover, how little taste for the truth, ability, and desire to enjoy it he possesses is evident from his characteristic laziness, his aversion to mental labor, the dominance of imagination within him, and his frivolity. Particular attention must be paid to the strength of conviction in the truth. Conviction is the result of the truth penetrating the heart. A heart that dwells in falsehood will not allow truth to enter. So, does a sinner have unshakable convictions regarding the truth? No; at the very least, given the repeated instances of how easily one person shifts from one set of principles to another, one might suspect otherwise. Moreover, where is the fruit of conviction, if it exists at all? And again, what does it mean that when a person strays from the good path on which he was walking, a great many convictions immediately fall away from his heart, and he cannot in any way restore them within himself until he returns to his former path? Furthermore, what else could the lack of zeal to stand for the truth stem from, if not from the weakness of conviction? From such facts, one can generally conclude that sinners have either few or no unshakable convictions at all.

It is quite different for those who have turned from the darkness of sin to the light of God. The thirst for truth, one might say, is their foremost desire; the Word of God is constantly on their lips and in their thoughts. Who knows the sweetness of truth better than they do, since they live in the truth? They have no trace of unbelief or doubt; on the contrary, the power of conviction is ingrained in their very being, which is why what they know is immediately put into practice, and they are ready to give their very lives for the truth—and do so when necessary.

Let us add one more observation. The sense of truth—the ability of the heart, without outside aids, to recognize the true order of things and their true properties—is a capacity inherent in human nature; in the former, it is completely stifled, while in the latter, it comes to life, grows stronger, and finally manifests itself in all its power. Thus, by a single intuition, they recognize a brother, an enemy, a friend, their sons, the right person, and how to act in any given situation.

Practical feelings are those movements of the heart that are intrinsically linked to the activity of the will, sometimes stimulating it and sometimes following in its wake. There are, so to speak, two kinds: feelings of self (egoistic), both pleasant and unpleasant, and various dispositions toward people, both good and bad (sympathetic feelings). The first kind consists of: self-satisfaction or self-contempt, self-aggrandizement, self-abasement, arrogance, haughtiness, and so on. The second consists of indifference, from which arise, on the one hand, respect, competition, joy, sympathy, regret, gratitude, friendship, and so on; and on the other hand, envy, schadenfreude, revenge, hatred, enmity, contempt, condemnation, and so on. However, any constant state of mind leaves a deep mark on the soul, which is why it resonates in the heart as a feeling of approval if the state of mind is good, and of disapproval if it is bad. It is now immediately apparent what these feelings should be like in good Christians and in wicked sinners. The former must possess all good feelings from the very beginning of their journey—if not in perfect form, then at least in seed form. Through labor and effort, they free these good feelings from the bonds of selfishness, purify them, and plant them in the heart. The Apostle tells them: “Clothe yourselves… with compassion, kindness, humility, … gentleness” (Col. 3:12)—and so on. The garment of the spirit is the feeling that envelops it. As for selfish feelings, it cannot be said that they do not arise, especially at first; but they are not given power; a counteraction is established against them; measures are taken to expel them; and indeed, they are driven out of the soul every time they arise. Feats of virtue, labor, and prayer ultimately suppress them and imprint upon their place feelings that are their opposites. The whole point is to instill good feelings in the heart, for what is in the heart is what is before God.

The careless sinner lacks such a distinction. Since he has surrendered his life to the ordinary course of events, his feelings—both good and evil—develop and take root in his heart together, without his knowledge, and form a mixture that is sometimes very strange. They burst forth from his heart on their own when the occasion arises, without order or discipline. Since he has no zeal for the purity of his heart’s feelings, he makes no effort to give the good feelings the upper hand, but leaves them to their own devices and, for the most part, distorts them with biases and passions. Judging by this, their moral value is negligible. On the contrary, his selfish feelings lie deep within his heart and have established a permanent home there. One might say there is not a single moment when he does not feel either self-satisfaction or, if he lacks sustenance, self-reproach, and so on. It is merely a coincidence if these feelings are ever stifled in his heart, which, for the most part, happens due to a surge of natural affectionate feelings toward family and friends.

There is also, among practical feelings, a special ability: on the one hand, to perceive the sweetness of obvious goodness; on the other, to recognize hidden goodness with the heart, without external aids. Both of these, insofar as they signify spiritual perfection, cannot exist in their purity within a sinful heart, but only in faint shades or slight conformities to the law. In a good Christian, this ability is present in all its strength. Who better than he can perceive the beauty of virtue? Moreover, he often recognizes the goodness and wickedness of the deeds and hearts of others through direct spiritual perception.

Aesthetic feelings are those stirrings of the heart that arise within it as a result of the influence of a particular kind of object, called elegant or beautiful. Here, the heart takes pleasure in the object solely because it is good in and of itself; it is pleasing and delightful without any particular connection to our personal interests. The power underlying these feelings is called taste. The variety of feelings within it depends on the properties of the objects, but it is very difficult to define them and distinguish one from another; therefore, they derive their names from the objects themselves and are the feelings of the elegant, the sublime, and so on. Furthermore, there are nuances in the sense of beauty in a painting, a statue, and so on. “Elegant” generally refers to a successful and striking expression, in a sensory form, of something spiritual—that is, thoughts, feelings, virtues, and passions. It is evident that the external aspect is of little significance here; what matters most is the internal—that which is expressed. Based on the difference in this inner content, we must also distinguish between tastes. There are two kinds: one is true, loving the proper content of the elegant; the other is false and perverted, loving its improper content. Now the question is: what is the proper and what is the improper content of the elegant?

What is the idea or feeling of the beautiful? It is either a memory of paradise lost or a foretaste of the future Kingdom of Heaven. If works of art are created under the guidance of this feeling, then there lies the source of their content! Depict what is paradisiacal, holy, and heavenly. Transform this sorrowful earth into the threshold of heaven through your art. If a person is surrounded everywhere by earthly objects, for the sake of which he may forget about heaven—his true homeland—then surround him with such works of art that would remind him of it, just as others, living in a foreign land, surround themselves with images of their city, home, parents, and so on. The world, God’s creation, is filled with reflections of the divine attributes, but there they exist in such vastness and immensity: gather them into a small form and present them to the discerning gaze of a frail human being through a painting or music. Again, what must a person cultivate in their soul in this life? Holy and heavenly dispositions. Let us therefore provide him with the external image of these dispositions as well, so that he may more successfully instill them within himself. From all this it is clear that the main subject matter of the fine arts must be the objects of the spiritual world. It goes without saying that the external form must correspond to them as well. If passions—and primarily carnal ones—are now depicted in their characteristic shamelessness and alluring appearances, or if good subjects are depicted but in forms unworthy of them, then the fine arts are perverted. It is now easy to judge between true and false taste: true taste delights in subjects that express the spiritual, moral, and divine world; perverted taste delights in subjects that depict passions or are generally tinged with passion and nourish it.

Just how perverted a sinner’s taste must be is evident from the disposition of his soul, which is filled with passions and given over to lusts. He finds no beauty in the spiritual. He sometimes looks upon spiritual paintings with some pleasure, but only if they are tinged with his own spirit; likewise, he is willing to listen to church singing, but only if it contains passionate motifs. He is bored wherever he does not encounter objects that share his spirit. And, on the contrary, how wholesome is the taste of one who lives according to the Spirit of Christ! Both within himself and in the outside world, he does not wish to see even a shadow of the passions; he pursues them and abhors them. On the other hand, just as he strives inwardly to feel holiness, so outwardly he loves to look only upon holy objects, and as soon as he encounters them, he alone is able to appreciate all their worth and all their perfection.

Thus, sin perverts both objects of beauty and taste itself; on the contrary, Christianity restores beauty and heals taste. Just as, in cognition, a wrong direction of reason perverts the intellect, and a wrong direction of the will perverts the conscience, so here a wrong direction of taste perverts the spiritual senses.

e) On the Lower, Sensual-Animal Sensations

e) On the lower, sensory-animal senses

The senses at the lowest level include sudden emotional stirrings or disturbances of the heart (affectus), which extinguish the independent activity of reason and the will and are accompanied by specific changes in the body. For the most part, these emotions, arising in the lower part of the being, are the result of the unexpected disturbance of selfish self-preservation, whether under circumstances favorable or unfavorable to it. Therefore, they are sometimes attributed entirely to the animal-sensual part of the human being. They are classified according to their destructive effects on the higher faculties of the human being. Thus, some obscure the clarity of consciousness, such as surprise, amazement, distraction, and fright; others undermine the will, such as fear, anger, and zeal; and still others, finally, torment the very heart, which at times rejoices and is merry, at times is bored, grieves, resents, and envies, at times hopes and despairs, at times feels shame and remorse, or even tosses and turns in vain due to suspicion. One can judge by their very names alone what villains they are to a person; all the more so must they be recognized as such when judged by their actions. They rise at the expense of what are properly human qualities—consciousness and self-activity—and their consequence is almost always an unnatural state of the body. These are painful upheavals of the entire human being. This alone should suggest that their proper place is only within a sinful person. Illnesses must be attributed to where the source of illness lies. And indeed, while in a sinner the higher spiritual feelings are stifled and the emotional ones are perverted, the lower ones rage within him with all their might. This is facilitated by the loss of self-control, the surrender to the general pull of circumstances, and the inability to govern either one’s external or internal self—all of which constitute the constant nature of the sinful person. Furthermore, the disturbed state of reason and will, which are already weak, easily subjects them to the power of these unexpected setbacks and disturbances. Finally, the dominion of a wild imagination—which distracts attention and stirs up desires—easily agitates the heart as well. The sinner is, as it were, inevitably in a state of constant anxiety. There is no strength within him that can protect him from their evil influence. Fear, joy, melancholy, shame, grief, envy, or some other emotion—these ceaselessly agitate and wound his soul. The sinner’s life is a path through thorny brambles, despite outwardly bright circumstances. It is in vain that some devise mechanical remedies against the passions or speak of a safe middle ground. There is no salvation from them without the healing of the entire human spirit, for they are both the evidence and the consequences of the disorder of our being. Restore wholeness to the being—and the evil passions will cease.

In true Christianity, this wholeness is restored through the working of God’s grace, which, once it comes, extinguishes the passions as well. A Christian who walks his path as he ought will finally attain sweet repose and an unshakable, steadfast peace that is not disturbed by the storm of passions. There is sorrow here as well, but not that kind; there is joy, but of a different sort; there is also anger, fear, shame, and other emotions that resemble passions in name, but their nature is entirely different, and their source is different; they even arise from a different power, for they are reflected in the heart from the spirit, not from the animal part. It is in vain that it is said: one should not root out the passions, but only temper them. This is the same as saying: one should not pierce the heart with a poisonous arrow all the way through, but only on the surface. No, the zealous lover of moral purity, with the help of God’s grace, fights against these spawn of evil, suppresses them, and finally succeeds in extinguishing them completely. This is attested to by the rules of the ascetics and the depiction of the state of the perfected, as found among the saints. And so it must be, for in self-denial, selfhood is destroyed, and the intention to destroy animal nature is established. Consequently, the foundations of the passions are undermined from the very beginning. How, then, can the passions themselves endure? Some say: if this is so, then a cold, lifeless void—a wild desert—will remain in the soul. This may be true of the soul of a Stoic, but not of a Christian graced by God. To such a person one might say: simply subdue the passions through the Christian way, and you yourself will discover what remains there; but know that it will not be a desert.

Thus, even in their sensuous faculties, the true Christian and the sinful person are completely opposite. In the former, the higher senses are in full force; the soul’s senses serve as an extension of them or an application to real life, while the lower ones are extinguished. In the latter, on the contrary, the lower senses are in full force, the higher ones are extinguished, and the middle ones are perverted. The same is true, therefore, of all the powers of our inner world. Where one has a head, the other has feet. One is wholly in God and lives by the spirit, having put to death the lower part and subjugated the middle part to himself; the other is outside of God, in the sensual-animal world, lives by fantasy, is tossed about by desires, and is overcome by passions, with the spirit extinguished and the activity of the soul perverted.

4) Attitude Toward the Body

The sharpest, most obvious, and most vivid distinction between a true Christian and a person enslaved to sin is expressed in how they treat their bodies. Take the life of any saint, and you will find that the beginning of his turn toward God or his first acts of devotion are marked by torment, exhaustion, and the wasting away of the flesh. A person living in sin, on the other hand, lavishly nourishes and comforts his flesh and lacks the courage to deny it anything or to provoke it in any way. Such is the general nature of the attitude toward the body in both cases. In the full picture, it is as follows.

The body is the soul’s closest instrument and the sole means by which it manifests itself outwardly in this world. This is its original purpose. Therefore, by its very nature, it is perfectly adapted to the powers of the soul. Nevertheless, the body remains something external to the soul—something that the soul must separate from itself and, while regarding it as its own, must not merge with itself.

When man fell, the soul grew lax, lost control of itself, descended into the flesh, and merged with it—merged to such an extent that it came to perceive itself, as it were, only in and through the flesh. When this fusion of consciousness with the flesh occurred, the inevitable consequence was the recognition of one’s own and all the body’s needs, as well as all the instinctual drives arising in animal life—and, along with this, the neglect of the spirit’s needs, for the flesh and the carnal are more tangible. As soon as the body’s needs were regarded as one’s own, it became necessary to satisfy them with care, without concern for the spirit. Frequent satisfaction gave rise to carnal inclinations and extinguished the corresponding, opposite perfection of the spirit. Since we have as many instinctual drives as there are bodily functions, and the latter can be counted, for the most part, as five—namely, the functions of the senses, movement, speech, nutrition, and sexuality—it follows that the very inclinations formed in the soul from the irrational satisfaction of these demands can also be classified according to these five categories.

Thus, the sense organs give rise to an instinct or need to use them. The satisfaction of this need gives rise to the following inclinations: a thirst for sensations, idleness, sensual indulgence, and distraction. These inclinations, once entrenched, destroy attention and self-control in the spirit.

From the organs of movement arises the need for movement, and from this, in turn, the inclination toward independent activity, the desire for external freedom, self-will, and licentiousness. These deprive the spirit of its freedom.

The organs of speech have a need to be set in motion or stimulated. Hence come talkativeness, mockery, idle chatter, and jokes. They silence the inner word of the spirit—prayer.

From the instinct of nourishment arise sensuality, idleness, gluttony, laziness, and idleness. This robs spiritual activity of all movement.

As a result of improper satisfaction of sexual urges, the following arise: the desire to be liked, dandyism, frivolity, and the very passions of dishonor. They rob the spirit of its inherent purity and dispassion.

Any impartial observer of himself will immediately recognize and realize all this within himself; this is all the more true for a person who has turned his gaze inward under the influence of God’s grace. He clearly sees and feels that he is bound, as by chains, by carnal passions and inclinations that do not allow his spirit the freedom to act in accordance with its nature; and upon closer examination, he finds that they stem from the flesh—specifically, from the irrational satisfaction of its desires. Having resolved to reform himself in every way and, consequently, to restore the freedom proper to the spirit, he would like to limit these needs by satisfying them in a prudent manner—for example, through moderate food, sleep, and so on; but the inclinations that have formed have become so ingrained, or have developed such a sensitive connection with his organs, that the slightest movement of these organs activates the inclination and harms the spirit; for example, a slight stirring of the senses leads to a distraction of thoughts and a loss of self-composure, while eating to one’s fill leads to coldness of spirit, lethargy, and so on. Therefore, from the very beginning, he sets as a rule for himself to restrain the bodily organs so that the inclinations formed through them are not aroused, and the spirit may have the freedom to restore its inherent perfections. Thus, restraints are imposed on the senses—through solitude—to establish and preserve attention and self-composure, in which the strength of the spirit lies;

on movement—through regular labor and obedience, in order to restore freedom to the spirit;

on the organs of speech—through silence, to revive the inner word, or the mind’s ascent to God in prayer;

on the organs of nourishment—through fasting, sleeplessness, and lying on the ground—to preserve vitality in the spirit;

for the sexual organs—through chastity and celibacy, to establish dispassion within oneself.

This is the reason why all of God’s saints, without exception, led a life of severe asceticism! Without this, it is impossible to purify the spirit, to restore it, and to reveal it in all its inherent power. This is the necessary path to its freedom. Only as the flesh is worn down does the spirit become free from it. Therefore, whoever flatters himself with the hope of attaining perfection in the spirit without harsh treatment of the body is like one who would try to carry water with a sieve, or catch the wind with his hands, or write words on water. This is a futile and foolish endeavor, in which what is gained in one moment is squandered in the next. For God’s saints, the body truly became an instrument for higher purposes. Through the friction of the body, they rubbed away the numbness of the spirit. It is remarkable in this regard that they regarded the body—or animal life—as, so to speak, an outsider; which is why, as they fell asleep, they would say: “Go, you donkey…” This means that their body was separated from their personality, and the fusion of their consciousness with it ceased.

How obvious is the necessity now of a narrow, sorrowful, and cross-bearing path to salvation! We encounter it at every stage of our lives. The body must be restrained through physical discipline; otherwise, all efforts are in vain. The inner activity of the imagination, desires, and passions that follows—this restless, disorderly activity—must be suppressed by intense inner vigilance. The higher activity of the soul’s powers must be corrected through spiritual labors: reading and reflection, good deeds, and worship. Finally, the spirit must be restored or cultivated through contemplation of God, prayer, and participation in the sacraments. All of these are difficult, laborious pursuits! Consequently, the essential character of a truly Christian life is toil, asceticism, and laborious, intense effort.

This concludes our overview of the principles of Christian life and activity. It is now evident that the natural principles of the moral life, which were weakened and enfeebled by the Fall, are restored by Divine grace in the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ. In this grace-filled action, a person is divided within themselves, or light is separated from darkness within them. As time goes on, darkness weakens, light grows and rises, and as it grows stronger, it drives out the darkness, whose domain may shrink to a barely perceptible extent. A person comes “to the measure of the full stature of Christ” (Eph. 4:13).

“For this I say and testify in the Lord: you must not walk as the rest of the Gentiles walk, in the futility of their minds—being darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, because of the hardening of their hearts. Having fallen into despair, they have given themselves over to sexual immorality, committing every kind of impurity with greed. But you have not come to know Christ in this way: if you have heard Him and have been taught about Him, as is the truth in Jesus—you must put off, in regard to your former way of life, the old self, which is corrupted by deceitful desires; and be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Eph. 4:17–24).

IV. Commandments and Rules of Life Binding on a Christian as a Christian

Here, the Christian life is depicted as it ought to be, and the rules that a Christian must follow so that it may truly be so are set forth. The rules for the Christian life are the commandments of the Lord Jesus Christ, which one vows to fulfill and undertakes to observe at baptism. There are two kinds of such rules, or commandments: some define how a Christian should act as a Christian, regardless of their circumstances or relationships; while others specify how a Christian should live and act in the various circumstances and relationships they find themselves in throughout this life.

The latter are nothing other than the application of the former to the Christian’s daily life. Thus, this second part has two sections: the commandments and the rules of life that are binding upon a Christian as a Christian.

It has long been customary to classify such rules according to three relationships: toward God, toward one’s neighbor, and toward oneself.

The first set specifies the thoughts, feelings, and dispositions with which a Christian should turn to God and how to serve Him.

The second section defines the nature of mutual internal and external relationships among Christians as members of the one body of the Church, who are to live in a living union.

The third set describes how a Christian should conduct oneself in order to be able to behave properly in the first two relationships.

These three sets of commandments and rules are not separated by an insurmountable barrier and, when put into practice, immediately influence one another; for all Christians are one body under the head, Christ, through whom it is united with the Triune God. Just as in the body no member acts in isolation from the others, but maintains the proper relationship both to the head and to the other members, so it must be in the living body of Christians.

Having pointed this out, we believe we will not err if we do not divide the rules and commandments into the aforementioned categories; rather, taking the first commandment as our foundation, we will then set forth the rules of life, showing how some principles are derived from others, and subsequent ones from preceding ones.

The beginning of all the commandments: “I am the Lord your God; … you shall have no other gods before Me,” says the Lord God (Ex. 20:2–3). This commandment imposes two duties upon us: to know God and to honor Him—or, in other words, it prescribes faith and piety. Faith and piety encompass all the obligations and actions required of us in relation to God.

11. Faith—the Foundation of Everything

1) The Duties of Faith

The word “faith” here refers to confession, or the image of the knowledge of God and the worship of God expressed in a specific way through concepts and words.

a) The first duty here is to have faith, or religion—that is, to know God in a certain way and the manner of His worship, or one’s own relationship to Him, or even to maintain a confession of faith... This duty is the first to be immediately known; it is not so much prescribed as it is self-evident; for such is the nature of the human spirit that it naturally both demands God and seeks Him, and places itself in a relationship with Him that it considers legitimate. Therefore, it can be said that faith is the seed and germ of all duties, as well as of the entire religious and moral life of a person. Whoever has no faith whatsoever is a wicked person. He has no image where it ought to be in the sanctuary of the spirit; for religion is a sanctuary that sanctifies our entire nature, just as its absence distorts and corrupts it. St. Isaac the Syrian observes three states in man: one, the natural state, in which man, by the nature of his spirit, knows God and fears Him. From this state, under certain conditions, he ascends to another, super-natural, or grace-filled state. The third state arises from a person’s immersion in sensuality, or the flesh, whereby the light of the spirit is extinguished within him and trampled underfoot by carnal desires. Man descends to the level of animals, “becoming like senseless beasts and likening himself to them” (Ps. 48:13). It is impossible to live with such a person. For how can one restrain him when he runs amok? Therefore, it is precisely here that the commonly used expressions—"he does not know God" and "he does not fear God"—should be applied, to indicate that one cannot have anything to do with such a person.

b) The obligation to have faith is not yet a definition of faith itself. Therefore, it must be added that a person is obligated not to have just any faith—as if it were any faith at all, without distinction—but specifically one particular, defined faith: the one true faith. For if God is one and unchanging, and human nature is one—or of a single nature—then there can be only one true relationship between God and man; and therefore, the expression of this relationship—or the true confession of faith—is also one. It is this one truth that a person must hold. Otherwise, what will he hold? Lies, illusions, and fantasies. And what merit is there in this? It is the same as a poor man who possesses nothing, yet dreams in his sleep that he possesses countless treasures. False religion is a mockery of people. One who professes a false faith is like a madman who raves because he sees this or that. But the trouble does not end there. Herein lies a deception that is not simple—that is, not the kind that can be dismissed with a laugh—but a pitiful, tormenting, desperate one; for in religion, everyone hopes to find their ultimate peace and eternal bliss. In this certainty, everyone holds fast to their faith and cherishes it. But it is well known that the concealment of a lie is possible only here; upon death, it will immediately become clear how firm the foundation was upon which one based his hope... How terrifying and heart-wrenching will be the state of the one who then realizes that he has been deceived. Therefore, while there is still time, while we are still on the path to a decisive and unchanging eternity.

c) Everyone must examine and be absolutely certain whether the faith they hold is true, and if it proves to be false, they must seek out the one true faith that truly leads to the true God and undoubtedly grants eternal salvation. This is as necessary and urgent as snatching oneself from the fire... The Lord “did not leave Himself without a witness” (Acts 14:17), nor did He leave His one true faith without a witness; but when He permitted other faiths to exist alongside it on this earth and, as it were, to compete with it, He thereby imposed upon everyone the obligation to hold fast to His faith—not without reason, but on unshakable grounds, for the sake of which all else is rejected with complete conviction. Through this trial, honor is bestowed upon faith, and the true dignity of man— —as a rational, conscious, and conscientious being—is preserved. Our faith in our own faith—that is, our conviction in the truth of the Orthodox Christian confession—must be rational. Therefore, the Lord, in order to incline people toward faith in Himself and His teaching, said, “Search the Scriptures” (John 5:39), and He encouraged this through the preaching of John the Baptist and His own miracles. The apostles, too, persuaded everyone through their preaching and drew people to the faith solely through persuasion, not by force. The very firmness of one’s confession depends on this conviction, and, furthermore, one’s entire life in the spirit of one’s faith. This is demonstrated by countless examples, which show how strongly some are stirred to act in accordance with their faith from the moment they realize its truth, and, conversely, how many remain complacent because they have not brought this realization to clarity. There are so many reasons to examine and ascertain which faith is the true faith!

How can one be certain, and by what means can one test it? There are two ways to do this: one is external and scientific, and the other is internal—the path of faith. The first is usually presented in a systematic exposition of theology. It is valid and essentially necessary for scholars; but it is obviously not universal, for at its core it contains knowledge that is not accessible to everyone. Nevertheless, these scientific arguments ought to be presented with the utmost breadth, clarity, and persuasiveness, and made available to all with a guarantee of their unshakable authority, so that everyone capable of understanding might grasp the truth through this path. One cannot, however, fail to see that this path is very, very long and difficult, and—what is particularly noteworthy—since it resides in the mind, it leaves the heart to its own devices, to its own willfulness and freedom. The path of faith is more sincere, more intimate, more alive, more fruitful, and more accessible to all. It is a prayer to the one true God for enlightenment. There is a true God. He has revealed His will to us for our salvation, desiring that it be understood and fulfilled. Now, through human speculations, it is hidden or so entangled that one or another lacks the strength to find a way out of this labyrinth. When, in the midst of this deep, heartfelt need—with cries, groans, and anguish of the heart—someone turns to God, the true Father of all people, the God who desires His faith to be effective—is it possible that He would not give such a decisive sign to confirm the truth of that faith? He feeds the crying ravens; through prayer, He sends rain to quench the thirst of our flesh… but would He not point out a source to quench this spiritual thirst for a person—and even for his spirit, made in His image—who is yearning and seeking to know how to glorify God? Such prayer is by no means a temptation of God, though it may be turned into one when someone insincerely, out of mere curiosity, desires such signs. Examples of conversion to the faith in this way are almost universal. Cornelius, the centurion, sought faith for himself... There were many who came to the desert fathers to inquire about the faith, and instead of offering arguments, the desert fathers had them pray, and God revealed the truth to them—as He did, for example, to the Holy Great Martyr Catherine. In turbulent times of heresy, God raised up men of exceptional holiness, endowed them with miraculous power, and placed them in full view of all, like candles on a candlestick—so that they might shine for everyone; since they were vessels of faith and of God’s power, they served as decisive guides to the truth for all who doubted. Everyone awaited or desired to know how this or that holy man would confess the faith, and they held fast to his confession. It sometimes happened that people would place documents containing the text of the confession into the hands of the incorrupt, pray for the correction of what was wrong, and receive what they prayed for. But why strain oneself too much to prove this? The Lord said that everything can be obtained from God by praying to Him with faith, all the more so when praying for faith, the beginning and source of all things. What does He Himself say to His Father in His final prayer? “Sanctify them in the truth” (John 17:17)—this refers to the apostles, and through them, to every believer. It is even beyond doubt that just as true faith, by its very nature, is miraculous, so these miraculous manifestations must remain in it and for it unceasingly. And they do remain. One man said of himself: When I look at these incorruptible remains, exuding healing divine power, and consider that the spirit who sanctified this body professed precisely the faith that I hold, then every doubt that the enemy of truth sometimes instills in me vanishes, and I cannot help but rejoice that it pleased God to give us such a decisive and yet accessible means of being convinced of the truth of the holy faith. Indeed, this is so. For the relics are as old as Christianity itself, and within it they are unceasing and widespread... Here in Russia, they are found throughout the land and in such abundance! In the West, they ceased with its separation from the East and its apostasy from the truth, and as for the new confessions that arose from the papacy, there is nothing to be said about them. So there you have it—a comforting sermon on the truth of the faith!… But most blessed of all is the one who, together with Jerome the Greek, can say: “The faith I profess is true, for through it I have been deemed worthy to receive a certain divine power that acts tangibly within me. And the pagans have scriptures, temples, sacrifices, teachers, books, and, to some extent, knowledge of God, as well as certain good deeds, festivals, the wearing of ceremonial garments, prayers, all-night vigils, priests, and much more; but this grace, hidden in the heart of a Christian, and the workings of the Holy Spirit are received by no one in the whole world, but are received by faith only by those who have been properly baptized in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit” (“Christian Readings,” 1821). So here is the most direct path to discovering the true faith, namely: faith itself, prayer, the unceasing presence of miracles in the Church, and especially the inner strength imparted through faith.

Let everyone look around and see that all sincere believers believe on these grounds, and not on scientific ones... Read, if you wish, the scientific foundations of faith in any Orthodox theology. But those of the heart are stronger and more reliable.

2) The Duties of Faith

What has been said must be called the duties of faith, namely: to have faith—and moreover, a single, true faith—with the unshakable conviction that it is indeed true. As soon as true faith is recognized, another set of duties immediately begins, namely: duties toward faith, or toward the Orthodox Christian confession.

a) The first and primary duty here is complete submission to the true faith. This faith comes from God; it is His royal decree to us, His subjects, revealed to us with the desire that we accept it and be saved by it. Therefore, whoever does not submit to it resists God and commits the sin of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. “You wicked men,” Saint Stephen rebukes the Jews, “you are always resisting the Holy Spirit” (Acts 7:51). The apostles were sent to preach “to bring about the obedience of faith among all the Gentiles” (Rom. 1:5) and told everyone: “You were once in error and walked in wickedness; but now God overlooks these times of ignorance and, through us, ‘commands all people everywhere to repent, … granting faith to all’” (Acts 17:30–31). Enough of living in “idolatry that is an abomination to God”; it is time to submit to God and “to the will of God for the rest of the time you live in the flesh” (1 Pet. 4:2–3).

Obedience to faith requires binding the mind and compelling it to agree unquestioningly to whatever faith proclaims. But the mind, more than anything else, resists this submission. The unbeliever’s struggle is fierce because of the mind’s stubbornness. “I don’t see,” he says, “I don’t understand: how can I agree?” “The Greeks,” says the Apostle Paul, “seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified” (1 Cor. 1:22–23). Since “the world did not come to know God through wisdom, God decided to save the world through the folly of preaching” (1 Cor. 1:21), He wants everyone to walk toward their destiny in the twilight of faith, so that the believer, when asked why he professes this or that, would be more ready to say, “Because God has commanded it,” rather than to philosophize: “Because of this and that.” God’s threats against those who reject wisdom can rightly be applied to the disobedient: “For I called, and you did not listen; I spoke, and you did not pay attention… therefore I, too, will laugh at your destruction” (Prov. 1:24–31). His Eminence Tikhon says: “That is what faith is—silent submission to the speaking God” (vol. 7). Inquisitiveness is the ruin of faith. Whoever enters the realm of faith with a rebellious and wayward mind is a thief and a robber... Lay down the weapons of your mind, just as soldiers do when entering a church. Even the angels stand before the throne of God, covering their faces, yet you wish to see everything... God has revealed the most hidden wisdom; accept it gratefully and obediently, saying: “I am a silent servant of this faith.”

b) Once a firm foundation has been laid through such submission, the entire edifice of faith must be built upon it. A resolute and silent assent has been given to all that faith entails; now one must embrace this content in practice in order to know one’s faith. Otherwise, what will come of it—to have faith and not know it, not to know what one believes in! This is an insult both to faith and to oneself. If faith is true, why are you not eager to be enriched by the truth? If your good lies in it, why do you deprive yourself of it? How can you not be ashamed to remain in such a state of slumber? And what will you say when asked about your hope? Indeed, in such a case, faith is not really faith. Faith is the sum of truths and sound understandings about all things. What kind of faith, then, does one have who does not know them? The Lord says: “This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only … God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent” (John 17:3). “And there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved,” adds the apostle (Acts 4:12). From this it is clear that the content of faith is not merely a treasure of goodness, but also the condition for salvation. Whoever does not know it is already in danger. It is, in its entirety and in its parts, a remedy; but the sick person must accept the remedy and make it his own in order to partake of its healing power. Likewise, everything professed by faith must be understood and accepted in order to heal the infirmities of the spirit. Athanasius the Great says this: “Whoever wishes to be saved— —must first and foremost hold to the Catholic faith; for whoever fails to observe it in its entirety and without blemish will, beyond all doubt, perish for all eternity” (see the Creed of Athanasius the Great in the Psalter).

To make everything related to this clearer for you, here are several questions with answers.

What does it mean to know one’s faith? It means bringing oneself to a state where one can clearly, precisely, and definitively contemplate and articulate the truths contained in the Holy Orthodox Faith; to be able to “give an answer” to everyone, as the Apostle teaches (1 Pet. 3:15). “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Heb. 11:1). We must ensure that these invisible things truly take on their proper form within us, receive a name, and be known as a message that has been brought. This does not mean that we must unravel mysteries: no, mysteries will forever remain mysteries, no matter how hard anyone tries to uncover them. But even though the nature of the subject is incomprehensible and its foundations are hidden, grasp and hold fast to it just as the teaching about it is presented—in precise and definite words. To know through the Word does not mean speculating, but rather humbly and unquestioningly accepting the teachings of the holy faith.

What must be known! Everything contained in the holy faith. When we speak of “everything,” the distinction between objects, modes of knowledge, and sources of teaching is eliminated. Everything extraneous must be placed beyond the bounds of the mind’s horizon and removed from one’s attention; in thought, there must remain only one image of what is professed, and let it fill the mind in its entirety. The objects of faith are arranged in the mind just as they are arranged in the creed, and the contemplator touches each of them with his attention, just as an observer of a rich garden would not overlook a single flower without examining it. One must not speak at all, much less feel; these things are of little importance—they may be omitted or treated with indifference, just as with the lighting of a candle, the burning of incense, and so on. The entire content of faith, in its entirety, is a remedy for our corruption. Whoever rejects any part of it diminishes the power of the remedy, and sometimes destroys it entirely. If you remove a single ingredient from a prescription written by a doctor and then take a medicine compounded according to your own judgment rather than as directed, you may suffer harm instead of benefit. In our faith, a fence or fortress has been erected for us, safeguarding and protecting us from our enemies. Everything is necessary here. Reject even a small part—and you will create a breach in the wall, and the enemies will come one after another, destroy the entire fence, and ruin you. “Be careful, then, how you walk” (Eph. 5:15).

Does this apply to everyone? To all believers—otherwise, why even enter the fortress of faith? Everyone must feel compelled to come to know their faith in its fullness and then, based on this sense of obligation, truly come to know it. Faith is not something trivial, as if it were a surplus beyond necessity, but rather a vital and essential need, like breathing, food, sleep, and other such things. Knowing it is the most necessary of all matters; therefore, zeal for it must come first. Whoever acts otherwise starves the spirit or deprives it of its most essential needs. At first, knowledge is usually small, like a seed, but then one must give it room to grow and not leave it as a seed. Let it grow into a tree. Here the same thing happens as in painting, where one first sketches the entire picture and then begins to paint it part by part. When the apostles preached, they made this sort of outline in their initial proclamation, and later, during subsequent visits or in their epistles, they completed the entire picture of faith—or the Holy Spirit accomplished it. The same is true today. Many, of course, have a general outline of the faith; for others, perhaps certain features and parts have been brought into focus. But one must not stop there. They, too, must complete this picture. In general, no one is exempt from the obligation to learn everything possible, although in reality varying degrees of completeness in this knowledge may be acceptable. That is why a distinction is made between a clear and an unclear faith. The latter says: “I embrace all that holy faith embraces, though I have not yet managed to know everything,” while the former says: “I embrace and know everything clearly.” The former also has the power to save; but whoever, through negligence, does not consciously attain the latter is in danger, for this slumber is a sign of death.

How can one come to know it? There is no need to ascend to heaven or cross the seas for this. True faith is not hidden, but is revealed to all and is professed by many. It is not lost, so that everyone must seek it out for themselves in its sources and bring it to light; rather, it remains in plain sight and is openly professed. Go and ask how it is professed. Read the Orthodox Confession of Faith and the Catechism; if you do not know how, ask someone else; listen to sermons, for it is the priest’s duty to renew the exposition of the Catechism; ask your pastor, pay attention to the reading of the Word of God and to the divine services. We have so many ways to learn about our faith that it is surprising there are those who do not know it. It seems that this knowledge is ready to take root of its own accord, even against one’s will. It is good, to clarify or strengthen one’s knowledge, to have a concise summary of the whole: to extract from the catechisms, to summarize everything in brief sentences, and then to read it often. This is like airing out a room or refreshing oneself with the coolness of morning or evening. There are also ready-made summaries of this kind: by Saint Gennadius, Patriarch of Constantinople; Saint Demetrius of Rostov; and His Eminence Tikhon of Voronezh. To know this—how useful and inspiring it is! For it brings everything under a single overview, leads one, as it were, into a magnificent temple, and fills one with tenderness and reverence.

c) When the true faith has been found and known—the faith that leads to God, who is infinitely good and blissful, and which brings endless bliss—when all this is clearly understood and accepted with heartfelt conviction, then it is impossible for a Christian to remain indifferent, for his heart not to be filled with feelings commensurate with this, just as one cannot remain indifferent when coming into possession of countless treasures. These feelings, however, are as natural as they are necessary. One must not only accept them when they are present, but also stir them up with zeal when they are absent, lamenting and grieving over the hardness of one’s own heart. These feelings are sanctified by the examples of the Mother of God, the holy apostles, and all the saints. They are:

(aa) A joyful and grateful hymn of praise. Thus, the Mother of God sang the first Christian hymn: “My soul magnifies the Lord… for… He has come to the aid of Israel… He has remembered His mercy” (Luke 1:46–54); Elizabeth exclaims joyfully: “Blessed are you among women!... And how is this to be...” (Luke 1:42–43); Zechariah praises God: “Blessed be the Lord God... for He has visited... as He spoke... to remember His covenant” (Luke 1:68–80). The Lord Himself confesses to God the Father because of the apostles’ faith: “I confess to You, Father... that You have revealed these things to little children” (Matthew 11:25)—and in another place He praises Peter: “Blessed are you, Simon” (Matt. 16:17). The apostles often add, after expounding the truths of the faith: “Blessed be God, who has ‘given us light and understanding, that we may know’ Him and His only-begotten Son” (1 John 5:20).

bb) A sense of peace or security. We are perishing: the sword of wrath hangs over us, and hell lies open beneath us, ready to devour us. Whoever believes will be spared all these calamities; they will not touch him. Whoever realizes this should feel as if he has stepped out of the cold, rain, and damp, restless wind into warm peace; or, like a drowning man, has reached the shore; or, like a beast surrounded and tormented by wild animals, has been snatched from their midst with the certainty that they will no longer touch him. This feeling is depicted by the Apostle Paul in the form of the Sabbath (Heb. 4). A restless mind constantly searches in the hope of finding something better and finds nothing; faith gives everything: all wisdom and all means.

cc) Love—both for faith in general and for each of its dogmas, rules, and decrees. One must accept everything with the heart, warm everything within it, savor it, assimilate it, and cherish it. What is holy, true, divine, and salvific—how can one not love such things? Saint David sings that even the dust of the house of God is precious to him... This is a lesson for us to cherish with love every truth contained in the holy faith. This, in fact, is what it means to hold fast to the faith. Faith is in the heart, not in the head; and when it is in the heart, it warms it and is loved by it, for otherwise it cannot be there. Truth, until it enters the heart, is like dust on a polished board: a breeze will blow and carry it all away. Truth accepted by the heart is like oil that has penetrated the bones. One who loves the truths of the faith hates both the person and the thought that contradict them; therefore, he is safe from falling and is himself a pillar of the faith. Therefore, this is the holiest and deepest duty: to love the faith and all its precepts.

d) Whoever has come to know and love the one true faith cannot help but bear witness to his devotion to it. “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matt. 12:34).

The actions through which this is expressed are:

aa) The confession of the faith, that is, the open, sincere, and fearless demonstration in deed and word that this is indeed the holy and one true faith. Such a confession can be and is of two kinds: one—general and constant; the other—special, manifested during times of persecution. The first consists in speaking, acting, and living openly, sincerely, and fearlessly according to the precepts of the holy faith in whatever place and under whatever circumstances one finds oneself, regardless of what others may say about us, how they may judge us, or how they may treat us. This is required by the sincerity of one’s convictions. If this is the truth and that is not, why should I compromise one to please the other? Or why should I be ashamed to act according to my convictions? Shame and embarrassment are signs of weak faith and wavering conviction. This is required by the danger of harm to the faith. Whoever is afraid to live openly according to their faith casts suspicion on the faith itself. Anyone would say: indeed, the weakness or lack of firmness in their faith ties their tongue and hands. One must especially not remain silent when the faith of others is openly disparaged. Here one must directly speak the truth and rebuke the insolent as a blasphemer. The Savior’s clear command not to be ashamed to confess Him before men applies here (Luke 9:26; Matt. 10:33). And what is there to fear? Will they laugh? Let them. That is their folly. The apostles rejoiced that they were deemed worthy to suffer disgrace for the name of Christ. We must imitate them. Will they persecute us? That is even more beneficial. Here we can say to everyone: Be bold! The martyr’s crown is placed upon your head. Besides, should one fear people more than God? All such reproaches of insincere conviction and cowardice apply only to those who, out of fear, do not manifest their faith and remain indifferent themselves, so that one cannot tell whether they believe or not. What, then, can be said of those who, when the occasion arises, put on the appearance of unbelievers, fearing that by professing their faith they might give the impression of being unworthy? This is pandering to men, playing with what is holy, and empty pretense. What kind of behavior is it to don the mask of a fool simply because another fool might think foolishly?! One must, however, remember that when such a confession is made a duty, this in no way justifies observing the rules of faith merely for show; rather, one should follow the rules of one’s faith out of conviction and love, without hiding, yet without worrying about what others will say. The former is empty vanity; the latter is true action. And furthermore: when you see a blasphemer, stand up and rebuke him, the wicked one; silence his mouth so that he does not trample upon the sacred. A special confession of faith—the most solemn, godly, and apostolic—is the confession made in the face of persecution for the faith in general or for any particular doctrine. Persecutions have occurred frequently and are possible at any time. The examples of those who came before us have shown us the way and the rules for how to conduct ourselves in such cases... When persecution arises—remain silent and stay in your place, entrusting yourself to the Lord who ordains all things, praying for strength and help. If you feel weakness and fear, yet have the opportunity to take refuge, take refuge. Many did so. Entire congregations withdrew into the forests and mountains. And the Lord said, “When… they persecute you in one city, flee to another” (Matt. 10:23). “Take refuge, you few, until the Lord’s wrath has passed,” says the prophet (Isa. 26:20). If you are taken by force and brought to trial: do not be ashamed, nor be afraid; show your love for the Lord whom you confess; stand up for Him even to the point of bloodshed and death. But even without that, whoever feels bound by a moral force—namely, a certain inner compulsion toward martyrdom—should, having received a blessing and, if possible, with the counsel of a pastor, or even without it, raise their voice in confession. Do the same when you see that those who ought to bear witness are growing weak, or when you find yourself among those who have not yet been granted this honor but are already ready, out of weakness, to renounce the truth. Many martyrs acted in this way and not only saved the believers but also turned the unbelievers into believers. In general, open confession can never be excessive when it is done out of love—drawn to the Lord—with sound zeal, rather than reckless fanaticism. Cast aside all fears and reservations... Go fearlessly, and profess your faith: the Lord is your helper. Every confessor is a strong warrior in Christ’s army. Are you weak? Flee when you can, but when you are caught, bear witness without fear. Under no circumstances should you allow yourself—even merely for appearances’ sake—to do what is demanded as a sign of apostasy, for that is tantamount to apostasy itself. Such is the spirit of confession! One must always keep it alive within oneself; so that the time of tribulation does not find one unprepared, one must constantly be ready to suffer and die for the name of Christ and the holy faith. This is spiritual confession or secret martyrdom, when a Christian is crucified in heart, though alive in body.

bb) Zeal for spreading the faith, or making it known. Whoever is convinced that the holy faith is the one true faith cannot remain silent about it, especially in the face of falsehood and error. Whoever loves his neighbor—every person—sincerely and desires for him true, lasting, and eternal good, can such a person refrain from proclaiming to him the true path to salvation revealed by the holy faith? Whoever loves God and seeks His glory—can such a person fail to be zealous that others may come to know Him and “the One whom You have sent, Jesus Christ” (John 17:3), so that they may glorify and honor Him as He Himself desires and teaches all in His true faith? Thus, conviction in the truth, love for God and neighbor, require that everyone who knows the faith and has the word proclaim loudly to all the true path to salvation in the holy faith. For it is certain that those outside the faith are perishing. And praising God outside of it is mere blasphemy—how can one see this and tolerate it? There is no need here to wait for authority or rights. When the soul burns with holy, sober, loving, and imploring zeal, raise your voice.

The question is, who should do this?

It goes without saying that this duty falls primarily on ordained ministers, as they are set apart exclusively for this purpose. But how can anyone else be silenced when he proclaims the truth in which he is convinced and which he has come to love with all his heart? Allowing every belief to be preached indiscriminately is harmful; but proclaiming the truth—universally known, revealed by God, and precisely and clearly defined as an unchanging rule for all people and for all times—is salvific both for the one who proclaims it and for others. And one must not only proclaim it but also actively work to ensure the success of the word of truth.

To whom should we preach? To both our own and to strangers. The Lord says: If you see a brother sinning, go and admonish him. If he listens, “you have won a brother”; if not, do the same with the two of you together, and then “you must tell the Church” (Matt. 18:15, 18:17). Are there not many among our Christian brethren who are ignorant of the faith and, out of ignorance, cling to absurdities? Let the one who knows set his brother straight and enlighten him with the truth. And this will be just as fruitful, powerful, and valuable as going overseas to convert unbelievers. We must care even more for those who are firm in the faith, according to the apostle. Nor should we neglect or, as it were, despise those who are strangers among us, but warm them with love, predispose them to listen, and do so at a favorable time. Who knows whether the truth might not enter even his soul through your word? God has instruments for victory everywhere, even though no one clearly knows them.

How is this to be done? Through both speech and Scripture. If you see someone who is misguided and know how to speak the truth—use your wisdom to find a way to reach his ear and attention, and proclaim this truth to him. The living word, however, requires a laborer who is as patient as he is wise, yet it is more decisive; for it enters directly into the struggle with the soul and, if it is strong, inevitably captivates the mind into obedience to Christ. Scripture is gentler and leaves both sides undisturbed. In it, truth itself triumphs; the speaker remains hidden, and in the process of enlightenment, it presupposes greater freedom and maturity of conviction. Scripture has yet another advantage: it is universally accessible and enduring. Scripture, which expresses the truth of the faith vividly, persuasively, and triumphantly, is a true treasure for the Church and for humankind. Whoever is able to compose such a book may take his place among the world’s great preachers.

True zeal for the spread of the faith, however, must be distinguished from wild, unreasonable, and fanatical zeal. It must possess the following characteristics: a firm, well-founded, and reasonable conviction in the truth of the holy faith, accompanied by a full understanding of it. A soul that has become a vessel capable of holding such a sacred treasure cannot help but radiate its fragrance. How can it hide this treasure from others? How can it restrain the tongue, which naturally flows from the fullness of the heart? Hence, whoever is possessed by an unaccountable attachment to the faith—one that clouds the clarity of its contemplation—and who desires to express not so much the content of the faith as his own speculations about it—let him restrain himself and remain calm within his own bounds, without touching the sacred with unclean hands. The Apostle commanded us to preach “from a pure heart, a good conscience, and sincere faith,” without which some have gone astray (1 Tim. 1:5).

A sense of submission and servitude to the truth and to God. “We cannot help but speak of what we have seen and heard,” the apostles testify (Acts 4:20). “We are servants,” they say, “stewards, and workers for God.” Hence, whoever seeks exaltation, distinction, dominance, and dominion over the minds and souls of others—in that there is no truth. The true defender of God’s faith establishes God’s reign, while the false one establishes his own.

A pleading tone of love and persuasion, combined with self-sacrifice and humility... “We implore you on Christ’s behalf,” say the apostles, “be reconciled to God” (2 Cor. 5:20). You are perishing; come, I will carry you on my shoulders to a safe harbor. Behold, here is the truth, as clear as the sun. Hence, flattery, any kind of deception, the lure of benefits, and threats of disadvantages are all deviations from the truth in the preaching of the faith.

Courage. In those who are weak—whether in intellect or in the power of their words and character—this zeal may remain, as it were, silent. It may blaze, setting the heart ablaze, yet express itself only through prayer and a fervent desire that the holy faith may be made manifest as much as possible and exalt the glory of God, leading people to bliss. Such readiness, like the readiness for martyrdom, is a disposition that is as holy as it is noble and fruitful. When all that is possible has been done, God will value the strength of zeal, and not merely the fruits, which are in His power. On this occasion, we should recall that true, called preachers, appointed for special purposes, are greatly exalted by God; they are led by Him to their goal and, under His protection, fulfill the calling to which they are called. Such was, for example, Saint Stephen of Perm. For others, it is more fitting to remain humbly within their own circle, warming and shining there with their own unique light and warmth.

d) Preserving the faith—both the faith of one’s heart, or one’s convictions, and the faith one professes. One who loves, by natural inclination, guards what is dear to them as the apple of their eye. The same applies to faith. To preserve the faith means, first and foremost, to ward off the dangers that threaten it. These dangers can be internal or external. The former include thoughts of doubt that arise from time to time—whether regarding faith in general or, more specifically, certain aspects of it. The intensity of these thoughts varies: some are fleeting, like a sudden flash of thought or a passing shadow from a light cloud; others touch the heart and wound it like an arrow; still others concern matters whose certainty we know, while others pertain to something unknown. Such thoughts may be forged by the heart itself, but more likely, they come from the enemy of truth and the father of lies. Be that as it may, they must not be ignored, but must be driven away immediately, stirring the heart to burn with hatred against them; for this hatred is a true spiritual purging of poison, putting one out of danger. Indulgence toward them and inattention are dangerous. As for the kind of doubts that concern one’s weaknesses, in addition to indignation, one must hasten to counter them with sound arguments or to fill in the gaps in one’s knowledge. The second internal danger comes from the passions. Truth cannot dwell in a corrupt soul. This vessel is poor, always ready to spill whatever is placed within it. Passions are deviations from the truth, and moreover, they are alive; thus, anyone who is passionate is already on the path of falsehood, having learned from their passions lessons of falsehood that are contrary to the truth. From a dissolute life, there is a very easy transition to unbelief, coldness, and the rejection of faith. Therefore, one must keep one’s soul and heart pure. This is the unshakable and safest repository of faith. External dangers to faith include reading books that contain immoral teachings or preach lies and unbelief, especially those written in the captivating language of poetry and filled with subtle and cunning sophisms that even a sound mind cannot immediately unravel. Anyone who avoids reading anything harmful—or, in general, reads only under the guidance of experienced people—will escape this danger. Association with people steeped in frivolity and contempt for the truth, as well as with heretics and people of other faiths who are cunning and devious. “Bad company corrupts good habits” (1 Cor. 15:33). “You must withdraw from... anyone who does not walk according to the Tradition” (2 Thess. 3:6; Rom. 16:17), so that “your mind may not be corrupted... from simplicity” (2 Cor. 11:3), so as not to be “deceived by false philosophy” (Col. 2:8). Toward all such people, of course, one must not lose love, compassion, a sincere desire, and a willingness to help bring them to their senses; but one must by no means yield to flattery or friendship with them. Such an attitude binds both speech and thought and, as it were, unwittingly delivers one into the enemy’s hands. Therefore, in regard to such people, seek to bring them to their senses and pray; but withdraw immediately as soon as you perceive danger to yourself. If, however, you feel strong, fight on, with God’s help.

However, this negative preservation of the faith must be accompanied by a positive one. Whoever cares for a tree not only keeps harmful things away from it but also provides it with the nutrients necessary for its strength and vitality. And faith, too, must be nourished within oneself. Here is what is needed for this: listen to the Word of God, sermons, and teachings, and, if you have the opportunity, lessons as well; read the Word of God, the Holy Fathers, and theologians; seek out and ask questions, converse and associate with believers who are rich in faith; reflect on the foundations of faith, especially on its works and destiny, on its divine promises and their fulfillment; pray and cry out to God: “Help my unbelief”; live by faith and, through your deeds, attach to your very being what you hold in your mind, so that to waver in faith may be the same as to disturb your very life; frequently partake worthily of the Holy Mysteries, and you will keep the very source of truth in your heart.

While preserving your faith in this way, you must not remain indifferent to the fate of the religion you profess. Here, pray constantly, desire, and work for its well-being, integrity, and safety; if you see a looming danger from lies, error, and false philosophy, report it to those who should be informed; fight and resist them yourself as much as you can; grieve, mourn, and be distressed that this is so, and pray to the Lord, the King of truth, that He may establish truth and dispel the encroaching darkness. When, however, you have done all that is in your power, entrust yourself and the holy faith into the hands of the Almighty Lord, Who by His death laid the foundation for the triumph of His faith and will not leave it to the absolute whims of men. And if He does leave it, He will leave men, but not the faith; and He will leave men only because of their stubbornness and unrepentant opposition.

Understanding this, consider all good and evil inclinations and actions regarding our holy Orthodox faith. Cultivate the former; strive to root out the latter, if they exist. These are evil times. Guard your thoughts and your heart. Trouble may even come from those closest to you. Be on your guard, therefore.

3) Sins Against the Faith

It is necessary to point out deviations from the truth regarding the faith, so that everyone may see the pit and not fall into it. Let us proceed alongside the enumerated duties and identify possible deviations from them.

Those who lack faith—who do not know God or their relationship to Him—the atheists—sin against the first duty: to have faith. This is not the place to demonstrate the existence of atheists; we will merely say that if they exist, they sin, and they commit the greatest sin of all, one that has no equal. However, one can and should distinguish between theoretical atheists—who, based on their way of thinking, assume that God does not exist—and practical atheists—who live without thinking about God, or who live as if God did not exist. To the former category we may count the fatalists, who say, “We were born by chance”—as in the Book of Wisdom (Wis. 2:2). Everything that is and happens is and happens just as it is. All those who, having reflected on the origin and destiny of the world, on the tangled course of events in the human race and in their own lives, think in their hearts, “Is there really a God? Is not all this just as it is?” are tempted by this sin and sin in their thoughts. This category also includes pantheists, for whom this universe is God—but a faceless, law-bound, inseparable being. They are akin to fatalists. A distinct subgroup among them are the evolutionists, who hold that the world is God in a state of development. This is a most grievous sin, though it includes very refined thinkers such as Fichte, Hegel, and others. Practical atheists are more widespread. They share a single characteristic: a life lived in forgetfulness of God, following the desires of the heart, without any awareness of a higher authority over themselves, and without a sense of the inevitable necessity to give account for their lives. The prophet speaks of them: “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’” And as for what comes from them, it is added: “They have become corrupt and have grown vile in their deeds” (Ps. 13:1). Having given themselves over to sensuality and passions, they have suppressed the best part of their being and severed the thread connecting them to heaven. They already, according to the Apostle, “do not accept the things of the Spirit of God” (1 Cor. 2:14; see also Eph. 2; Rom. 1). They can be found in great numbers at all times and in all places, and what is especially regrettable is that sometimes they are not entirely depraved, but simply live according to the natural inclinations of the heart. However, even those who lead others to God are sometimes plunged, if only temporarily, into this stench, spending days, months, and sometimes even years in the vanity of the mind, as if without God (Eph. 2).

Indifferentists sin against the second duty—to have a single true faith—by maintaining and preaching that it all amounts to the same thing: whatever faith one has, as long as one has it. Any faith is suitable and will lead to its intended purpose—whether it is Christian or not. Just how gross this error is can be seen from what has been said in support of the necessity of having one true faith. It should also be added here that after God Himself taught people to draw near to Him, He Himself came, became incarnate, suffered and died, sent down the Spirit, and performed so many miracles to confirm the faith, and moved heaven and earth—after all this, to say that it makes no difference whether one holds to this faith or another signifies not only extreme madness, in which truth is equated with falsehood, but also impiety, in which a certain reproach is brought against the merciful God, as if He had lavished His mercy excessively, and in which, through falsehood, they make God the author of falsehood, as if there were not a single faith, which He proclaims to be the one and only. Indifferentism is, moreover, a scourge upon the human race. If only one faith leads to salvation—so that all other beliefs do not save but bring about ruin—then does not whoever holds others to those beliefs destroy everyone he holds to them? When a plague rages and a skilled physician devises the only cure, anyone who insists, “It doesn’t matter; that medicine is just as good,” destroys all who heed him. Such is indifference. It weakens and kills the spirit. One who holds to it is almost the same as an atheist, for it is clear that for him faith is a matter of no concern, that he maintains it out of custom, in imitation of others, or—even worse—as if it were some kind of political tool. All these reproaches also apply to the one who says, “It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s the Christian faith—any faith will do.” Where does this idea come from?! The apostles were so zealous in maintaining unity of mind, so diligent in restoring it whenever it was disrupted, and so strict in opposing those who held different views that they decreed excommunication for them; yet now it has become customary to say: “It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s Christian—even if it were heresy.” But did not the Lord say, “If the church does not listen to you, let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector” (Matt. 18:17)? And furthermore, how is it that the Church, throughout its entire history, has so vigorously championed and defended itself against all dissenters? Is all this really the case? And does the Lord justify the one true faith with signs and wonders—and continues to do so to this day—as if all this were true?

That depraved way of thinking, according to which it is preached that religion is nothing more than a tool in the hands of the government, comes very close to indifferentism—or is a form of it. And those who think this way about the government, as well as the government itself that acts in this manner, are utterly ungodly and godless... Well, if Islam, Judaism, or some other form of wickedness suits the government, does that mean it must be introduced and favored? The purpose of society is to guide man toward his goal; man’s goal is in God, and one can approach God only as He directs in the holy faith. Consequently, the spirit of society must be a single, true faith. What kind of government is this that, while offering its subjects little comfort in this life, thereby dooms them for all eternity! They say: there will be unrest among the people! Who, then, permits this violence? Reveal the truth so that everyone may see it. And who is better suited to do so than the rulers? For they are accountable before God if they do not preserve and instill the true faith in the people. Against the third—test where the truth lies—those who do not test it sin, immersed in the slumber of carelessness; the indifferent, who differ from the agnostics only in that they have no thoughts amid their carelessness or do not think about faith at all and are therefore scoffers of the faith; the doubters, who have generally come to a standstill on the unresolved question: Does God exist, and does He require worship?—or who suspect whether the holy Orthodox faith is true, yet remain indifferent, do not seek to resolve their doubts, and in this indecisive, wavering state continue to live according to the accepted order. They are, as it were, suspended in mid-air, exhausting and tormenting their own spirits. The gravity of their sin lies in their indifference to the truth, to God, and to their own salvation, and especially in that unnatural state of mind in which they maintain a certain order contrary to their convictions, act against their conscience, and kill the life within themselves. All those who have settled on falsehood and are deluded in their faith—pagans, Muslims, Jews, and especially naturalists—are those who believe that man’s natural powers, his own mind, and his own efforts are sufficient for the knowledge of God and his own salvation. This delusion is otherwise called rationalism. It is the most obvious folly and madness. To see both one’s own errors and the errors of other thinkers, to know from history how many delusions and vices have flooded the earth from rational man, and yet still to believe in one’s own reason! Moreover, right beside him, the rationalist sees a faith revealed by God, miraculously confirmed, which has presented and continues to present the experiences of the saved—and yet he remains stubbornly set in his ways! It is incomprehensible. It is not without reason, then, that some suspect: are there any rationalists who are truly convinced of the firmness of their rationalism? The majority, lacking firm, clear conviction and with a muddled sense of the correctness of their thoughts, arrogantly preach who knows what, just to get people talking about them: “Behold, an all-encompassing genius!”

Rationalists—though biblical ones, who acknowledge Revelation but accept from it only what accords with their own way of thinking—are also guilty of sinning against the requirement to submit humbly, silently, and completely to the revealed Holy Orthodox Faith. These are proud minds that exalt themselves above the mind of God, do not submit to Him, and refuse to heed the faith; therefore, they are no different from unbelievers. For unbelief, in essence, is the refusal to acknowledge as true that which the holy faith acknowledges as true. In spirit, they are robbers within God’s enclosure, creeping in from elsewhere; and once inside, instead of abiding in humility, they willfully tear apart, scatter, and distort all of God’s treasures. All heretics, Papists, Protestants of every kind, and others are the natural fruit of unbelief and self-will, or the waywardness of the mind in matters of faith. The universal faith is the rule of conduct and life, binding upon all. Whoever reasons differently from it in any respect, knowing that this kind of reasoning is not approved by it and is contrary to it, and then refuses to yield to any persuasion but stubbornly persists in his own reasoning, is a blasphemer against the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of truth. He tears apart the unity of the faith, and is all the more guilty in this the more clearly he is aware of the order of belief, the more he feels the stirrings of conscience and heart against his own thoughts, and the more he stands for himself—rather than for the truth—in his obstinacy for the sake of some earthly or self-centered goals. Apostates are those who, whether out of fear of persecution, or for earthly hopes, or to please men, or sometimes out of credulity and inner eccentricity, abandon the true faith and turn to those who are in error. Even those among them who imagine they are doing this out of a conviction in the truth are not excused. The truth is evident. If passion does not cloud the mind, the truth cannot go unnoticed. Consequently, apostasy even in such cases is impossible except through passion and sin... The apostle teaches that apostates are a lost people: “Those who sin willfully… after receiving the knowledge of the truth—for such there is no longer a sacrifice for sins, but a fearful… expectation of judgment, and the fury of a fire” (Heb. 10:26–27). Obviously, those who convert from another faith to the true faith are not subject to this judgment. We must praise them and thank the Lord for them, for He brings our brethren out of darkness into His marvelous light.

Finally, standing in opposition to all other duties is indifference toward the faith—a hardening of the spirit caused by immersion in the flesh, by consuming worries, by excessive pride, and by a self-centeredness that knows only itself. In this state of mind, one knows neither the joyful feelings that faith brings—such as peace, joy, gratitude, and praise—nor do they know the deeds that naturally flow from love for the faith, such as professing it, spreading it, and zealously promoting it—deeds that are highly valuable here and bring eternal bliss in heaven.

Who has not encountered all these deviations face to face? Let everyone now know where they belong. If anyone takes the trouble to firmly establish in their mind all the attitudes and actions described at regarding faith—and moreover, in the way they flow from one to the next—they will gain considerable strength in mind and heart, from which, as from a wall, every attack on faith—whether internal or external—will be repelled.

12. Piety—A Life Lived in the Spirit of Faith

Those who have entered the realm of true faith find peace there; they feel as if they are in a safe haven. But this peace is only outward; within, intense activity and labor await him in the spirit of this faith he has accepted, come to know, and come to love. This means that by the very act of accepting the faith, one is bound to bring one’s external and internal life into harmony with its teachings, or to mold oneself according to it and instill its spirit within oneself. The realm of faith breathes and is filled with life and activity; one who has entered it yet does not live by it is like a superfluous part in a machine or a wayward individual who disrupts the order of a bright, solemn procession. He who does not live by faith does not believe. “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:26). When a drowning person does not take the hand extended to him with the promise of rescue, he surely does not believe the promise. Moreover, such a person mocks faith. What if someone were to put on priestly vestments and begin to prance about and act mad in public? Wouldn’t he be a mocker? The same applies to faith. That is why the Word of God contains grave warnings against those who profess faith but do not act upon it. “They profess to know God, but by their deeds they deny Him; they are detestable, disobedient, and unfit for any good work” (Titus 1:16). Thus, one who has embraced the faith must certainly put it into practice in his actions, form himself according to it, and, as it were, embody the whole of it in his conduct. A constant, sincere, complete, and all-encompassing walk in the spirit of the one true and holy faith is true piety.

It goes without saying that, in accordance with the diversity of the faith’s content, godly conduct must manifest itself in various forms. On this basis, there are also various duties of godliness. Indeed, all duties in general can be subsumed under this one duty, or derived from it alone, for they are all required by the Christian faith and flow from its spirit. Therefore, among other things, the Apostle (Titus 2:12) derives from piety a life that is godly, righteous, and chaste—that is, in general, a Christian, lawful, and holy life.

What does a Christian, godly life mean? It is a life in union with God in the Lord Jesus Christ within the Holy Church, or in accordance with the plan of our salvation. That this is so, consider how it came to pass. The Lord came to earth, suffered, died, rose again, ascended into heaven, and sent down the Divine Spirit upon His holy disciples and apostles, who, by His power, established on earth the promised Church, built upon the foundation of the Apostles and Prophets, with Jesus Christ Himself as the cornerstone, —the Church, the house of faith and salvation, the body of the Lord, the ark for those being saved from drowning in ungodliness, sin, and Satan’s malice. But what is the Church in its spirit? The priesthood is holy; offer sacrifices pleasing to God through Jesus Christ. The Church is a community that worships, ministers, and sanctifies unceasingly, wisely, and spiritually—and this is done for God through Jesus Christ. Everyone who enters it must become one in spirit with it, being in a small way what it is in a great way, just as in the body, they say, every member, however small, contains the whole body—that is, all its elements. In other words: every believer is obligated to offer to God acceptable sacrifices through Jesus Christ, and this is the same as living in communion with God through the Lord Jesus Christ, according to the plan of salvation. From this it is evident that the Christian, godly life is actively expressed in the ascent to God through Jesus Christ, in abiding in Him through Him, and moreover, in no other way than in the house built for our salvation, or the Church. Accordingly, the duties of piety fall into three categories, of which: 1) the first category comprises the feelings and dispositions arising from our reunion with God in Jesus Christ; 2) the second—the feelings and dispositions arising from abiding in communion with God; 3) the third—the feelings and dispositions arising from communion with the house of salvation, the Church.

1) Feelings and Dispositions on the Path to Reunification with God

Let us begin with those feelings and dispositions that a person encounters on the path to God, when he is reunited with Him in the Lord Jesus Christ. Since returning to God is an act of freedom, not compulsion , and is accomplished in the spirit rather than in anything material, it is not a matter that, once completed, can be set aside as settled, but rather a matter that is repeated and renewed at every moment. Therefore, even though a Christian has already entered into communion with God, he is by no means exempt or freed from the acts by which this was accomplished, but must always nurture and renew them. Consequently, all of these acts become for him a continuous duty and obligation.

The path of ascent to God, or of reunion with Him, is explained elsewhere (see “On the Norm of the Christian Life”). Now it remains only to clarify the duties that flow from this.

The seed of all these duties is faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, our Savior, which unites us with Him in our hearts. But some things must take place within us even before this faith is born, and others—after its birth. “No one comes to the Father except through Me,” says the Lord (John 14:6). We must first come to Jesus Christ in order to ascend from Him to God. Consequently, there are certain feelings and dispositions that are essential for us: some on the path of union with the Lord Jesus Christ, and others on the path of ascending from Jesus Christ to the Triune God.

a) Feelings and dispositions on the path of union with the Lord Savior

Heartfelt union with the Lord is accomplished through faith. The foundation of faith lies in the recognition of one’s own poverty and the recognition of the riches of Jesus Christ. Faith transfers Christ’s riches to one’s own poverty and, for this reason, unites the heart with the Lord. In order to keep this faith strong and to warm the union of the heart with the Lord more and more, every Christian is bound to the following feelings and actions:

aa) He is obliged to know and to carry in the depths of his heart his own poverty and wretchedness. Faith begins with this knowledge and is then constantly sustained by it. It is like the oil for the flame in a lamp, which grows dim as the oil is consumed. Whoever does not know that a house is on fire will not flee from it; likewise, whoever does not know his own wretchedness will not seek salvation. This is the first truth about oneself; every other truth already contains an admixture of falsehood, and all the more so the more it feeds self-satisfaction. The subjects of this knowledge are determined by human history itself. Man was created in the image of God, for the glory of God and for unceasing bliss, in place of the fallen and rejected spirits who established hell within themselves and from themselves. But through the devil’s envy, he transgressed the commandment, was subjected to condemnation and a curse, corrupted his soul and body, submitted to the tempter, and, suffering on earth, is in danger after death of ending up in the very same hell inhabited by spirits, apostates, and their prince—Satan. Therefore, a Christian must keep in mind that he was in a state of fall, was under God’s curse, was without answer before Him, and was corrupted within himself; he was subject to Satan’s power, violence, and malice, and was an inevitable victim of death and hell. A Christian must clearly know all this and keep it in mind even after he has been delivered from all these misfortunes. For in and of himself, he is indeed always in this condition. If he now stands outside this ruinous state, it is because he is sustained by grace, though—as if standing above a chasm of fire—he is ready at every moment to fall away and return to his former state. The sum of such thoughts, perceived by the heart, forms and sustains a sense of the danger of one’s condition, of one’s powerlessness and helplessness, were it not for the Lord. This compels the Christian to continue to abide in the utmost self-abasement, humility, and to consider himself lower than any creature, even inanimate ones, not just animate ones; it compels one to cry out ceaselessly: “Lord, save me, for I am perishing.” And such feelings must not be reproduced just once or twice, but must be constantly affirmed and rooted within oneself, as if they had become part of one’s very nature. Whoever loses them is instantly excluded from the ranks of those being saved, for all who are being saved think and feel in this way. Therefore, it is everyone’s duty to nurture these feelings within themselves in every way possible. Everyone can do this as best they can. But the best and most effective teaching for them is the Christian life itself. This is the strongest and most enduring means, so much so that one might say the entire life of a true Christian is nothing other than a continuous ascent to the heights of awareness of one’s own poverty and a sense of self-abasement. The more a person grows in virtue, the more he realizes and feels that he is nothing. And what an abundance of virtues flows from this! Here there is humility, self-reproach, refraining from judging others, lack of anger, meekness, and unshakable peace. But in return, from God comes a ceaseless flow of secret spiritual consolations and an abundance of grace, and from fellow Christians, love and a living communion. Whoever lacks this experiences the exact opposite.

bb) One must know and grow in the knowledge of the unfathomable riches of our Lord Jesus Christ, who came into the world of sinners to save them. The mere awareness of one’s own wretchedness and powerlessness—along with a sense of helplessness and fear for one’s life and eternal destiny—is disheartening. It brings only sorrow and anguish, which, if not tempered by other comforting feelings, enfeeble rather than invigorate, and—before long—can plunge one into inescapable despair. Whoever stops at this alone stops, as it were, halfway through the task and, consequently, accomplishes nothing. And there is no truth here: for in reality, man is not merely poor and perishing, but is also enriched and saved—there is such an order from the Lord and our God, by which the divine shelter of grace is spread over the perishing man. Therefore, it is the indispensable duty of every Christian to know this and, since all this is centered in the Lord Jesus Christ, to know Him. The objects of this knowledge are also determined by the very nature of the works of grace. The merciful God promised to send His Son as Savior to those who are perishing; and when the fullness of time had come, He truly came, became incarnate, suffered, offered Himself as a sacrifice for the sins of the whole world through His death on the cross, rose again and raised all to life, destroyed hell and bound Satan, ascended, and sat down at the right hand of God the Father, where He intercedes for us and reigns over all as the King who has received authority in heaven and on earth. Thus we must know and understand that the Lord Jesus Christ is the sacrifice for us, our life, our King, who has destroyed the power of the devil, death, and hell. From this, furthermore, we must remember and keep in mind that such a wondrous and astonishing work of God took place, that heaven and earth were shaken; to reflect reverently and delve deeply into the entire work of salvation, especially into the terrible Passion and the Lord’s subsequent glory: what is this, how did it happen, for what purpose, and what power lies in it? Bring this to mind more often, especially on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays, and rejoice and take comfort in the fact that it is so. Through such practices, knowledge of the Lord will naturally grow; but the zealous will add to this frequent reading of the Gospels and the Prophets, and above all, prayer for a grace-filled introduction to the mysteries of salvation. “Who has understood the mind of the Lord?” asks the apostle, and as if in answer to that, he adds: “But we have the mind of Christ” (Rom. 11:34; 1 Cor. 2:16). True knowledge of the Lord is accomplished in the mystery of the Spirit and, one might say, is not so much understood as felt in a way that defies words or images. It is simply infinitely sweet, as the apostle assures us, who considered everything as nothing “compared to the surpassing knowledge of Christ the Lord” (Phil. 3:8), who urges everyone to ascend to such understanding and prayed for all that the “depth, breadth, and height” of the wisdom revealed in the plan of our salvation might be made known to them (Eph. 3:18).

cc) And in this way, to kindle within oneself faith in the Lord and Savior. For when, in the same spirit, the recognition of one’s wretchedness and poverty meets the knowledge of the Lord and Savior, then, naturally, they combine and merge, like water with dry earth or like two kindred elements. The feeling of helplessness ascends to the Lord as a sacrifice; the feeling of weakness and corruption receives the Lord—our life; the fear of death, hell, and the devil is healed by the knowledge of the Lord, our King and their conqueror. Every sorrowful feeling finds its appropriate remedy in the Lord. From this very union is born, as their heavenly daughter, true faith in the Lord and Savior, which is therefore not merely knowledge of the Lord, nor merely knowledge of one’s own insignificance, but both together—and not one alongside the other, but one within the other. Just as in a chemical compound one element enters into another, so too do they dissolve into one another. The helpless one turns to the Crucified One as a sacrifice and receives justification; the corrupted one turns to the Lord, the Source of Life, and is revived; the captive one turns to the Lord, the King and Conqueror, and is set free. Faith is the innermost, grace-filled action within us, through which the fullness of Christ is transferred to our nothingness and poverty and is assimilated by us. This is an almighty, creative act, for through it a new creation is brought about within us; our spirit is united with Christ, and from this a new, hidden man is born within us. From this it is evident that true faith encompasses the following dispositions—more felt than expressed, inseparably united rather than divided: I—a perishing soul—would have been lost forever, but the Lord Jesus Christ, having taken away all the evil weighing upon the human race, has accepted me, and through Him I am saved. Faith beholds the Lord as the sole source of its well-being, disappears into Him with its heart, embraces Him lovingly, lives by Him alone and for Him alone; for it feels that if not for Him, all would be lost. To hold fast to this and to feel it is the constant duty of a Christian. It is now clear why, in order to sustain and kindle such faith within us, it is considered necessary, on the one hand, to have a growing awareness of our own wretchedness and poverty, and on the other, to know the Savior and His works. By these the spirit of faith is warmed; by these it is born and from these it is composed. But just as a drop of water is composed of parts of oxygen and hydrogen through the passage of an electric spark through them, so too is faith first born through a certain mysterious touch of the Lord upon a heart prepared for faith through the knowledge of oneself and of the Lord, as He makes clear with the words: “I will enter… and… dine” (Rev. 3:20). Through self-knowledge and knowledge of the Lord, the heart is opened; then the Lord Himself enters and partakes of the supper—that is, He satisfies the soul with His blessings—whereupon the words are uttered in the depths of the human spirit, as Thomas did upon touching the Lord: “My Lord and my God” (John 20:28). This is the first voice of faith and its true symbol.

But just as faith was originally born through the Lord’s mysterious touch upon the heart, so too can and must it be sustained by that same touch, which believers partake of in the reception of the Holy Mysteries and in fervent prayer—which, in its true meaning and power, is nothing other than the unceasing repetition of that initial lifting up to the Lord and His first coming to us. From it, as from a crucible, the Christian emerges renewed each time. This is why the teachings of the Holy Fathers, in general, command us to continually repeat the prayer to the Lord on our lips: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me...” —to repeat it as often as one breathes, to which some have even likened it. Conversely, faith fades away from forgetting one’s own poverty, from a weakening of the knowledge of the Savior, and from ceasing the Jesus Prayer.

Thus is the union of the heart with the Lord and Savior accomplished and sustained through faith. From this arises a series of other feelings through which the spirit ascends from Christ the Savior to the infinite God and unites with Him. In conclusion, everyone is invited to read the following passage from the Book of Revelation, in which all that has been said previously is summarized and spoken on behalf of God Himself: “Because you say, ‘I am rich, and have become wealthy, and have need of nothing,’ and do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from Me gold refined by fire, so that you may become rich; and white garments, so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be revealed; and anoint your eyes with eye salve, so that you may see. Those whom I love, I rebuke and discipline; so be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me. To the one who conquers, I will grant to sit with Me on My throne, just as I also conquered and sat down with My Father on His throne. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit says to the churches” (Rev. 3:17–22).

b) Feelings and Dispositions on the Path of Ascent from the Lord and Savior to the Triune God

b) Feelings and dispositions on the path of ascent from the Lord and Savior to the Triune God

When faith is formed and the heart is united with the Lord, other feelings and dispositions are immediately born from this, like rays from the sun, by which—as by the steps of a ladder firmly set upon the rock, Christ—the Christian ascends to heaven to God and worships Him at the foot of His throne. These feelings and dispositions are as follows:

aa) The hope of salvation is inextricably linked to self-sacrifice. The hope of salvation is so essential to life in Christ that it is, as it were, the very best definition and expression of faith in Him. In it, the Christian feels that he is out of danger, beyond all the evil that weighed upon him, that he has entered the realm of those who are being saved, and is being saved by the Lord. Whoever, while drowning, seizes the rope thrown to him, is pulled toward the ship, hoisted aboard, and stands upon it—such a person cannot help but feel a sense of joy at being rescued or having escaped danger. Such is also the spirit of the Christian who has come to faith! How closely this hope of salvation is connected to faith is evident from the words of the Apostle Peter, who regards it as a distinctive mark of faith: “Blessed be God... who has begotten us to a living hope,” he exclaims (1 Pet. 1:3). The Apostle Paul calls this hope “an anchor for the soul, both sure and steadfast” (Heb. 6:19). This hope primarily dispels or drives out despair and hopelessness from the soul, but also, in addition to these, every doubt, ignorance of one’s own salvation, and lack of conviction in it. For just as hope in salvation is a duty, so too is the lack of it in all its forms a sin. Self-denial, or living in it, is not merely casting oneself down at one’s feet, trampling oneself underfoot, and humbling oneself, but more than that: it is self-mortification, or such an activity by which either the body or the soul is ceaselessly mortified and afflicted, and which directs all actions contrary to self-indulgence, one’s own will, and the desires of the heart. The Holy Fathers express this in two rules: to have no will of one’s own and to give the body no rest—as two ways of self-mortification. From these consists all asceticism, which is the same as a life of self-denial. The Apostle speaks of this: “Those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires” (Gal. 5:24), and the Lord says: “Whoever wishes to follow Me must deny himself” (Matt. 16:24). The connection between the strict, self-denying ascetic life and the hope of salvation is not so obvious; yet it exists, and is so vivid that the degree of self-denial is also the measure of the hope of salvation. Just as the weight of the air raises the mercury in a barometer, so the burden of self-denial elevates the hope of salvation. The basis for this can be seen in our salvation through the Lord’s sufferings: salvation was accomplished through them, and every person can be saved only by making them their own. How, then, are they to be made one’s own? Through one’s own sufferings. Our sufferings are the point of contact with Christ’s sufferings, or the place where they are grafted into us. That is why the apostles speak of a certain “sharing in the sufferings of the Lord through conformity to His death” (Phil. 3:10) and praise those who have succeeded in “sharing in the sufferings of Christ” (1 Pet. 4:13). A natural consequence of such participation must be an increase in the hope of salvation. For if, through our sufferings, the power of Christ’s sufferings—which accomplished our salvation—is transferred to us, then at the same time the awareness of salvation from that power cannot fail to take root in our soul and consciousness, which is the very essence of hope. But be that as it may, only a self-sacrificing, strictly ascetic, and self-denying life is the sole condition for the hope of salvation. Therefore, whoever gives in to complacency extinguishes hope and, consequently, stifles the very seed, or the first stirrings, of the hope of salvation. That is why for the enemies of the cross of Christ, “their end is destruction” (Phil. 3:19).

bb) Peace with God is inextricably linked to unceasing repentance. “Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ,” says the apostle (Rom. 5:1). Elsewhere it is stated that “God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ… and has entrusted to us the message of reconciliation,” and the apostles urge everyone: “Be reconciled to God” (2 Cor. 5:19–20). This peace is evidenced by a sense of God’s favor, by beholding in the spirit the radiant face of God, by the awareness that His wrath has been removed and transformed into mercy, and by a joyful gaze toward heaven. Before, it was as if a sword hung over one’s head, and it was terrifying to turn to God or even think of Him; but now, with holy boldness, one enters the innermost sanctuary beyond the veil. Having been granted this peace, one must also take care to abide in it. But it is impossible to abide in peace with God without continual repentance. The Apostle John sets forth this condition for peace with God: “if our hearts do not condemn us” (1 John 3:21). If there is nothing on one’s conscience, one can have boldness and access to God in a spirit of peace; but if there is, then peace is disrupted. Sometimes there is something on one’s conscience—arising from the awareness of sin. But according to the same apostle, we are never without sin, and this is so categorically true that anyone who thinks or feels otherwise is already a liar (1 John 1:8). Consequently, there is not a single moment when anyone does not have something on their conscience—whether voluntary or involuntary—and therefore there is not a single moment when their peace with God is not disturbed. It follows, then, that it is absolutely necessary to purify one’s conscience in order to be at peace with God. The conscience is purified through repentance. Consequently, one must repent continually. For repentance washes away every stain from the soul and makes it pure. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). This repentance does not consist merely in the words: “Forgive me, Lord; “Have mercy on me, Lord”; but it is inevitably accompanied by all the actions that lead to the forgiveness of sins—that is, the awareness of a specific impurity of thought, gaze, word, temptation, or anything else; the awareness of one’s own guilt and lack of excuse in this matter, without self-justification; and prayer for forgiveness for the Lord’s sake until the spirit is pacified. As for grave sins, these must be confessed immediately to a spiritual father and absolution received, for in such cases one cannot bring peace to the spirit through mere daily repentance. Thus, the duty of unceasing repentance is the same as the duty to keep one’s conscience pure and blameless: how many rules the Holy Fathers have laid down for this! How much effort has been expended to prepare oneself for this and to teach others! This is how it must be; otherwise, there is no peace with God. All the heedless sin against this, justifying themselves in everything—both before God and before people.

cc) The feeling of the Father’s love from God, or of sonship to God, is inextricably linked to zealous service for His sake. In the Lord Jesus Christ, true believers, born again of water and the Spirit, have become sons of God the Father by grace, through their living union with the Lord and the reflection of Him within themselves. Such an ineffable gift, essential to the kingdom of Christ, draws God to us—as a father to his children—with fatherly love. And this cannot fail to resonate in the very heart, leaving there an awareness or sense of God’s fatherly love and of one’s own sonship to God. Just as these feelings are essential to the Christian union with God, so too are they obligatory for Christians. Christians are obligated to possess and nurture them, to strive to awaken them, and to preserve them forever. With what zeal did the Apostle Paul strive to revive these feelings when he saw that they had been stifled! Thus he says: “Those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but… the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father.’ The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are children of God” (Rom. 8:14–16). “For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus; for as many as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ” (Gal. 3:26–27). The Lord came, he teaches, “so that we might receive adoption as sons” (Gal. 4:5). “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God and indeed are so” (1 John 3:1), exclaims St. John the Theologian. The Lord has given us not only the right to be called children, but also “the right to become children” (John 1:12). What is now essentially connected with this acceptance of Christians into the family of God, into the divine kinship, is fully explained by the character of the son. The main thing about the son is not merely that he acts not as a slave but with a certain freedom, as one initiated into the father’s secrets; but also that he takes everything pertaining to the Father and the household deeply to heart, as if it concerned him alone, and feels that, being in union with the Father and the household—a living union—when he acts, he acts on their behalf and for their sake, as if their well-being, honor, and glory rested upon him alone. Such, precisely, must be the character and disposition of every Christian in the blessed Christian kingdom, this house of God. Feeling that he belongs to God—as a sincere neighbor—he must act solely on God’s behalf, according to God’s commands and intentions, for the sake of the honor and glory of His house outwardly, and for the sake of its well-being inwardly; he must stand up for the Lord God and for His house even to the point of shedding his own blood, because of his grace-filled kinship with Him. A Christian is, as it were, an envoy and intercessor from God, interceding and acting on His behalf. Such is the fundamental principle of all Christian activity! Therefore, he must possess an irrepressible zeal for the good of the Church and of Christians—a zeal that consumes him, one that resonates painfully in his heart. Just as sonship with God inspires such activity from God and for His sake, so, conversely, activity of this kind kindles, elevates, and sustains the sense of sonship, so that the one is inseparably linked to the other. They are mutually reflected in one another. Conversely, activity of a different kind—or inactivity—extinguishes the sense of sonship or deprives one of sonship. This is also evident from a common example: a son who does not care for his father and his home—what kind of son is that? And again: one who has lost the feelings of a son—how can he act like a son?

Such are the feelings and dispositions that are obligatory for us, flowing directly from our union with God in Jesus Christ; those that lead us to the Lord Jesus, unite us with Him, and keep us in that union; and those that lead us from the Lord to God. In general, these can be called duties toward God as conditions of salvation, or duties pertaining to faith in and arising from faith in the Lord and Savior. But here another series of feelings and dispositions that are obligatory for us toward God Himself—or toward the Godhead—immediately begins. May the Lord, the Most Pure Lady, and all the saints of God help us all to nurture them all within ourselves through prayer.

2) The Feelings and Dispositions of a Christian Abiding in God

In the economy of salvation, it pleased God to assume a different relationship toward us, as a result of which our duties toward God took on a character corresponding to that relationship. But when, in this way, we are restored to our original state, the boundless face of the Godhead is revealed in all its majesty, and at that very moment the feelings and dispositions toward God that are obligatory for us—insofar as He is God—are revived and stand powerfully before our consciousness. In the preceding discussions, the aforementioned set of duties introduces us to these mysteries of the Divinity, instructs us in them, and at the same time enables us to act in accordance with them. Contemplation of the Divinity is unbearable for our fallen nature if it were to be raised to Him directly, without the mediation of those dispositions. Therefore, the former may be called guiding and formative principles, while these most intimate, exalted, and subtle feelings toward God—insofar as He is God—are their fruit.

These latter must, of course, first and foremost be in harmony with God’s infinite attributes and actions. But, on the other hand, since we ascend to them through the feelings and dispositions of the first kind—which express our reunion with God—they must also be in close harmony with them. Now, since we contemplate God as a) infinite in His perfections, b) the Creator and Provider, and finally c) the Accomplisher of all things—and accordingly have three classes of feelings and dispositions that are obligatory in relation to Him. They stand in direct correspondence with the aforementioned feelings of peace with God, hope of salvation, and sonship to God.

a) Feelings and dispositions toward God arising from the awareness or contemplation of His infinite perfections

aa) God is infinitely incomprehensible in His being, in His perfections, and in His actions: marvel at Him! —that is, raise yourself up and maintain a state in which, with a vivid awareness of the most profound incomprehensibility of the Great God, all movement of the spirit ceases and a deep, mysterious silence takes hold within it, as if life were pausing. When sober thought passes beyond all creatures, transcends the boundaries of the world, and immerses itself in the contemplation of God; then it finds that just as it is certain that He is, so too is it certain that He is not anything known among created beings: neither power, nor light, nor life, nor mind, nor word, nor thought, nor indeed anything conceived by our mind; and then, when he surveys all these negations with a single glance, he is instantly drawn into a certain divine darkness, in which he can perceive nothing but an immeasurable boundlessness, filled with beings, which strikes him deeply and silences both word and thought. This is the most exalted state that an earthly creature can attain. Man is then elevated to the state of the seraphim. It is as if someone were to enter the throne room of the greatest of kings: the first glance at the king—and everything strikes him to the point of numbness. A person can ascend to such a state through the realization of the utter incomprehensibility of the Divine Being and of each of His attributes, for each of His attributes is just as incomprehensible and wondrous as He Himself. The Apostle Paul exclaims: “Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God… who has known the mind of the Lord?!” (Rom. 11:33–37; 1 Cor. 2:16). “My mind is astonished at You; I cannot fathom it,” the prophet confesses (Ps. 138:6). This refers to the mind. But just as incomprehensible are all His attributes, all His creations, and all the works of His providence. How wonderful are Your works, O Lord! Anyone can ascend to this wonder on their own through detached and peaceful contemplation; the descriptions of this attribute by the Holy Fathers can also help in this endeavor—for example, Dionysius the Areopagite’s “Mystical Theology,” St. John Chrysostom’s words on the incomprehensible, and others. But to cultivate this ability, it is easier to begin with the contemplation of God’s works, to ascend to the contemplation of His perfections, and finally to soar to the very summit—to the awareness of the incomprehensibility of the Divine Being. Each person should do this to the best of their ability, for here, in the spirit, the truest and most fitting worship of the creature toward the Creator and Lord is accomplished. It goes without saying that this feeling has various degrees; but to each his own, and let everyone perform this task according to his own abilities. Moses ascends to the very top of the mountain and is hidden in a cloud, others stand halfway up the mountain, and still others at the foot. This is a symbol of the three states of people ascending toward the comprehension and awareness of the incomprehensibility of the boundless God. Therefore, no one should refuse to do this out of inability or ignorance.

bb) God is infinitely great: bow down in humility, and be filled with reverential awe and trembling as you contemplate God’s majesty. As has been noted, the first reaction of one who enters the throne room is silent amazement, in which there is not a single distinct thought. The visitor has not yet had time to look around or distinguish between himself and the king in all his grandeur. Then, the first thought that comes to mind once he regains his composure is the king’s grandeur and his own insignificance. The same applies to God. When the mind is immersed in the Boundless One and loses itself, it vanishes in profound amazement. But as soon as it turns back to itself, bringing with it the awareness of the Infinite and, in that very act, as if superimposing it upon its own nothingness, it is struck—as by a blow—by this incommensurability and falls in reverent awe into the dust before the contemplated majesty of God, conscious of its own nothingness. But one must know that this fear is not accompanied by torment. It is sweet to be struck by it, just as any mental yet true contact of our spirit with God—from Whom it originates—is sweet and blissful. The power of this reverent fear is great: it penetrates to the very division of soul and spirit, of limbs and brain; through its spiritual action, it seems to dissolve and refine both soul and body. He who feels it falls prostrate, ready to pass into the bowels of the earth, through all creation, into the abyss, to that place where there is nothing, out of an awareness of his own insignificance and the greatness of God. Yet, despite all this, it is pleasant for him to remain in this state: it pours a soothing coolness into his being, perhaps because this is the true standing of a creature in relation to the Creator, or because here there is a true—rather than merely imagined—penetration of his being by the power and action of the Divinity. Therefore, the fruit of reverential fear is always sobering, refreshing, and purifying the spirit. Just as lightning, passing through the air, burns away all impurity and admixture and makes the air pure, so too does the fire of the Divinity, in reverential fear, consume the impurity of the spirit and purify it, like gold in a crucible. Therefore, all who have advanced through the stages of perfection recognize this reverential fear as both an essential condition for that progress and the most powerful means to it. And throughout the entire Word of God, it is presented both as an essential duty and as a distinguishing characteristic of truly pious people. “Fear the Lord, all you His saints” (Ps. 33:10). “Serve the Lord with fear and rejoice before Him with trembling” (Ps. 2:11). It is necessary, however, to distinguish between the initial fear and the fear of the perfected. The former torments and instills horror and trembling from the expectation of punishment for sin. And this is essentially necessary in the sinner’s initial awakening, but as a transitional act, it cannot be turned into a duty and, in essence, cannot be permanently retained in the soul, although it sometimes persists afterward and is considered the most effective means of curbing fierce passions. True fear, characteristic of the perfect, is moving. It is born of a taste of love and remains in an inseparable union with it, now refreshing, now warming our spirit. It must be set as a goal. To ascend to it and root it forever in the spirit is a duty, for in it alone lies the truth of a creature’s standing before the face of the Creator. The method of arousing and cultivating it within oneself is determined by its nature. Strive to recognize your own insignificance and the greatness of God at the same time, in the deepest and most detached state of mind. Do this more often, especially in the morning, in the evening, at midnight... When this practice becomes a habit, the fear of God—or unceasing fear—will take root in the spirit. On the contrary, distraction, conceit, and forgetfulness of God are the enemies of the fear of God. They extinguish it just as water extinguishes a fire and a breeze extinguishes a candle.

bb) God is all-perfect: praise and glorify Him. Having entered the throne room—to continue the analogy—after the fear subsides, one turns again to what drew one there, and where one saw nothing before, one now begins to distinguish one thing after another: the face, the crown, the purple robe, the throne, and all its adornments—and, finding all this perfect, cannot help but express one’s feelings, and sometimes even signs of approval. And so he is in a state of offering rational praise to the king. The same is true in relation to God. When the spirit, arising from fear and self-abasement, returns to its inner peace and humbly surrenders to holy contemplation of God, then God’s perfections are revealed to his inner eye and, to the extent possible, comprehended; these perfections, distinguishing themselves in mutual union and contact, give rise to and imprint upon the mind a single thought, or a single image, of God’s all-perfection. This is the most sublime and exquisite thing that a finite and created mind can possibly conceive. Therefore, when this thought, or contemplation, enters the inner sanctuary of our spirit and fills it with its light and majesty, who can express its joy and rapture? All its bones—that is, every minute moving part of its being—begin, in a certain uncontrollable inner exultation, to exclaim: “How glorious is the Lord our God!” The rapturous joy of the spirit that contemplates within itself the all-perfection of God is already a praise taking place within, or a state of praise in which the spirit, from itself and within itself, offers a sacrifice of praise to God. Praise to God expressed in words is its fruit, though always inferior, or inadequate not only to God but also to what is felt in the spirit. Not a single word will suffice to sing of Your wonders; this is what everyone who composes songs of praise to God must conclude and does conclude. Praising God in the spirit is the most joyful state—one of rapture, joy, and spiritual gladness—but all of this is about the one God and about the fact that He is such as to be praised and exalted. Any of God’s perfections and any of His works—even those pertaining to us—can inspire this praise; yet in the very act of praise, all else is set aside, and we see only God and the perfection of His works. This is the most selfless sacrifice. It may be said that in this lies the true life of our spirit, or the true partaking in the Divine Life. Just as God penetrates us with awe and, as it were, kindles us with the fire of the Godhead, so in this praise of God our spirit penetrates into or is received into God and partakes of His all-bliss. To ascend to this state, or to desire and seek to be raised to it—as much as is natural to the spirit and fruitful for it—is just as necessary, for thereby due honor is rendered to the Lord and our God. Therefore, in the Word of God, in many places, we are commanded to praise the Lord, and examples of this praise are given. Following their example, all the saints who ascended to this state depicted God’s perfections in word and left us their hymns of praise. It is necessary to read these songs with deep reflection and concentration. This is the beginning or part of fulfilling the duty of praising God. It is only through them that a person ascends to spiritual, mental praise of God. They are his teachers, whom one must not, however, abandon even after one’s own inner life has been formed. To ascend, one must have a ladder. But even those who have ascended once do not cast it aside, for it will still be needed afterward. One should usually begin praise with the hymns handed down to us each time, and then fall silent when the spirit begins to praise . The very act of praise either dwells on all-perfection as a whole, or on a single aspect of perfection, or moves from one to another. But this is not a cold contemplation of God’s attributes, but a living experience of them, with joy and rapture because such are they in our God. Placing oneself in this state as often as possible is salvific. There is no better way to free the spirit from every earthly impurity and from all that is sensual than this; for in this act, it is granted to taste a sweetness with which nothing can compare.

gg) God is everywhere, sees all, and accomplishes all: walk before God. When a king looks around from the height of his throne, everyone present behaves with such caution as if the king were looking only at him, as if only he and the king were there, forgetting everything else. The King of the moral world, God, not only sees everything but also accomplishes everything through His very being—He is wholly present everywhere and sees not only the external but also the innermost, and moreover more fully and perfectly than the one whom He sees perceives himself. Every rational creature is obliged both to remember this omnipresence and omniscience of God and to conduct his affairs—both internal and external—with an awareness of it, standing, as it were, before the eyes of God, under His gaze, to the point where everything else is removed from thought and attention, and there remains only he, acting, and God, seeing him and his deed; or, which amounts to the same thing, to walk before God; for the disposition of the spirit to act as if before God’s eyes is to walk before God. This is obligatory for everyone, because it is so. Whether you remember it or not, God sees everything, and all your deeds are open to Him, or are performed before His face. So why hide the truth and turn it into a lie? That reverence for God requires us to accompany this thought with a godly disposition in our actions. When a son acts in the presence of his father, or a subject in the presence of a king, forgetting their dignity, they thereby insult them. Therefore, those who love God and fear Him “see Him before them” (Ps. 15:8)—that is, they make this a part of their character and, whatever they do, are conscious that the eye of God is upon them. To aid in this, or to cultivate this feeling, they employ various means: some see God at their right hand, like the holy David; others contemplate the eye of God fixed above them; still others mentally extend the light of God around themselves, as if it were a kind of spiritual atmosphere in which, as in a tabernacle, they take refuge and dwell in the Spirit without ceasing, or abide as in a safe haven. All of this, however, is merely a means. God, however, has no form or image; therefore, those who love the truth strive by every means to raise themselves to the state of beholding the Lord before them without an image, with a simple, pure mind. This is the pinnacle of perfection in walking before God. The fruits of this walk are innumerable; but, most importantly, from it purity and blamelessness of words, thoughts, desires, and deeds naturally flow into our lives. “Walk before Me and be blameless,” God says to Abraham (Gen. 17:1). St. David beheld the Lord before him, “that He may not be moved,” that is, so as not to allow any wrongful movement (Ps. 15:8). There is no need to add here: when you behold God, flee from unrighteousness, for the very act of beholding Him will turn you away from it... Therefore, one might say that the commandment to walk before God is the same as the commandment to please God. Another fruit of this is a certain warmth of spirit. The vision of God cannot be cold if it is true. As one grows in the contemplation of God, so does this warmth increase. Eventually, they merge, and both contemplation and warmth are transformed into a single, unbroken activity of the spirit. Such a state of mind is the very best preparation for the future, all-blessed contemplation of God. Whoever has become established in it already stands at the threshold of paradise, ripe for it. But anyone who is unable to behold God, or who, upon thinking of Him, turns away from Him, feeling that it is unpleasant and frightening and imposes many obligations, let him take care of himself; for from this one can draw conclusions about the future as well. The common sin against this is forgetfulness of God, or failing to remember Him; among the depraved, it is deliberate self-distraction, so that the mind may not see the face of God, disturb their sleep, or dispel the darkness of sin.

Awe, reverential fear, joyful praise of God, and walking before God primarily define life in God. This is because, in all of these, both man himself and every creature vanish from thought, and God alone is contemplated. Here it is presented that these states give rise to one another, or arise from one another, as is generally the case with everything in the spirit. For others, perhaps, their arousal and development take place not in the manner presented here, but in the opposite way. Walking before God—the easiest and most comfortable—begins first and serves as the starting point for the others. One who walks before God is initiated into the knowledge of God’s perfections and of all perfection, and becomes accustomed to the praise of God. One who has advanced this far enters even more deeply into the Divinity and attains a reverent awe. But whoever, after this, rises above all that is discernible in God, experiences wonder. This is the limit beyond which one can no longer go. Whoever has passed through all these stages finds himself in the most blissful state and, even before the coming age, lives within it, passing from wonder to reverence, and from there to praise of God, walking—or moving spiritually—as if in a house, in the contemplation of God, filled with light and heavenly purity. This is life in God!

The sole and indispensable condition for such a life is detachment from oneself and from all created things—that is, dispassion. The spirit must depart from this world—into the world beyond—and take nothing perishable with it. “How did you come in here without a wedding garment?” (Matt. 22:12), they will say to the one who would enter there—if such a thing were possible—with any attachment, as if in tattered rags. But it is certain that with any kind of attachment, there can be no ascent to God. There is, however, a delusion in the spirit when it imagines that it lives in God. But just as a tethered bird takes flight only to fall back to the ground, even though it is bound by the slightest thread; just as a person with a dust-filled eye opens it but sees nothing through it; so too does the person with a passion think that he has delved deeply into God, but thereby he only deceives himself. In this state, there are false visions, delusions of the imagination, and, along with them, the allurements of Satan, who loves and knows how to take advantage of every one of our weaknesses. Many have been led astray by this and have perished forever. However, this should not serve as a reproach against the truth or hinder the zeal and desire of those who seek it. One must simply not forget the wise rules left by the godly fathers—that is, while striving toward God, one must not forget detachment from all things and must begin more strictly with the latter or turn primarily to it; for the former is, in a certain sense, natural to the spirit, which, having been freed from the bonds of sensuality that held it captive, has nowhere to enter except the realm of the Divine. In the stages of this detachment, one first distinguishes the painful turning away of the heart from sensory things through anger, then a lack of taste for them, and further on, the contemplation of them from God, which does not lead one away from God. For detachment from all things, as well as for life in God, it is best for those who desire it, are capable of it, and are called to it to choose a special way of life—the monastic or hermitic life. In this way, both aspects are more readily manifested in all their purity and maturity. In the course of ordinary life, this is impossible but is fraught with great difficulties and obstacles. It is better when someone, having established a life in God apart from the world, later goes out or is called into communal life to serve. In this, a life according to God has a special effect; that person is God’s representative to people, spreading His blessing to all... But again, one ascends to the life of a hermit according to certain rules, in the manner of the Fathers, through a long and perilous testing of oneself.

This is the path one takes through the Lord Jesus Christ—what one is ultimately deemed worthy of, and how! May God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, “grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in your inner being, to have Christ dwell in your hearts through faith, …that you may be able to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height... that you may be filled with all the fullness of God” (Eph. 3:16–19)!

b) Feelings and attitudes toward God—from contemplating His creation and providence

b) Feelings and dispositions toward God—arising from contemplation of His creation and providence

To remain constantly at such a height of absorption in God is very difficult, given the conditions of our present life. Our attention is inevitably drawn away from there to the order of life’s temporal affairs. But, thanks be to the Lord, even so, it need not turn away from God. Here, too, we encounter Him at every turn, though not directly, but, so to speak, in reflections. From this arises a special set of feelings and dispositions toward God that are essential for us, flowing from the contemplation of His relationship to the world and especially to humanity.

We contemplate God—infinite in being and perfection—not only as the Creator and Provider, but also as the Fulfiller of the world.

God is the All-Good, All-Powerful, All-Righteous, and All-Wise Creator and Provider of the entire world, especially of the human race and of you. Consequently,

aa) You belong entirely to Him; therefore, submit to Him as the Lord of life, with a sense of complete dependence on Him. The beginning of life and strength, and their preservation, come from God. He gave them, and He sustains them: “For in Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). We must know and feel that we are in His right hand. It holds us above the abyss of nothingness, into which, on our own, we are ready to fall at any moment. Therefore, with fear and care, we must cling to this right hand ourselves, not letting it go nor turning away from it, but—turning now to it, now to that over which we hang—kissing it in prayer, striving to bring ourselves to the point of sensing its very touch upon us. We already know how important this feeling is in the moral life. It serves as the deepest and most solid point of support for freedom in its inclination toward the resolve to walk in God’s will or to abide by the law. And then, at all other times as well, it renews and refreshes this resolve; conversely, its weakening is a measure of moral laxity. Whoever sees the king before him is ready, at his beck and call, to go through fire and water. In the same way, whoever feels the hand of the Lord of his life upon him is irresistibly drawn to fulfill what he knows has come from His lips. The sense of our dependence on God is natural to our spirit. It is already within us, but it is so buried beneath our sensuality, cares, and distractions that it cannot emerge from under their weight, like a faint fire smothered by ashes. Therefore, one need only remove these obstacles to give strength to that feeling. Withdraw from external distractions to a secluded place of peace, or take possession of the night; and from the distractions of the mind, enter the inner sanctuary; detach yourself from concerns about everything that oppresses you with a sense of need; empty yourself of many things so that there may be only one; if, in addition to these, you also restrain the flesh through action and thought, then it is impossible that the feeling of dependence on the Lord of our life—which is inherent to our spirit—will not be revived. But these are negative and, as it were, preparatory means. Begin to clarify for yourself the truths about the origin of all things from God, about your own coming into the world; reflect on how life arises and comes to an end not at all according to our calculations, but according to certain other rules, and so on... In general, everything must be used to rouse this sense of dependence on God from its slumber and then to keep it constantly strong and alive. It is worth the effort, for it is all-conquering in itself. Only with it are moral miracles wrought. And one can govern oneself and others morally only through Him.

bb) Everything you have comes from Him. The abilities and qualities of the soul and body, the circumstances of life, one’s status and rank, place of birth, upbringing, occupation, means of support, sickness and health, sorrows and joys, exaltation and humiliation, rebirth, salvation, the promised kingdom—in short, everything that exists within us and concerns us—comes from God and pertains to us by His will. He is the sole ruler of all things; no one can thwart His intentions, and nothing can intrude upon His plans against His will. This is true both in general regarding the entire human race and, in particular, regarding me, you, and each person individually.

Realizing this—give thanks to God for everything. “Give thanks in all circumstances,” the apostle teaches, “for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (1 Thess. 5:18). When he speaks of “everything,” he excludes any distinction between joyful and joyless events. This means that we should give thanks for sorrows of every kind just as much as for joys; for the small things just as much as for the great, for the past and the present, for the constant and the changing. Thanksgiving is a joyful sense of the greatness of God’s mercy toward us who are unworthy. When this joyful feeling is not suppressed even by sorrows, or when sorrows are accepted as a blessing, the virtuous state that arises from this is serenity. Constant contentment amid ongoing sorrowful circumstances is Christian patience. The ultimate limit of godly dispositions toward one’s lot, as ordained by God—beyond which lies not merely gratitude but an even higher feeling—is contentment with one’s condition and with all that one has.

All these changes in feelings and dispositions toward Providence, which ordains our lives, are as natural to a sound mind as they are in need of support, for they are constantly exposed to the danger of attack by restless and self-centered selfishness. They are sustained through reflection or by clarifying for oneself certain truths, the awareness of which strongly gives rise to the feelings described... All of them naturally flow from the very nature of these dispositions. Thus—

1) Gratitude is the feeling of God’s undeserved mercy. Therefore, contemplate the abundance of God’s mercies revealed in creation, providence, and especially in redemption; bring to mind that you are completely enveloped by these mercies: that every movement is a mercy; that you breathe less than you receive graces; that a moment is longer than the distance between one grace and the next—or that you stand within them without end. When you then bring to mind that all this is undeserved—that not only are you utterly unworthy of grace, but that, on the contrary, you deserve nothing but constant punishment—then the spirit cannot remain unmoved, cannot be warmed by the warmth of God’s love, and cannot respond with gratitude. In general, the measure of these two states of mind is the measure of gratitude—its increase and decrease—just as, conversely, ingratitude fills the heart where people either are unaware of blessings or consider themselves worthy of them and assert their rights to them. One who is ungrateful to God is a great egoist and, at the same time, a blind ignoramus.

2) Serenity is the joyful or grateful acceptance of sorrows and misfortunes of every kind. The key to cultivating this sentiment—besides a clear understanding that sorrows and misfortunes come from the hand of the Lord ( )—is also a clear vision of the blessings that flow from them; moreover, these are substantial blessings that do not arise merely by chance from these sorrows, but are possible only on the condition that they exist. Such as, for example, the purification of the passions, the strengthening of humility, the abandonment of sins, fortitude of character, union with the sufferings of Christ, and so on. When this is fully realized, the first stirrings of desire—and subsequently a longing for sorrow and misfortune—cannot fail to arise in the soul. To reinforce these emerging feelings, we must also apply a clear awareness that we deserve not only such afflictions but also incomparably greater ones—that even life itself should be taken from us, and not merely some benefit. And that conviction alone will significantly alleviate the sickness of the heart—that we deserve incomparably more, yet are sent less; and when we also see the good that comes from sorrows, we will accept them with open arms. And this is serenity.

3) Patience is enduring equanimity. To be patient means not merely to endure sorrows; for once they have found you, where can you flee from them? But, in fact, it means to endure them with joy and a cheerful spirit, which is why it is unceasing equanimity. Therefore, we must sustain it within ourselves in the same way as serenity, paying special attention in both cases to the duration of the sorrow, convincing the heart that the longer the sorrow lasts, the better—for we are to suffer not only in this life but also in eternity. For patience is particularly drained when the one who endures it sees no end in sight. When you thus remove the possibility of the spirit becoming lax due to not seeing an end to the sorrows, there will no longer be anything to shake one’s serenity. Whoever does not hasten to arrange themselves internally in this way will soon lose patience, then fall into grumbling and even despair.

4) Contentment is the steadfastness of the heart in the face of sorrow or the inability to perceive or feel deprivation... No matter how much you take away from the contented person, they are still satisfied with what remains, and no matter how little you give them, they are still content. It is, as it were, an outer fence for all feelings and dispositions regarding God’s providential care for us. It is directly related to the giving hand, accompanied by the same sense of unworthiness of good and deserving of every punishment. The poor person accepts everything and is content with any alms. This is the image of contentment...

Here are indicated the aspects to which one should direct one’s reflection when stirring up feelings of gratitude in all its forms; the divine attributes—Omnipotence, Goodness, Wisdom, and Justice—should serve as the foundation for these very thoughts in all such cases. Reflection on each of these attributes is capable of bringing an abundance of joy and comfort. However, since not everyone is strong of mind, it is good to have and know the exposition of consolations for various times of sorrow and the outpouring of thanksgiving, composed by men experienced in this matter. And both joy and sorrow are so widespread! Gratitude, as well as the ability to be content and patient, would be widespread were it not for the hardening of the heart. Only those who accept everything with a purified heart experience these feelings in their fullest strength. Seek them in such people! How many examples are there in St. Chrysostom, St. Demetrius, the Wonderworker of Rostov, and St. Tikhon of Voronezh! Others composed entire books to comfort the unfortunate and the grieving.

vv) Whatever happens to you will come from God. He leads all things to a specific end; He also guides rational creatures, but only on the condition that they submit to His will. That God will bring about the very best is beyond doubt; all that remains for you is to show perfect submission to Him, the Sovereign Ruler, and to renounce your own will, your own plans, and your own methods. From this flow various attitudes regarding one’s future, which are obligatory for every believer in God’s providence. These are:

1) Surrender to God’s will. One who is surrendered to God does not say, “Whatever will be, will be,” thereby resigning oneself to uncertainty and a future that holds no promise (which is seen as a temptation of God); but clearly recognizes the harmony between means and ends, or perceives, in a certain way, the order of his life through tireless, sober, mature, and reasonable activity, without presuming to know everything—how his life and deeds will end, or whether they will lead to good or evil for himself and for others; and, desiring only the good and the glory of God, prayerfully entrusts to God both himself and his strength and his deeds, so that He, according to His wise, good, and righteous counsel, may arrange them as He wills—cutting away some things, adding others, and altering still others in their course and direction. Surrender to God’s will is not inactivity. It combines intense activity, yet without attachment to it, without insisting that things be done exactly as I will. Nor is it neglect of one’s duties, but rather a concern for them—though not for their own sake or for one’s own sake. One who is devoted to God in all things says, “May the Lord’s will be done,” confident that it will be for the good. For God alone knows all things, and He alone can avert evil if He so desires.

2) The most immediate and natural consequence of this is peace in God. This peace is not a state of bliss mixed with indolence, such as occurs in the flesh when its needs are fully satisfied— —but rather it is peace of mind, flowing from the perfect certainty that God, to whom he has entrusted his labors and affairs, will arrange everything in the best possible way for true and eternal good. This is the cutting off of that evil and soul- and body-consuming anxiety which gives a person no rest as soon as he takes his lot into his own hands, tormenting him now with doubts, now with fear and apprehension. One who finds peace in God is not so troubled, for he has cut off this evil passion by not governing his own fate but by entrusting himself to God.

3) In addition to these feelings regarding one’s future comes hope. It is the daughter of the first two. One who is devoted to God is confident that God will provide what is lacking; one who finds peace in Him believes that this will indeed be so. From this arises an unshakable expectation of God’s help in everything He deems necessary for our well-being, for the manifestation of His glory, and for the good of humanity. And this is hope. The one who hopes says: “God will not forsake me, and there is only one God. My strength may change, other people may change, rulers may change, but the one God will not change.” Hope is a comforting feeling that heals the pain of helplessness and powerlessness; therefore, it is warmed by this final feeling, born of confidence in God’s benevolence and providence. It is neither presumptuous nor self-willed, but it expects with certainty and truly receives not only those blessings which God has already declared to all, once and for all, to be necessary and to be granted to everyone, but everything in general for which one feels a vital need. Hope rises to such heights that it is, as it were, already in possession of what it expects; yet even here it leaves the time, place, and manner to God’s will—that is, it waits patiently. The Lord’s promise serves as its strongest support: that whatever believers ask for in faith, they will receive (Matt. 21:22; Mark 11:24).

4) Therefore, under the influence of hope, supplication or prayer matures—that is, such an elevation of the mind and heart to God in which, by expressing their deepest needs to the All-Good and Almighty God, they ask Him to send the necessary help with unshakable faith that they will receive it, if it pleases God. There is hope in supplication, but not all supplication is hope. Hope crowns or stands above, as it were, overshadowing supplication; supplication stands below and ascends under its canopy toward heaven. Hope is directed primarily toward God, while prayer draws God’s goodness down to oneself and one’s most pressing needs. Therefore, the first condition for the success of a petition is a sincere awareness of extreme need—or a sorrowful and painful sense of desperation—dissolved by hope. The one who prays must bring himself to the cry: “Lord! I have no refuge or help anywhere. You alone are my helper!” Then one must remain in these feelings of utter desperation and cry out until one receives an answer because of one’s persistence and helplessness, for God is infinitely merciful. It is as if He cannot bear to see the suffering, unless the helpless themselves reveal their faces to Him or come before Him. In prayer there is devotion, comfort, and hope, but, most importantly, there is that painful sense of need... Such a feeling is a vessel well-prepared to receive mercy. The Lord waits for it to arise, and He Himself helps in various ways for it to come into being, so that the main condition for receiving help may be fulfilled. In this regard, the difference in subjects matters little. One asks for divine enlightenment just as one asks for daily bread, and God gives it.

Thus, looking to the future, the devout Christian prays, hopes, and finds peace in God, surrendering himself entirely to Him.

c) Feelings and dispositions—arising from the contemplation of God, the Accomplisher of all things

c) Feelings and dispositions—from the contemplation of God, the Accomplisher of all things.

God is the Almighty, the Good, and the Righteous Creator of all things, for whose sake we await the resurrection of the dead and the life of the age to come. The face of heaven and earth will be transformed, and all who live will receive judgment according to the Lord’s unfailing promise. Then life will begin in its true form—eternal and unchanging. The present existence of the world and all creatures, however, is only preliminary and preparatory. The Lord, who ordains all things, leads all toward their destined end. When all is fulfilled, then He will bring about, through His very action, that to which all things are leading: He will reveal His glorious and eternal Kingdom. When this will happen, we do not know; but we know without a doubt that there will be the end of the world, the Last Judgment, bliss for some and torment for others. Therefore...

aa) Await the Lord’s Second Coming—that is, not only believe that it will happen, but also be ready to meet Him at any moment. Be, according to the Lord’s word, like servants who await the Lord but do not know when He will come. Therefore, prepare everything necessary to meet Him, like the wise virgins, so that you will not later regret your lack of foresight, and, desiring this, pray: “Thy Kingdom come!”

bb) We do not know whether the Lord will come within the span of our lives, from this hour until our death, or whether, perhaps, our death will precede His coming. Therefore, not daring to set aside or postpone the Lord’s coming beyond this very moment in which we are thinking about it, we must equally keep death in mind, be ready for it, and prepare for that event when it is not the Lord who will come to us, but we who will be called before Him to give an account of all things. This expectation, however, is not contrary to the expectation of the Lord, but is essentially the same thing—or, as it were, a certain aspect of it. And it must be just as unceasing, just as certain, and just as vigilant. Death will come this very moment or the next and put an end to all that is ours.

(c) The hour is unknown, but what will happen is not unknown. Remember, then, ceaselessly what will happen: death, judgment, heaven, and hell. For as soon as death occurs, all the rest will immediately follow—and with such abrupt finality that for all eternity it will be as it is determined here. Perhaps all this will happen right now, in the blink of an eye. So inscribe this in your mind and contemplate it every moment, for whether you contemplate it or not, it will already be so.

gg) If everything can change so unexpectedly, and if a state of being may arise in which none of what lies ahead will come to pass; if the truth of our life lies there, and here there is only a beginning, a preparation, then do not accumulate much: be like a traveler... This obliges us to live on earth as if in a foreign land. This does not mean having nothing or acquiring nothing, but rather that no matter how much you acquire, no matter what comes your way—honor, glory, wealth—do not set your heart on these things, but keep it fixed on your future homeland... Let everything here be as if it were foreign, as if it were not your own. Do not reject it, do not despise it, but accept it as something foreign, as a certain burden, grieving in your heart that you do not live in your homeland, and sincerely desiring and praying to pass more quickly into your eternal dwelling. Thus, turning toward the final end of all things, the devout Christian awaits the Lord, prepares for death, remembers the end, and lives on earth as a stranger.

This is the entire order of a godly disposition of the spirit in Christianity:

– A Christian ascends to God:

Through the recognition of his own wretchedness and the knowledge of the Lord, he comes to faith in Him; from this faith, he receives the hope of salvation and offers self-sacrifice; he receives peace with God and offers repentance; he receives a sense of the Father’s love and offers zeal to act according to His will, for His glory.

– He lives in God:

Having thus ascended to God and been established in communion with Him, he walks before His face in devotion to God and spiritual fervor, rejoices in praise of Him, the Most Perfect God, reverently bows before His boundless majesty, and, in awe, is immersed in His incomprehensible infinity.

– And abides in the Divine order:

Remaining in this way in God, he reverently honors the Divine order of being and life. Feeling that he is entirely God’s, he submits to God in the awareness of his complete dependence on Him; realizing that all he has belongs to God, he gives thanks, is content, endures, and is satisfied; believing that the entire future comes from God as well, he entrusts himself to God, finds peace in Him, and, hoping, prays; confident that there will be an end to all things, he awaits it, prepares for death, remembers the final moment, and regards himself as a stranger on earth.

Thus are sharply delineated the three categories of feelings and dispositions that express a pious state of mind and constitute a Christian’s duties toward God. It is evident that the goal of it all is life in God, while the ascent to God and abiding in His order are the means—as it were, the two pillars upon which that life is founded. However, this relationship should not be understood as though one element were necessary and another unnecessary. No, everything here is essentially necessary to the overall structure, and the removal of any one element is detrimental to the whole. Everything here is so interconnected that even a slight disruption throws everything off balance. Just as our body—if you take away its vital fluids, it will die, and if you take away its nerves, it will also die—so here, everything is necessary. Therefore, without neglecting anything, we must pray earnestly: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.”

d) Prayer—the vessel and arena of life in faith and piety

d) Prayer—the vessel and arena of a life of faith and piety

aa) The Significance of Prayer

Just as there are specific actions through which faith is expressed, so too are there actions that serve as expressions of piety. The most comprehensive of these actions is prayer. It is the repository or arena of the entire spiritual life, or spiritual life itself in motion and action. For what is prayer? It is the lifting up of our mind and heart to God. But this lifting up takes place in all the pious sentiments and dispositions mentioned above, which are obligatory for a Christian. For repentance, faith, peace with God, reverence, patience, the expectation of the Second Coming, and, in general, every necessary act is related to God, ascends to Him, and is born of this ascent. Therefore, as soon as any pious sentiment is set in motion, prayer is also set in motion; and, conversely, abiding in prayer is abiding in one of these sentiments, while the transition from one sentiment to another—as it were, the stirring of pious sentiments—is the kindling of prayer. One might say that to pray means to set in motion pious feelings and dispositions—each separately, or all together, or one after another—or, in other words, to stir up, enliven, and kindle the life and spirit of piety. Whoever does not pray lacks piety, and whoever lacks piety—how can such a person pray?

If piety is the life of our spirit, then it is clear why only those who know how to pray should be called people of the spirit. Some define prayer as the breath of the spirit. It is indeed the breath of the spirit... Just as the lungs expand during breathing and thereby draw in the life-giving elements of the air, so too in prayer the depths of our heart open up and the spirit ascends to God, so that through communion with Him we may receive the corresponding gift. And just as the oxygen taken in through breathing is then carried through the blood to the entire body and gives it life, so too does what is received from God enter our inner being and enliven everything there...

bb) Beneficial Consequences

bb) Beneficial Effects

From this flow, of their own accord, the following beneficial consequences of prayer. It is the enlivening of the spirit, a sort of deification of it, as it were. Whoever enters a distillery is imbued with the spirit; whoever ascends to God is filled with Divinity... The divine influence within us, being in itself simple and singular, is distributed within us through the three powers of our spirit, as it were, into three streams: one influences the mind and enlightens it; another influences the will and gives it strength, or sanctification and renewal of its powers; the third influences the heart and elevates life, or the fire of a life of grace. It is evident, therefore, that prayer is everything to us, and it is clear why fervent prayerful people quickly ascend to the heights of spiritual perfection, manifest the beginnings and fruits of the Spirit, and become spiritualized.

bb) Conditions

Now the conditions for the movement of true prayer reveal themselves. If prayer is the exalted life and activity of the spirit, and if the latter develops at the expense of others who have received a portion of life within us, then prayer is impossible without mortifying the flesh and subduing the soul—or, in general, without self-denial—just as true piety is impossible without them. Prayer, when accompanied by sensuality and emotionalism, is like burning foul-smelling refuse… This is why we find prayer in its most perfect form among the holy hermits! Because self-denial was strong in them. Both of these, taken together, soon made them bearers of the Spirit—and for the most part, only them. The ordinary course of life is somehow not entirely conducive to perfection in prayer. For while prayer requires renouncing everything and, as it were, ceasing to exist for the external world, here everything draws one away and casts the spirit down from the heights to which it has just ascended with all its efforts.

gg) Education through Prayer

Judging by the origin and significance of prayer, it must be unceasing, for one must constantly possess a spirit of piety—not a dead spirit, but a living one. Therefore, it is commanded: “Pray without ceasing” (1 Thess. 5:17), “Pray at all times in the Spirit, with all kinds of prayers and requests” ( (Eph. 6:18). But one does not attain such unceasing prayer—or the practice of prayer—all at once; rather, it is achieved through intermittent prayers offered at specific times, which are both the necessary means for attaining unceasing prayer and the conditions for maintaining it throughout one’s life.

The performance of these prayers requires both a specific external order and a specific internal disposition.

Thus, a special place is necessary—if possible, secluded and specifically designated for this purpose—before a holy icon, with or without a lit candle or lamp; a specific time is necessary—in the morning and evening or at other hours, in accordance with the schedule of church services; and a specific physical posture is necessary—standing or kneeling—with proper decorum and concentration.

One who undertakes this prayer must first of all turn his mind away from distraction and gather himself, shaking off all cares or, as much as possible, quieting them, and placing himself in the keenest awareness of the presence of God, who is omnipresent, omniscient, and all-seeing. This is, as it were, the creation of an inner “chamber” of prayer, into which the Lord commanded us to withdraw (Matt. 6:6)—the same as a temporarily erected tabernacle.

Once you have settled in this way, perform the prayer service itself: quietly, reverently, and thoughtfully recite the selected and established prayers, interspersing them with bows—whether the sign of the cross, waist bows, prostrations, or kneeling—striving in every way to imprint what you are reading upon your heart and to stir up the corresponding feelings within it. When your heart is warmed or a feeling is stirred, pause and do not continue reading until you have been nourished by it. When that feeling subsides, begin again, and pause once more when the feeling revives. This is the entire practice of prayer...

dd) Stages

Some feel that this form of prayer has a great deal of the material and the elemental about it; “Physical training, however, is of little value,” the Apostle teaches (1 Tim. 4:8). Others, however, wish to strip prayer of all external elements, retaining only the internal aspect. This is an ancient error. It was recognized and rejected by the Holy Fathers from the very beginning. The fruit is preceded by the blossom, the blossom by the leaf, the leaf by the bud, and the bud by the revival of the branches. Gradualness is necessary in the material realm, and it is necessary in the spiritual realm as well. Inner prayer is the fruit: one must labor hard before it comes to fruition. We can identify three stages of prayer. At the first stage, it is primarily external: readings, prostrations, vigils, and so on... This is where one begins, and some labor on themselves for quite a long time until the first stirrings of prayer appear, or the gentle movements of the prayerful spirit... Prayer, as the highest gift, is bestowed, as it were, drop by drop, so as to teach a person to cherish it dearly. At the second stage, the physical and the spiritual are equally present in it. Here, every word of prayer is accompanied by a corresponding feeling, or the inner movements of prayer—moved from within—are expressed and articulated through words... This is the most widespread form of prayer, common to almost everyone. It is common among those in whom the spirit of piety is alive. At the third level, the inner, or spiritual, aspect predominates in prayer, when—without words, without bows, and even without reflection or any mental image—amidst a certain silence or stillness, the act of prayer is performed in the depths of the spirit. This prayer is not limited by time, place, or anything other than the external, and it may never cease. That is why it is called the act of prayer—that is, something that remains constant. This, in fact, is inner prayer. But to reach this final stage, one must first pass through the initial stages and, consequently, set aside all the labors of bodily practice for the sake of prayer, such as fasting, prostrations, reciting prayers, vigils, and kneeling. Whoever passes through this will enter the second stage, when, as Macarius the Great says, you need only bow, and the spirit is already warmed by prayer. Just as one who does not know the alphabet cannot begin to form syllables—for that would be a useless waste of time—so too here: how can one who cannot swim in a shallow river be allowed to venture into the deep sea? But even then, when one ascends to the highest level of prayer, outward prayer does not cease; rather, it participates in the inward one. The only difference is that in the first case, the outward precedes the inward, whereas here the inward precedes the outward. How, then, can one undertake the inward alone when one has not yet learned, through toil and experience, to ascend from the outward to the inward?

Is it now clear where life in God is revealed in all its fullness, power, and beauty? At the highest levels of prayer. So great is the power of prayer, and so high is its significance! Prayer is everything: faith, piety, salvation. Consequently, one could speak of it endlessly. It would be desirable for someone to compile a book titled * * as a guide to prayer based on the writings of the Holy Fathers. This would be tantamount to a guide to salvation. Whoever knows how to pray is already being saved.

3) Communion with God through communion with the Holy Church

Now we must go back a little and recall how we began our explanation of the feelings and dispositions that constitute the pious disposition of the Christian spirit. The spirit of Christian piety consists in communion with God through our Lord Jesus Christ in His Holy Church, or in the economy of salvation. We have already indicated what feelings and dispositions our spirit should possess on the path of union with the Savior, what they should be on the path of ascent from the Savior to God, and what they should be while abiding in God. What, then, should one feel, and what dispositions is one bound to have, while uniting with the Lord Jesus Christ and abiding in God through the mediation of the Holy Church of God?

Our Lord Jesus Christ, having accomplished our salvation in Himself, was pleased to establish the Holy Church on earth so that all might partake of and be made partakers of this salvation. The Holy Church is the only house of salvation on earth. Whoever is outside of it perishes. The Lord says, “Let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector”—that is, whoever has separated himself from the Church through disobedience (Matt. 18:17). All who did not enter the ark perished during the Flood, and all who do not enter the Church will perish. A living union with the Church is the sole condition for salvation. Remaining in this union is an essential duty of the believer.

A living union with the Church exists where everything that is in the Church is recognized and felt as so close to oneself as if it were one’s own part. Since the Church is both a vessel of the means of grace for salvation and a gathering place for those who are saved and those being saved, we must both appropriate and actively embrace both these means of grace and the Christians who are being saved. Therefore, there are two kinds of feelings, dispositions, and actions that are obligatory for us in building our salvation.

a) Feelings and dispositions regarding the Church as the repository of the means of grace for salvation

a) Feelings and dispositions regarding the Church as the repository of the grace-filled means of salvation

The Church is the house of salvation, because all our essential spiritual needs are met only within it. Thus, we need enlightenment through the knowledge of the truth—she is our enlightener; we need strength to fortify our weak powers—she is the bestower of grace; we need protection from dangers and enemies—she is our intercessor and shield.

These three aspects of the Church’s relationship with us also determine what is required of us in relation to her.

aa) Regarding the persons who administer the means of grace to those being saved. But above all these relationships, we must place one more—a relationship that may not be obvious to everyone—toward the persons through whom the Church, which saves us, acts upon us by the means of salvation. We know that enlightenment, strength, and protection from God are bestowed upon us in the Holy Church. The question is, how? Not directly. Just as we are bodily and spiritual, so too are there in the Holy Church institutions corresponding to this—institutions that are essentially necessary for the communication of its means of salvation to us; institutions without which heavenly gifts are neither sent down from heaven nor received on earth. But for these institutions to have a beneficial effect on us, they must be applied to us, or performed upon us. And for the latter to be accomplished, there must be persons in the Church specifically designated for this purpose.

1) The divine institution of these persons.

Thus, we naturally come to the conclusion that in the Church, which embodies the grace-filled means of salvation, there must be certain persons who, acting in accordance with its will, provide through these means to others what is necessary for salvation on its behalf. Such persons do exist. These are the pastors who constitute the episcopate, the highest order of the clergy, and the subordined priesthood, which is a division or extension of the episcopate. The Lord said to the holy apostles: “I confer upon you, just as My Father conferred upon Me, the kingdom” (Luke 22:29)—that is, I entrust to you the task of building it (1 Cor. 4:1; 1 Pet. 4:10) and guarding it (Col. 4:17; 1 Pet. 5:2). The apostles at that time combined all these roles within themselves. Later, when they appointed others to take their place, they entrusted them with the task of guarding the kingdom among those who had entered into it. Thus, the Lord “gave some as apostles... and some as shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ” (Eph. 4:11–12). The saints are made holy through the pastors. This does not mean that they possess any power of their own, or that there is some impure source of power within them; rather, it means that they stand in the middle, at the transition from earth to heaven, and thus they lift people up to God and draw God down to people. What did John the Baptist do? He led people to the Lord. Pastors now do the same by the will of the Lord (see Epistle of the Patriarchs, Art. 10). The episcopate is the root of the pastoral office. It pours out God’s grace through the priesthood upon the whole world, and especially upon the faithful. Thus, no one comes to God or receives His graces except through consecrated persons by means of the established institutions maintained by the Church. Therefore, in the edification of salvation, the first thing we encounter is our relationship with our pastors. Here, in a few words, is everything that falls upon every Christian in this regard.

2) The Feelings and Attitudes We Owe Them.

It is incumbent upon us: to maintain a firm conviction of the high significance of the pastoral office and to believe in it; to be in heartfelt, peaceful, and loving communion with the pastor and to submit ourselves to him; to turn to God through him, that is, to truly make use of the pastoral office; to pray that God may preserve these means of grace and in every way direct their activity toward our salvation.

This does not introduce plural leadership, but is arranged so that the one Head—Christ—may bestow grace through the multitude of mediators, the many bishops and priests.

bb) Regarding the use of the Holy Church’s means of grace.

One who has entered the Church through pastoral care becomes a partaker of all its restorative, grace-filled powers and, accordingly, accepts the obligation to nurture within oneself certain feelings and dispositions as a member of the Church. Namely:

1) Toward the Church as Enlightener. The Church enlightens through the preaching of the Word of God. And the Word of God—both written and unwritten—and its preaching abide constantly in the Church. Therefore, we must keep in mind and remember that we have the book of books, containing the one, unadulterated truth—that is, the Holy Bible, God’s priceless gift; we must reverently honor it, love it, and give thanks to the Lord for it; we must study it day and night and shape our lives according to it; To this end, when we set out to listen to and read it, we must approach it reverently, having cleansed our minds of vain thoughts; as we read, we must listen attentively and understand, applying our hearts to it, resolving to put it into practice, and, having thanked God for enlightening us, pray for the strength to carry out what we have learned. And to the unwritten Word of God—that is, to all that is entrusted and established—one must also turn a devoted heart; believe in the hidden teachings of the Spirit of God found therein; submit to them with piety; and come to know and conform to them in one’s thoughts and deeds. The preaching of the Word of God is constantly heard in the Church; we must give thanks for its existence, take every opportunity to listen, and strive to understand and assimilate what we have heard, for here the Lord Himself sows the seeds. In addition to oral preaching, there is written preaching in the works of the holy fathers. With an open heart and mind, we must draw near to these sources and drink from them the heavenly wisdom. But we must not disregard gatherings for instruction or instructive books, even those not written by the Holy Fathers.

In general, with regard to the enlightenment of the mind through the knowledge of the truth as communicated by the Holy Church, one ought to cultivate the following dispositions: to believe and hold fast in one’s heart that the Church alone is the pillar and foundation of the truth; that her enlightenment is the one true divine enlightenment; any other, external form of enlightenment is incomparably inferior to it, and, insofar as it is inconsistent with or contrary to it, is falsehood and delusion, or demonic wisdom; therefore, one should seek enlightenment here primarily not on one’s own initiative, but through the teaching established by God and under His guidance, though not without one’s own effort; and after that, in accordance with its spirit, one should also accept secular enlightenment, but only what is necessary and on the condition that it is in accordance with undeniable truth, for all things will pass away, and only the truth will remain. Recognizing all this in one’s heart, one cannot help but grieve and be distressed when the preaching of the truth and its preachers grow scarce. This is a punishment, “a famine… of the Word of God” (Amos 8:11–12). We must also grieve when indifference and contempt for the Word of God spread, and teachings contrary to it are instilled in the faithful, for this is a sign of the darkening and expansion of the dominion of darkness and the prince of lies (see St. Tikhon, vol. 4).

2) To the Church as Sanctifier, or Bestower of Grace and Educator.

The divine powers we need for life and piety are poured out through the seven divine sacraments entrusted to the Holy Church. Therefore...

We ought, keeping in mind that we possess inexhaustible vessels of grace, to rejoice and give thanks to the Lord for this great and ineffable gift; we ought to revere them as the greatest sanctities and manifestations of God and His power, and to partake of them more frequently as is proper, believing without a doubt in the saving power hidden within them. In particular, with regard to each sacrament, it is our duty to approach them as is proper and to guard with reverence the grace received through them; to preserve the new life received in Baptism, remembering the vows made, the covenant entered into, and the blessings to which we have become entitled through this sacrament; to guard, nurture, and use for the good of the Church the gift of grace received in Confirmation; to hasten to heal every sin of ours in the sacrament of repentance, confessing sincerely and patiently bearing penance according to the rules; to partake of the Holy Mysteries frequently, and at least four times a year (see the Rules of Confession), with proper preparation and a purified conscience, and to preserve the peace of the Lord received in this sacrament; to prepare for the sacrament of marriage through fasting and prayer, and after receiving it, to preserve the marital union wisely and spiritually as a gift of grace; when afflicted by illness, not to forget to receive the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick with faith and hope, not limiting oneself to medicine alone, for faith does not put us to shame.

In general, in various spiritual needs, one must know and keep in mind that strength comes only from God, through the sacraments. Neither one’s own prudence nor the advice of others—nothing will help if one has not received God’s strength. Therefore, one must direct all one’s attention, heart, and hope toward it, knowing that all other means are of only conditional significance, while these are decisive. Furthermore, having received this strength, let no one think of acting with it on their own initiative. One must submit to a spiritual guide—a priest appointed by God, and sometimes a godparent—and, under his guidance, cultivate, nurture, and apply this gift. The greater the gift, the more cautiously it must be handled; and this is best done with the counsel of the one through whom it was received. A spiritual guide is absolutely essential in the application of our powers or the development of our will. All other pedagogical methods are inferior, less effective, and less reliable than this. This is why those who willingly submit to obedience so quickly become strong men! Whoever wishes to rely solely on his own thoughts runs the risk of misusing the gift or even losing it entirely.

Furthermore, we must by no means neglect the means offered by the Church for the development and strengthening of the powers of grace. Second only to the sacraments is fasting and abstinence. Their purpose is to enable, through self-restraint, the Spirit of grace to influence us more powerfully, to give us time to partake sincerely of the sacraments, and to rekindle and renew zeal in the spirit. This is the most beneficial institution!

Next come the feasts, which are set aside for the Lord’s sake and, consequently, for the benefit of the spirit of grace. But in general, all liturgical rites are intended to sanctify and enkindle the spirit of grace and to strengthen piety. Consequently, we must embrace all of them, internalize them, and participate in them in order to be sanctified, to preserve that sanctification, and to cultivate a life in keeping with the Spirit. Here is the Divine house of education!

3) To the Church as protector and intercessor. Dangers surround us on all sides. We sin ceaselessly and bring God’s wrath upon ourselves and others; and here, manifold enemies surround us—visible and invisible, internal and external. The Church stands like a faithful watchman on guard or like a brave warrior in full armor with the shield of the mighty, and protects her children. She alone combines the strongest and most effective intercessors and helpers. In heaven, the Lord Himself intercedes for us, seated at the right hand of God the Father; the host of angels and saints prays for us; and, in particular, each of us is sheltered by the protection of the Most Holy Mother of God, our Guardian Angel, and our patron saint. And on earth, she has special places where one may seek swift heavenly help—at the holy relics of God’s saints and at miraculous icons. But all these are merely her means of protection. Her actual protection, or her own protective shield, consists in her ceaseless prayer for us. This is why she is called a house of prayer and, in her entire structure, is primarily characterized by prayer.

The Church has a general structure of prayer common to all, as well as specific prayers adapted to our particular needs. In order for the power of the Church’s intercessory prayer to be transferred to us in both cases, we must participate in them or place ourselves in certain relationships with them, which are obligatory for us as members of the Church.

The Church’s general structure of prayerful intercession is as follows.

Usually, the Church calls its children to prayer in the house of God at set times, and there, through the celebration of the Divine Liturgy, bestows upon them a protective power. Hence, it is the duty of the faithful to come together in prayer or to gather for communal worship. Communal prayer possesses great power, according to the Lord’s promise, especially “where two or three are gathered in His name,” and to fulfill every request about which “two agree on earth” (Matt. 18:19–20). The prayer of a single person is as powerful as that person alone is, and even then only if he does not separate himself from communal prayer; but if he deliberately separates himself from it, his solitary prayer is utterly insignificant. In communal prayer, however, each person’s prayer is as powerful as the combined strength of all those praying together. History presents striking examples of the power of communal prayer throughout the ages. The entire Church has always sought help from the Lord, driven away plagues, defeated enemies, brought rain, or held back the heavens when it stood before God with the bishop, the entire clergy, and the people. Therefore, the apostle exhorts us “not to neglect meeting together,” not to shun it (Heb. 10:25) for fear of losing the help that mutual encouragement provides. But this does not exclude the duty and power of private prayer.

Outside the church, at home, the family is a community of worshippers. And the Church desires to make each person a man of prayer and strong in prayer. Therefore, it has established rules for private, solitary prayer.

It is our duty to gather in churches. The church is a consecrated place where God manifests His special presence, a place arranged with deep thought, both as a whole and in its parts. Thus, we must believe in and rejoice over these dwellings of God; understand their inner meaning; dwell in them as in the presence of God, with reverent awe; and outwardly show them due respect; we must preserve them and in every way contribute to their splendor and adornment; sacred objects and all liturgical vessels must be kept inviolable, reverently honored, and used by us: candles, vestments, vessels, icons, especially the Cross and the Gospel. Greater honor than all else, however, is to be accorded to the holy relics, if there are any, and to the miraculous icons, for the sake of the power of God dwelling within them—a power revealed to all and constantly made manifest.

But even a home becomes a place of prayer during the time of prayer. Here there are icons, and there are lamps, candles, the Cross, and the Gospel. In addition, there are chapels with icons and crosses among dwellings, and crosses are often erected in the fields. There is a clear desire to make every place a place of prayer, so as to teach us to pray everywhere—at home, in the fields, and on the road.

It is our duty to gather at specific times, that is, on certain days and at certain hours of the day. Sundays and feast days are designated for communal prayer. We must know and honor them—both the general church feasts according to their rank, as well as the particular feasts of our own church and the most personal ones—those of our Guardian Angel. A feast is not idleness, but a celebration—that is, a joyful exultation of the spirit in recognition of God’s great mercies. Therefore, having set aside material labors and all cares, in a sense of relief from them and freedom—as if in anticipation of the freedom of the age to come—one should spend this time in praising God, meditating on Him, and doing good deeds; in short, exclusively for salvation, from the beginning of the feast to its end, from evening to evening. There is no better way to cultivate hope for the age to come. In the Church of God, even the days of the week have their own significance. We must remember and honor the meaning of each one and, accordingly, order our thoughts and conduct ourselves—especially on Wednesdays and Fridays—in accordance with the commemorations associated with them. The same applies to the hours of the day. We must not neglect their significance, but rather know and conduct ourselves in accordance with their meaning. How much this can contribute to the formation of a spirit of prayer and quickly teach a reverent walk before the Lord! For here we must recall the judgment, the sufferings of the Lord, the grace of the Holy Spirit, and the blessings of creation. The hours of the day, as marked by these reflections, are a walk through a multicolored and fragrant spiritual garden. Here—if you can, bow in worship; if not, meditate… This should not be forgotten, especially when a particular prayer or ritual is being performed in church, as the ringing of the bells announces. Therefore, it is evident that, out of the Church’s care for us, the entire course of life is divided into prayer. St. John Chrysostom has prayerful invocations for every hour of the day and night. Thus are we sheltered and protected by prayers according to the Church’s commandment!

It is our duty to gather for specific, established liturgical services, such as Vespers, Compline, Midnight Office, Matins, the Hours, and the Divine Liturgy. Each of these has its own meaning, by which it is imbued, and each is a single, complete act of prayer. Therefore, when participating, one must know which divine service is being celebrated; one must participate in it spiritually, because it is for us; one must listen deeply, enter into its spirit, and be filled by it; one must be present from beginning to end, receive the priest’s blessing, and wait until the dismissal. From the Church, prayer follows the Christian into his home, and here, in addition to offering evening and morning prayers, before and after meals, and in every task and circumstance, one must turn to God with prayer and the sign of the cross. Thus, according to the Church’s instruction, every action of a Christian must be surrounded by prayer, or he must remain constantly under the shelter of prayer.

Here is a general outline of the Church’s liturgical structure, and here are the duties that flow from it! But we also have various special needs. The Church is ready to meet all of them in order to protect and bring us peace, and she has the means to do so. It is our duty, in any case, to resort to its intercession. There are liturgical services which, when performed according to the canons by consecrated persons within or outside the Church, exert their full beneficial power upon those who receive them in faith.

The Church’s foremost intercession consists in offering a bloodless sacrifice for the sins of the entire Christian world. This sacrifice is continually offered in the Church. Just as the Lord, seated at the right hand of God in heaven, intercedes for us, so does the Church here on earth. The Cross, as it were, has never left the face of the earth since the time of its first erection.

We sin and continually provoke God to anger. The sword hangs over our heads... In the Church stands the unceasing sacrifice of Christ’s body and blood, powerful enough to purify us all. Therefore, hasten to participate in the offering of this bloodless sacrifice, that you may be purified... That is, attend the Liturgy as often as possible; offer the proskomedia if you can, and then, during the celebration of the Liturgy, with a contrite spirit and tearful supplication, join yourself to the sacrifice being offered. When you are not in church, the moment you hear the bells calling you to the Divine Liturgy, pray for the acceptance of the sacrifice and for yourself... This is the Church’s strongest protection, which nothing can replace... This sacrifice is also a sacrifice of thanksgiving—the Eucharist. Just as it is our duty to give thanks, so too must we consider it our duty to participate in the offering of this sacrifice.

But in addition to this most important intercession in the bloodless sacrifice, we must turn to the Church for all our other needs and necessities. She offers prayerful intercession for every need of ours.

We have spiritual and physical needs and necessities; we have private and public troubles and sorrows; in all these matters, we must turn to the protection of the Church (see the Book of Liturgical Rites on this subject).

There are spiritual needs and desires: Do you need to study?—Receive a blessing; is learning not coming easily? — accept the prayer; are burdens, sorrow, and anguish weighing on your heart? — turn to the prescribed hymns; are you at odds with someone but cannot overcome yourself? — ask for prayer; does something disgust you? — sanctify it and calm your soul.

There are also physical needs and necessities: Do you need sleep, but sleep eludes you?—turn to the Church; do you sleep well, but Satan mocks you in your sleep?—drive him away with the power of the Church’s prayer; do you need a house?—consecrate both its foundation and the house itself; do you need a well?—consecrate it; do you need a garden and vegetables?—consecrate them; do you need salt?—consecrate it; do you need fire?—consecrate it; do you need bread?—consecrate the seed, the sprout, and the threshing floor; whether the fruits are new or you are beginning to taste new food, consecrate them. And in general, everything that pertains to a person—everything that enters the body—must be consecrated. Do you have no son, no one to be your heir, no one to care for you in your old age?—Adopt one from the Church through adoption; are you setting out on a journey?—Go, and the Church will pray for the success of your journey.

There are private troubles: some infirmity in the body?—Seek healing from the Church; is someone being tormented by demons?—Use the Church’s exorcisms; is your home plagued by them?—Drive them out with the Church’s prayers; is your field, garden, or vegetable patch being ravaged by vermin?—Resort to the same weapons.

There are general calamities: drought and calm winds, pestilence, miasma, earthquakes, famine, storms, thunder and lightning, invasion by enemies, or any other calamity—from all these, seek protection through the Church’s prayers.

Finally, is it necessary to have one’s own ecclesiastical items at home in case of extreme need? There is no harm in this… Acquire them, have them consecrated, and bring them into your home as a gift from the Church—the Cross of the Lord, a consecrated icon, holy water (especially Epiphany water), various relics from the saints’ remains and miraculous icons, and so on.

Thus, a person is surrounded on all sides by the Church’s protection and defense. The moment he comes into the world, he is met by the Church’s prayer, and when he departs, he is accompanied by the same prayer beyond the confines of the coffin.

Whoever does not shun all these acts of prayer, intercession, and protection by the Church, and does not consider them superfluous or unnecessary, knowing from experience their power, does good.

For Christians, all of these are obligatory simply because they are members of the Church. A Christian must clothe himself in the ways of the Church in order to be a member of the Church. What kind of warrior is there without military garb and without military training? The Church is the house of the Lord. Can one really imagine that anything contrary to God, not blessed by Him, and displeasing to Him could enter it and take root there? To anyone who refuses to fulfill the commandments and exhortations of the Church, should we not say: “Friend, how did you come in here?” Moreover, the power of all that the Church advocates has been proven by many experiences. It is on the basis of these experiences that the institutions and liturgical rites themselves were established. Those who shun them are like someone to whom simple, proven remedies against some disease are offered, yet who, out of foolish pride, despises them and perishes. To shun the Church is very bad. The enemy’s slander against us is great. But he acts upon us primarily through matter and through our flesh: he has a certain affinity with coarse matter, as St. John of Damascus observed. Perhaps, by hiding within it, he feels a certain delight, which is why he clings to it so. That is why, for example, the demons cry out to the Lord: “Do not send us into the abyss, but into the pigs.” If this is so, then in water, in the air, and in everything, he can attach himself to us and do us harm. The Lord therefore commanded that certain practices be established in His Church—means by which all things might be cleansed and sanctified—so that the unclean might be driven out from every quarter and prevented from touching the faithful. Whoever deprives himself of these means becomes like an unfenced garden, through which beasts roam and destroy everything within it. The Lord speaks of the seed of goodness in the soul, which the devil enters and steals. Thus, everyone must fortify themselves. Nothing does the accursed one fear more than anything related to the Church. For we are at war, not at rest. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you may be able to stand firm on the day of evil and, having done everything, to stand your ground. Therefore, stand firm, having your loins girded with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking up the shield of faith, with which you will be able to extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit” (Eph. 6:12–17).

In conclusion, a brief summary of all that has been said so far is outlined here. This is what is commanded to those who have entered the Church: as you are enlightened, sanctified, and protected by it under the guidance of men consecrated by God for this purpose within it, remain in a spirit of prayer, or in unceasing prayer, and through it, stir up and cultivate in your soul the feelings and dispositions that are obligatory for you—those by which, through the Lord Jesus Christ, we ascend into communion with God, and those that flow from the order of God’s governance of the world; and furthermore, through both of these, strive to ascend to the most hidden life in God, rising to a silent immersion in God. May the Lord help everyone to arrange their lives in this way!

b) Feelings and dispositions regarding the Church as the repository of the saved and those being saved

The Church is both a repository of the grace-filled means of salvation and a home for those being saved and those who are saved. One who enters into a living union with her takes upon himself her entire structure and, at the same time, enters into deep communion with all her members. “You are no longer strangers and sojourners,” says the Apostle, “but fellow citizens with the saints and members of God’s household, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus Himself as the cornerstone; in whom the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy church in the Lord” (Eph. 2:19–21). This communion is as close as the communion among the members of a body, for “we are one body in Christ” (Rom. 12:4–5). Since the members of the Holy Church are divided into two categories—some have already passed from this life, rest in the Kingdom of Heaven, and constitute the Church Triumphant, while others still dwell on earth, striving only to attain that state through struggle and constituting the Church Militant— therefore, Christians have one communion with the members of the Church who are triumphant in heaven, and another with the members of the Church who remain on earth and are militant.

aa) In relation to those who have departed:

1) the glorified.

The apostle teaches about the communion between those on earth and those in heaven: “You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem; to myriads of angels in festive assembly; to the Church of the firstborn whose names are written in heaven; to God, the Judge of all; to the spirits of the righteous made perfect; and to Jesus, the Mediator of the New Covenant” (Heb. 12:22–24). When there is such a close union, there must also be binding obligations. But since the condition of the heavenly beings is entirely different from that of earthly beings, we must conduct ourselves toward them in a different way than toward those with whom we live here.

An understanding of their condition and of the manner of our interaction with them determines the actions we are obligated to take toward them—actions that are both general to all and specific to their various ranks.

Since they have already been perfected, have attained the most blessed stage of Christ’s fulfillment, have reached the highest destined deification, have appeared before God and dwell in His presence like children in a home, boldly offering words of prayer to Him, have passed from weakness to strength by the grace of the Lord, in their influence upon the visible and invisible creation, we must:

– bestow upon them honor—not divine, but higher than human—and not as to God, but as to the fullest vessels of the Godhead, exalted and glorified by God;

– resort to their intercession as to those who pray for us ceaselessly and powerfully before God, by His love for mankind and His ineffable goodness, and with faith and hope ask for their help and protection, as those who are strong by the grace of God.

Since, furthermore, they have not separated themselves but remain with us as members of the one Church and, moreover, serve as a model and, as it were, a goal toward which everyone should strive, it follows once again that we must:

– recognize their godlike qualities and the labors they have undertaken, and strive with all our might to imitate them in our feelings and deeds, honoring their lives as a faithful guiding light;

– to enter into the closest possible spiritual communion with them, sharing in their glory and sympathizing with their labors and virtues.

To fulfill all this, one must:

– commemorate them on their feast days and celebrate the feasts dedicated to them;

– venerate their icons, pray before them and kiss them with love, light candles, and offer prayers of supplication;

– read their lives or their troparia and kondakia;

– speak of them and their deeds with due respect and love.

And, in particular, the obligations incumbent upon us toward each rank of saints are the same, with a slight variation and distinction according to their rank. Therefore, the very concept of rank will teach you how to relate to them; you need only explain to yourself the meaning of rank. In this heavenly hierarchy, above all others are the most honorable Cherubim and the incomparably most glorious Seraphim—the Most Holy Theotokos. Following her are the ranks of the incorporeal beings: nine in order; then the saints of God: the prophets and the greatest of the prophets—John the Forerunner; the apostles and the foremost among them—Peter and Paul; the holy fathers, among whom the great ones are Basil the Great, Gregory the Theologian, and John Chrysostom, Saint Nicholas, and the Russian saints: Peter, Alexius, Jonah, and Philip; the martyrs, confessors, venerable ones, those who renounced worldly gain, and the holy fools for Christ’s sake. Those closest to every Christian are the Most Holy Theotokos, the common Mother and Intercessor of all Christians; the Guardian Angel; the saint of one’s own name; the patron saint of a church or country; and those whose relics are present or who have shown special intercession. These special relationships are expressed in the prayers addressed to them. Following their example, we must commemorate them in every prayer, whether the prayer is performed according to the liturgy or consists only of inner invocations raised to God: Most Holy Lady, Mother of God, save us! Angel of God, my holy Guardian, pray to God for me; then to confess the Ever-Virgin Mother of the Lord, the Theotokos, and to bestow upon Her the highest honor above all angels and archangels, as She substantially participated in the establishment of the Incarnate Household; one must heed the Guardian Angel and learn to understand his promptings; to emulate the saint of the same name in his specific virtues, to know his life, and to celebrate his feast day devoutly; to turn to the patron saint of the church with special faith, for all who are baptized in that church come under his care; to visit the church, the relics, and the icon of the patron saint of the region.

The entire heavenly Church should be commemorated in the main prayers according to their order, as in the liturgical prayer: “Save, O God, Your people…” Or: “O Most Merciful Lord…” and in others.

The main purpose of these connections is to cultivate within oneself the desire and longing to enter into the fellowship of those who rejoice in heaven. All are destined for this, and one must prepare oneself: to turn one’s thoughts and heart there more often, striving as much as possible to comprehend and anticipate the sweetness of their abode there, so that one may finally say: “One day I will be there!” We should converse with them more often in prayer and reflection, so that when we arrive there, we will not be strangers to them, but will enter, as it were, into a familiar community.

2) To those who have departed and dwell in the hope of eternal life.

Besides these glorified, perfect ones, who have been revealed as our intercessors and defenders, there is also a class of people who have departed from us in faith and hope, whose fate, however, remains unknown to us with any certainty. They are not separated from us but remain in the same house of the Church; therefore, our duties toward them do not cease with their death, although they can no longer be the same as they were before. Thus, we must help bury every brother in Christ who has died, if necessary, and pay him our last respects; to offer prayers, sacrifices, and alms for each one; either to say nothing at all about them, or to speak only well of them, but under no circumstances to slander or condemn them; to fulfill their final good wishes; to remember their kindness with gratitude and to strive to imitate their edifying customs and uphold them. As for relatives, in addition to all this, one must not grieve as those who have no hope, though one must not be indifferent either; one should always commemorate them by name, especially on the 3rd, 9th, and 40th days, on the anniversary of their death, on days of church commemoration, and in every prayer. The deceased have but one consolation—fervent, hopeful, and powerful prayer. Almsgiving, too, can do much; but the main thing is the bloodless sacrifice.

bb) Feelings and attitudes toward our brothers and sisters in Christ who live with us on earth and make up the body of the earthly Church.

A different kind of obligatory relationship binds us to those Christians with whom we live on earth.

These relationships stem from the concept of Christians as the one body of the Church (Eph. 4:16; 1 Cor. 12:12, 12:27) and are of two kinds: some toward the entire body of the Church, and others toward each of its members, insofar as they are members.

1) Toward the entire body of the Church.

The former are characterized by the distinctive properties of a living body. The distinctive properties of a living, organized body are harmony—or the orderly agreement of all parts within a single whole—a living union—or sympathy and compassion—and the distribution of labor among all parts for the benefit of the whole, setting aside one’s own interests. Corresponding to these three characteristics of a living body, Christians also have obligatory feelings and dispositions toward the whole body of the Church, which everyone must consciously cultivate within themselves. Namely:

1a) To be in harmony, or of one mind, in spirit with the entire Church. The members of the body are in harmony because they are all imbued with one life. And every Christian must be filled with the same Spirit with which the entire Church is filled. If this is lacking, he is not of the Church: “They went out from us, but they were not of us,” it is said of such people (1 John 2:19). Although there will be no visible, tangible separation, it will take place within the soul—not in imagination, but in reality. This unity of spirit is expressed in the unity of intellectual and moral principles, or in unity of mind and will.

The holy apostles prescribe unity of mind with such conviction, almost without ceasing! The Apostle Peter, after addressing other duties, concludes: “Finally, all of you, be of one mind” (1 Pet. 3:8). The Apostle Paul exhorts: “Be of the same mind toward one another” (Rom. 12:16), and prays to God: “that He may grant to all to be of the same mind toward one another concerning Christ Jesus, so that with one accord and with one voice they may glorify God” (Rom. 15:5–6); and he implores the Christians themselves: “I urge you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to agree with one another, so that there may be no divisions among you, but that you may be firmly united in the same mind and the same purpose” (1 Cor. 1:10). “Make my joy complete by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind” (Phil. 2:2). This obliges the Christian not to be indifferent to the way he thinks, and not to think that it does not matter how he understands other things; he must do everything in his power to unite as sincerely and deeply as possible in mind and thought with everyone—therefore, not only must he not take pride in the distinctiveness and individuality of his views, but he must grieve over the fact that they exist, especially if they have become so deeply rooted that they require a struggle. From this perspective, all philosophizing and independent views in the realm of revealed truths are sins. Our fathers did not act this way. On every subject, their first concern was to find out how the fathers had judged it... And this is the time-honored practice in the Church—to be of one mind with everyone.

Unity of will, or living according to God’s will—in other words, purity… This obliges the Christian to be pure, like everyone else, and not to defile the holy body of the Church with his own impurity… And in the Old Testament it was repeatedly commanded: “Purge the evil from among you” (Deut. 17:7), because it does not fit into the common, pure community of all; it defiles the whole and puts it in danger, just as it happened that all suffered for the sin of one. Likewise, the Apostle Paul rebukes the Corinthians for tolerating the impure one, for just as “leaven leavens the whole batch,” so he has made their entire Church impure (1 Cor. 5:6). Thus, impurity is an attack on the good of the whole Church; therefore, the requirement of purity is of the utmost importance. But, on the other hand, impurity in a vessel filled with water either rises to the top or settles to the bottom—that is, it remains outside the body of the water. Likewise, every impure person is, in fact, outside the body of the Church, whether formally separated or not. So, are you a member of the Church? Then be pure, knowing that if you are not pure, you are no longer a member.

1b) The members of a living body are united in a living bond, whereby what occurs in the whole body is reflected in each member, and, conversely, the condition of each member is reflected in the whole. This quality is otherwise known as compassion. The corresponding duty may also appropriately be called sympathy or compassion, by which one must keenly feel what is happening to all and within all our brothers, or in the Christian world. The Apostle Paul holds it in such high regard and prescribes it to such an extent that when “one member suffers,” all suffer, and when one rejoices, all rejoice (1 Cor. 12:26), a principle he himself exemplified, assuring us: “If one member suffers, I suffer with it” (2 Cor. 11:29). Therefore, the condition of the Christian world must not be alien to every Christian—cold, known and perceived without personal involvement—but must be vividly felt by them. This heartfelt union of all is expressed in the Word of God as “one heart and one mind”... It is said of the early Christians that they were “of one heart and one soul...” (Acts 4:32), or, as the Apostle Paul commands, all Christians should live, “making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace” (Eph. 4:3). By virtue of this duty, a Christian’s heart expands to encompass all Christians and lives among them not as a stranger but as one of their own, like a family member who, wherever he may be, is always with his own in heart... The absence of such a feeling clearly reveals a loss of unity, a severing from the body; and if, in any place, all those who call themselves Christians come to mutual alienation, it is clear that they have ceased to be members of the living body of the Church; they are branches that have been broken off.

1b) Among the members of the living body, tasks are distributed for the good of the whole, so that each member belongs to the whole and not to himself; he does not work for himself, but for all. Likewise, every Christian must act in such a way that this activity is a sacrifice for the whole; he must forget himself and keep in mind only the common good, feeling and recognizing himself not as a principal agent but as an instrument within the whole body of the Church. Therefore, let everyone realize how they can and should act for the good of all, and let them act with a sense of duty; that is, as the Apostle says, whoever has the gift of serving—“serve,” of teaching—“teach,” of comforting—“comfort,” of giving—“give” (Rom. 12:7, 12:8). In general, everyone has been given a “gift of the Spirit for the common good” (1 Cor. 12:7), through which all are to “serve one another” (1 Pet. 4:10). This imparts a spirit of selflessness to all a Christian’s actions, where personal gain is completely set aside, and the sole focus is on the spiritual good of Christians, whatever that may be. If all believers had such a mindset, how quickly would both the intellectual and moral perfection of Christians be elevated! Herein lies God’s blessing—hence the perfection or maturity of every endeavor, into which nothing that might be unhelpful is permitted to enter. How much evil comes from neglecting this simple rule! So, offer both soul and body as a sacrifice for the good of all Christians—extend your caring regard to everyone.

1g) The essence and spirit of Christian love are expressed in these three dispositions. Whoever possesses this love, having brought himself into unity of mind and will with all, and furthermore, having dissolved himself and, as it were, poured himself out with all his feelings and heart, offers his whole self—all the powers of body and spirit—as a sacrifice for the good of the entire Body of the Church, dedicating himself to it with self-forgetfulness and self-sacrifice. Here are the laborers for the truth, the intercessors, and the guardians of the Church’s well-being. Not everyone, of course, can fulfill this requirement in deed; but everyone can and must fulfill it in feeling, in desire, and in prayer, just as we pray for the well-being of God’s Churches and for the unity of all. Such a disposition in all a Christian’s activities bestows a certain independence and freedom, unbound by the narrow limits of one’s own circumstances or those of one’s loved ones, and often even by the circumstances of the times. Love enables him to rise above everything, so that from there he may contemplate where all things are headed, as well as how and by what means to ward off evil and to protect and nurture good. It is characterized by a motherly care that foresees and warns. Therefore, its actions are often misunderstood as something incomprehensible and seemingly condemning of short-sightedness, but the consequences always vindicate it. And this love must rightly be called spirit-bearing, both because it undoubtedly bears the Spirit and because it is itself carried by the Spirit. After reading the life story of such a person, one cannot help but exclaim: this is what true Christian love means! Everyone understands this feeling. Let us pray that the God of love may kindle it more and more in our hearts!

2) Toward every person with whom we have a visible connection. Thus, true Christian love, freeing itself from all limitations, extends to the entire Christian world. It also strives to spread the influence of its deeds just as widely—in which it often succeeds with God’s help—but it is primarily carried out, or applied, within one’s close circle, before and toward those with whom one lives. That general, deepest, and most fundamental disposition of a loving heart inspires and gives a distinctive character to Christian activity—or to the individual actions of a Christian— , in their particular place, time, and circumstances. Even if, in answering the question of how a Christian should act toward each person before him, different duties toward one’s neighbor are defined, they will all be nothing other than an expression of the spirit of love, which is one and the same in its various applications.

The question arises: What attitude should one maintain, and how should one act toward the Christian who stands before us? The answer is: Adopt the attitude required by the spirit of Christian love, and act as the person before you requires, again in accordance with that same spirit of love.

Thus, we have certain attitudes we are obligated to maintain toward Christians, and we also have certain actions we are obligated to take toward them.

2a) What attitudes should we cultivate toward one another?

1. There is no distinction: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:28), says the apostle—as living members of one body, as kinsmen of one family. Accept everyone with a sense of kinship, as a relative, as a brother. Brotherly love—this is the true attitude that prevails among Christians! When we meet a blood brother, we forget everything else and feel, above all, that he is a brother. We must have this same attitude toward every Christian. “Be devoted to one another in brotherly love,” the apostle commands us (Rom. 12:10). All a Christian’s actions toward others and all other attitudes toward them that are required of him must flow from this feeling. But it is most specifically expressed in the following qualities:

– In goodwill, or a sense of pleasure derived from another’s presence, interaction, and fellowship. If they are brothers, then kinship should speak for itself. This feeling indicates a heartfelt bond. It is also the most reliable and subtle witness to and sign of true, complete, and mature love. Where there is discomfort in being with someone, there is no love: they are separated. Indifference is already an unwholesome state, and it has no place in a Christian. It is the first step toward the withering of love and the turning of the heart away from the truth in relation to others. Indifference—and even discomfort at meeting another—can be excused if these feelings are involuntary—and even then, only through active and sustained effort to cultivate a favorable disposition toward that person. Since the heart does not immediately adjust as it should, what a person earnestly seeks is credited to him for the sake of his seeking, even though it has not yet been attained. In such a case, this would be, as it were, a physical imperfection rather than a moral one.

– In goodwill. Whoever finds another person pleasant wishes them all the best. Goodwill is the natural fruit of affection. It manifests itself in taking an interest in everything concerning the other person, in sympathy for them, in taking them to heart, in regarding them as part of one’s own condition, in inquiring—where necessary—whether things are good or bad there, with corresponding joy or sorrow, and in impulses to help and assist. Goodwill encompasses all the movements of a kind heart toward others. It is comforting even in times of sorrow, brings peace, broadens the heart, and purifies it of selfish passions, just as fire purifies metal. Its opposite is ill will—the fruit of indifference and coldness. Here there is either an absence of goodwill or a desire for its opposite—that is, ill will. In inseparable alliance with them are schadenfreude and envy, two tormentors that rack the poor heart of a person who has lost love.

– In caring for others. True goodwill takes delight in the well-being of others and is eager to help and assist those in need; therefore, it naturally gives rise to active and thoughtful care for the well-being of others. This is so inevitable that it is thwarted only by the impossibility of helping. In any other case, however, the absence of such care reveals a weakness of goodwill and a lack of love! “Let us not love in word only… but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3:18). “Bear one another’s burdens” (Gal. 6:2), the apostles command. In this regard, we must remember that care expressed in action may not stem from a good heart; likewise, good will may be the fruit of an indiscriminate, sympathetic natural disposition. It all depends on how the mind that governs these aspects—or the inner self—relates to them. Help others even without a predisposition to do so, with the aim of cultivating that predisposition; and do not yield indiscriminately to good intentions, lest evil spring from what is good, for the heart is blind. In general, one must adopt the mindset that assistance flows not from a desire to please oneself or others, but from a single source—an inner love that perceives true good and directs everything toward it. In this way, a lasting, steadfast, and sober concern for the good is formed. Then the Christian desires only what ought to be cared for and cares for what ought to be desired for another. And this is the sound state of love for one’s neighbor, without which and until which goodwill and concern for the good may diverge, hindering one another and even contradicting one another. However, its foundation is genuine care guided by the highest active principle, and not merely goodwill, which can be both fruitless and misguided. Among the distinctive characteristics of care is immediate, prompt, and all-out assistance, as deemed necessary in accordance with the goal. It does not flounder in restlessness, but proceeds steadily and measuredly, yet it does not suffer from procrastination or delays. Its guiding principle is: seize every opportunity, for it will not come again; accumulate and grow wealthy. Opposed to this is the fruitless desire that turns into empty thoughts about possibilities for help; but above all, that which arises from ill will—that is, not only indifference and lack of cooperation, but even opposition, or obstacles to success, and outright malice. Both are the fruit of selfish passions, which are always further provoked and intensified by mutual grievances.

These three—goodwill, benevolence, and care—define the true nature of brotherly love. When any of these movements of the heart is absent—not only in general but toward each person in particular—then there is no direct love, or it has not yet matured but remains only in its infancy, still growing. Its growth is, in fact, essential. The heart, in its fallen state, does not feel rightly. The righteous spirit must be renewed within it. Above all, it is partial; it loves only its own and favors them... There is no evil here, but there may be if it is left as it is. A Christian must bring all Christians into his or her family and live with everyone as with kin; one must strive to embrace everyone with equal love—distinguishing only between action and cooperation, and even then not based on emotion, but according to the selfless and detached measure of sound judgment.

2. The Apostle Paul describes the nature of our conduct toward others as follows: “Be devoted to one another in brotherly love; give preference to one another in honor” (Rom. 12:10); that is, brotherly love for others cannot but be united with respect for them. This very disposition arises directly from a sense of kinship. Whoever possesses this latter quality also possesses respect. Among our relatives, we regard even a child who has not yet attained self-awareness with respect. In Christianity, however—this spiritual kinship—it is even more natural for one who deeply understands the significance of being a Christian. A Christian is the temple of the Holy Spirit, the dwelling place of the Father and the Son. Consequently, he is a vessel of the Divinity. Accept him, then, as one who brings God to you within himself, with blessings, like the ancient Ark of the Covenant—and accept everyone, whether great or small, poor or rich, wise or unwise. In the spirit of Christian respect, all outward appearances must be set aside as foreign and transient, not belonging to the Christian himself, and one must keep in mind only the dignity of the person. Outward appearances are necessarily diverse, but respect must be more or less the same for everyone. Its source is the inner significance of the Christian, with which outward appearances may not correspond. Honor the one whom God has honored. The nature or tone of respect was defined by the Apostle Paul with the words: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit” (Phil. 2:3). In one’s heart, one must place everyone else above oneself and oneself below them—not merely showing this through outward signs, but feeling it inwardly. The outward signs may differ—as, for example, with those in authority—but the respect remains the same. There is no virtue more difficult than this, for it stands in direct opposition to self-centeredness. It is especially difficult for those in positions of distinction and toward those who humble themselves in any way. But the law is not set aside because of the difficulty of its observance. Is it difficult?—Make the effort. The main thing in this matter is to set aside one’s attention to a Christian’s outward condition and to perceive only its inner significance. The latter, because it is noble, when vividly realized, gives rise to respect. The feeling opposite to respect is contempt. By its very nature, it places everyone below itself and, even more so, reduces them to nothing. It is the fruit of pride, conceit, and forgetfulness of oneself and one’s brother.

3. One who regards another as sacred honors all that belongs to him and gives him his due in everything. The disposition to give everyone his due out of respect and love is justice. Where there is respect, there is justice, and vice versa... For respect itself is the first form of justice, from which the entire realm of truth flows and by which it is sustained. Justice is usually regarded as the outermost boundary of the moral life, in the sense that whoever crosses its limits undermines the foundations of the moral realm, and nothing more can be expected from such a person. But it is not true that truth can be limited to its negative aspect alone—that is, merely refraining from doing what violates another’s rights, or doing only what may be demanded by lawful order. This is not Christian truth, but worldly, external, and legal truth. Christian truth, on the other hand, embraces the positive aspect as well; it does everything that is right for another, not out of external fear but out of an inner disposition. Truth that is cold, merely legal, and external is unchristian... The latter springs from the conscience with the participation of the heart... Yet it is distinct from love, though it is animated by it. Contrary to this is the trampling of another’s rights; injustice is the fruit of contempt for one’s brother. When a person is regarded as nothing, how can one respect their rights? Thus, meet every Christian as a blood brother, forgetting all outward appearances; be with him and in his presence with kindness; warm your heart toward him with goodwill, surround them with care to the best of your ability, while maintaining full respect for the person they have become in Christ Jesus, and striving to show them complete truth and avoid all falsehood. All these feelings must arise simultaneously toward every Christian. Care must be taken to ensure that they all remain strong and do not lag behind one another, so that there may be harmony in the Christian’s spirit. But it is evident that the latter—as it were, the external limits visible to all—are here cooperation and justice. Other feelings are hidden within and ripen under their cover, like fruits beneath leaves; they sometimes precede them and sometimes follow them—yet in such a way that if these latter are absent, there is no truth in them either. It is like a well-polished vessel, intended for storing fragrant ointments, but empty. Thus, above all, one must have a heart full of love, so that one’s neighbor is not confined within it, but so that the heart expands toward him, just as Paul’s did.

2b) What actions are required? When there are true dispositions, actions will follow, for the power of dispositions is inexhaustible and cannot be easily suppressed. However, these actions do not flow forth without prudence and conditions; just as every action is determined by its object, so too do they vary according to the characteristics of the person to whom they are directed. The person before us as a Christian is a human being consisting of soul and body, with a certain degree of external well-being. Each of these aspects of our brother evokes from our love its own specific kind of action, which then becomes our duty. From this it is self-evident that the actions we are obligated to perform toward our brothers, the Christians, fall into three categories: some pertain to their soul, others to their body, and still others to their external well-being.

1) With regard to the soul.

The most important thing here is a) the salvation of the soul—or, more generally, of our brother’s very person—for when there is no salvation, everything else is insignificant. No good can compare to this eternal good. Therefore, all our attention—and constant attention at that—must be directed toward the salvation of our brother’s soul.

Therefore, pray earnestly both for the salvation of all in general and, in particular, for the salvation of those whom you know best and who, in your judgment, are in special need; pray, desiring for your brothers a specific gift of understanding, or zeal, or prayer, and so on, and asking for yourself the strength and ability to act for their salvation—or, better yet, offering yourself as an instrument of God for this work; above all, pray earnestly for the grace to act in a way that does not lead others into temptation, and through prayer purify yourself from past unintentional and unforeseen incidents that might serve as temptations. Do not be tempted by the thoughts and words of others who claim that such prayer is of no use; for besides the fact that one who has sanctified oneself through it is always more capable and better disposed to act for the salvation of others, there is a secret communion of souls, through which one soul, in some incomprehensible way, can sow the seed of grace in another or predispose it to be sown through oneself or through others. An example is the mother of Augustine, the martyr. If we all mutually direct our spirits in prayer toward one another, then as many warming rays will come to each person as there are faces. Consequently, everyone would be warmed by a measure of warmth equal to that of all Christendom. Then no power could overcome a single Christian. It goes without saying that for this to happen, everyone must be open in faith to receiving prayerful help; otherwise, the power of God will accomplish nothing in them. But when we speak of Christianity, we speak of believers. That is why the apostles themselves asked for prayers, for mutual prayer is a power for salvation.

Be a living example of faith and piety. When you go out into the world and appear among Christians, let everyone see in you a living embodiment of Christianity; let them see that you understand it, honor it, and put it into practice. This is the same as edifying your brother in every way—through your words, your gaze, your gestures, and your deeds—and not causing him distress or leading him astray in any of these things. In example, both the good and the bad have a very powerful effect; therefore, just as much as one is necessary, so the other is reprehensible. If no one were to display their wickedness outwardly, there would be no need for much instruction, for for the most part we do not know not what we ought to do, but how to do it. But the trouble with the present state of affairs is that evil is displayed openly, while goodness is hidden; consequently, in all the situations we encounter, we see many examples of lawlessness, but hardly any of lawfulness. Since deeds are more powerful than thoughts and words, all our teaching amounts to no teaching at all. It would be fitting to confine all debauched individuals to hidden places or to compel them to hide themselves as much as possible. Here is a case where one must consider it praiseworthy to deliberately conduct oneself outwardly in a manner inconsistent with one’s inner feelings—namely, so as not to lead others into sin or corrupt them. A debauchee who acts openly, both in word and deed, must be considered a murderer of souls. He is like a blind man who swings a deadly weapon indiscriminately in all directions...

But this is not enough—one must both desire and earnestly strive to help, and actively contribute to the salvation of others, for what good is it to say only, “Keep warm,” without providing what is needed? Whoever truly loves will do everything for the one they love. Love pays no heed to inconveniences and does not even notice them. But even if they exist, love is ready to lay down its own life for others; to sacrifice everything—even life itself—for their salvation. Indifference in this matter reveals indifference both toward one’s own salvation and toward God’s glory, as well as a lack of conviction in the faith, self-love, and reckless carelessness. Therefore, we must carefully observe all situations involving our brothers and search among them to see if there is anyone to whom, to the best of our ability, we can instill something in their soul that will help lead them to salvation. The matters to which this applies are: to awaken the slumbering one, to set straight the one ready to go astray, and to strengthen the weak. This can be accomplished through both word and deed. But we must remember that we cannot enter the realm of another’s spirit of our own accord. Everyone is closed off within themselves. Therefore, one must either predispose them or wait for them to become predisposed. In any case, it is better to help the other act on their own rather than to dictate to them authoritatively, for they are a living and free spirit. Here, for example, in a simple conversation, good and evil are portrayed—one with praise, the other with condemnation; they portray them in others in this way; yet, so that the person being addressed does not realize that the words are about him, but at the same time receives sufficient admonition. Love is resourceful. But experience is also necessary, for otherwise one may do more harm than contribute to salvation.

b) In particular, when caring for another’s soul, one must discern their mind and will.

In the former, one must instill firm, clear, and sound concepts and principles regarding everything, beginning with faith, and, guided by it, extending into the realm of all other knowledge, developing them in relation to faith and, where possible, from it, so that the entire body of knowledge presents a unified, indivisible whole. Those who allow themselves to indiscriminately divulge every intricate construct of their own mind—in the confidence that it does not belong to the realm of faith, even though it clearly presents thoughts and perspectives that are at odds with it—commit a great evil. That which does not stem from faith, that which is not a conclusion drawn from it, that which is not covered by it, cannot stand properly within its realm; all such things are despicable falsehoods that must be trampled underfoot and eradicated. Hence, all theories in all sciences—especially in physics and history—must be rigorously tested and, once tested, presented to the Christian world. Nevertheless, in general, whatever has been tested and found sound—whether theoretical knowledge or a discovery in the arts, in social life, and so on—must be made public to all; for why else did God give it, if not so that all might benefit from it? In the Lord, all people are one family. What He gives to one, He gives to all. Intellectual stinginess must be considered all the more criminal than financial stinginess, inasmuch as the spirit is more precious than matter. In spreading positive truths, one must also pay attention to falsehoods, erroneous notions, delusions, and prejudices. These will naturally diminish as the light of truth spreads, but one can also act directly against them. However, the one who arms himself against the prejudices of the heart is more beneficial than the one who opposes intellectual prejudices, especially if the latter not only do not corrupt the heart but also, albeit indirectly, build it up. The prejudices of the heart are those by which a person is held in sin, or which constitute sinful blindness. People say, for example: “Nature demands it”—to justify lust; or: “The living care for the living”—to justify excessive concern, and so on. Whoever uncovers such prejudices, points them out, and leads others away from them does an eternal good for another. Regarding the second point. Poor is our will! It needs rules, which it often does not know; it needs incentives, which often slip from our minds; it needs guidance, for it often does not know how to begin a task. And so, enlighten, strengthen, and guide. We are all interconnected so that we may teach one another. That is why life is called, among other things, a science. What an evil it is—indifference to another’s way of life! Many limit themselves to mere inner disapproval, or to gossip and condemnation behind closed doors. Others do even worse: they signal their approval—albeit feigned—of another’s unwholesome deeds, thereby making him bolder and more audacious in evil and, consequently, more miserable or in greater danger. No! If you notice something in another person that is particularly dangerous for him, do everything in your power to bring him to his senses and set him straight, as best you can. Act directly yourself: find people who can influence him, wait for an opportunity, establish close contact, and win him over, and so on. But under no circumstances should you give any sign of approval or consent to those deeds, neither in word nor in deed... If everyone around this wayward person were to show him signs of disapproval, it seems he would have to come to his senses right away, for where could he possibly go then? One of the best ways to bring him to his senses is to lead him to see reason on his own: let him figure it out himself; you just need to arrange things so that he does.

2) Regarding the body.

The body is the instrument of our earthly life and, at the same time, the means by which we are formed into citizens of the world to come. It is so intimately connected to the soul that its good or bad condition affects the soul as well; it either inclines the soul toward good, or at the very least does not hinder it, and obediently serves it even in matters that lead to evil. Therefore, this part requires special care. Help your brother in this matter as well, and ease his task of properly caring for his body—his faithful servant and, at the same time, his ever-ready enemy. This duty requires: a) to promote in every way the well-being, integrity, and health of your brother’s body—through action, if necessary, but more so through words; that is, to provide him with the means of support, to offer advice on what is beneficial, to point out what is harmful, and to prevent it oneself; to promote the body’s well-being in every way so that it may be a suitable instrument of the soul, rather than an obstacle to it. Everyone nourishes and warms their flesh, but some do so too much, and others too little. To bring a foolish laborer to his senses, and especially to bring a drunkard, a debauchee, a glutton, or a hedonist to their senses—this is a great blessing. For just as from hell, the soul is then delivered from the tyranny of the flesh in the case of the latter, so too in the case of the former it will see the light, like Ioanaphan after tasting honey. In this regard, one acts wrongly who, when giving advice to please the body, forgets about the soul. Therefore, one must be cautious in giving advice on nourishing and soothing the body, and direct such advice more toward causing it distress; b) to prevent dangers to life by every possible means, and all the more so to refrain from acting toward one’s brother in a way that might lead him to ill health or danger to his life. This most often arises from excessive strain on the soul and body: in the former, through the arousal of passions—especially sudden ones such as anger, fear, joy, and sorrow; here—by demanding or forcing labor, giving inappropriate advice without knowing the situation, inciting fights, fistfights, or games that may be dangerous, and so on; but c) most importantly, do not take a life—neither by action, nor by aiding, nor by consent, neither openly nor secretly. A murderer rebels against God, who determines the measure of life; he destroys himself and casts doubt on the condition of the slain, for God alone knows righteous judgment. We must be discerning here. Whoever ends a life prematurely sends an immature soul into the next world.

There is no need to dwell on this at length, for deeds of this kind naturally inspire horror and repel people. Pay close attention to all that has been prescribed, and especially to that which concerns the salvation of the souls of our brothers, and do what you can—through word and writing or by spreading good writings.

3) Regarding well-being and happiness. Caring for the soul and body of one’s neighbor is caring for the perfection of his person. But by God’s will, he also possesses a certain measure of happiness or well-being on earth. Turning to this latter aspect, we are given specific duties corresponding to it.

a) Spiritual.

We are accustomed to calling “happiness” something external, namely, a favorable course of events. But it is not outside us, but within us—in a state of mind that is cheerful, joyful, and serene—which rarely corresponds to external circumstances but develops according to its own laws, independently. Therefore, it is here that our primary attention must be directed. The main point here is this: under no circumstances should you disturb a brother’s inner peace; on the contrary, you must do everything possible to strengthen and elevate it. Anyone who acts otherwise is like a thief who enters another’s garden and indiscriminately destroys all the greenery and flowers there. God has given your brother peace; you are stealing it from him. Only one kind of disturbance is permissible, namely: disturbing the sinner—and specifically as a sinner—by rousing him from his slumber; shake him to his very foundations, shatter his bones, let him grieve to the point of despair and find no rest day or night. The Apostle Paul set an example of this when he brought sorrow upon the sinful Corinthians, for, as he says, “Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation” (2 Cor. 7:10). If you see someone troubled by anything at all, go and comfort the sorrowful one; apply a salve to the wounds of his heart; pour out comfort through word and deed. Here, mere sympathy already brings relief; all the more so does the ability to calm. One must only remember that true comfort is found in God. It is there that the sorrowful person must be led, and in the Lord they must be cheered up, brought to the point where they rejoice in the very thing over which they grieve. Whoever does this will bring happiness to a person for a lifetime, in all circumstances, and will accomplish everything at once. External encouragement is also good for the weak, but it is only half the battle and should be used only as a means to an end. Otherwise, it will not be in accordance with Divine Providence, for through every sorrow God calls us to Himself. If you distract rather than lead someone to God, you will not be acting in faith.

b) The external.

Outward happiness consists of a good reputation, prosperity, and the smooth running of one’s affairs. The loss or lack of any of these robs us of peace. A person feels unhappy. aa) A good reputation gives a person standing in their circle, serves as the basis for trust in them, and endears them to others; consequently, it paves the way for unhindered action, whereas, conversely, the loss of it ties their hands and feet. Therefore, let the one who loves his brother do everything in his power to preserve his good name; and to that end, let him first sanctify that name in his own heart—or, which amounts to the same thing, let him fulfill his duty of respect, always placing the other above himself in his heart. Such a disposition will itself teach how to preserve the neighbor’s honor—both from oneself and from others. It will both bind and loosen the tongue. When such a feeling exists, it already does its work; one need only preserve it, or reject everything that might weaken it—namely, never allow oneself to belittle a brother because of any natural shortcomings of soul or body, or because of an outwardly unseemly condition. This is blasphemy against God and injustice toward a brother. But even when faced with moral shortcomings, one must direct all displeasure toward sin and its instigator, the devil; in one’s brother, one must see the nobility of nature and the grace of the mind being diminished, and the treasures of God being plundered; one must see him—who is free—in chains, and him—who is healthy—being consumed by illness, and have compassion on him, mourning for him before the Lord, rather than belittling him.

It is best to turn one’s watchful eye less toward the actions of others and more toward oneself. One acts wrongly who, through the deceitfulness of his own eyes, sees only evil in every action of another. This is suspicion, distrust, and inward slander. All the more so, one must not on this account immediately pass a decisive judgment on another, declaring that he is such and such. This is already condemnation that offends God and provokes His wrath. If you happen to hear something bad about another, cover your ears; drive away the slanderer and the insincere, or flee from him yourself.

To accept all words and rumors indiscriminately is a great folly: your soul will immediately be defiled, and the image of your brother will be darkened within it. When, in this way, the name of another is preserved as a sacred thing, inviolable in one’s heart, then it will not take much effort to protect it outwardly as well. Then the rule will be: speak not at all of a brother, or speak only good of him; as for the bad, remain silent in every way, making no allusion to it—neither in jest nor even as if out of regret. Upon hearing, however, that a brother’s name is being tarnished, one must do everything possible to restore it—to defend it, vindicate it, and dispel this temporary darkness; but under no circumstances should one condone idle gossip, jokes, barbs, or witticisms, much less slander and calumny, and even less so public calumny. Sanctifying the good name of one’s neighbor—both within oneself and in others—requires no small amount of effort. Inner condemnation and external gossip are the first fruits of pride, which by its very nature humiliates every brother. That is why they constantly swirl—some in thought, others on the tongue. One must constantly guard against this and fight against it. There is no sin more common than condemnation, but there is also none more dangerous. One man was required to fast and pray for several years because of a single brief mental condemnation, and this was by God’s special decree. Therefore, the saints of God say decisively: whoever does not condemn is saved. Some have been saved by this alone, without any other acts of piety. On the contrary, a single act of condemnation brings ruin, for it implies both a forgetting of God and deceitfulness, as well as demonic cunning. What evils you avoid, O one who does not condemn!

bb) Prosperity consists of property, possessions, the things that satisfy our inevitable natural needs—food, clothing, shelter, and, in general, a home—or the totality of things known as the necessities of life. Man received the duty to care for these along with his very life, and he cares for them because he loves life; and when he cares for them, he stakes his very life on it. Everything is acquired through the sweat of one’s brow, the expenditure of strength and blood. In return, contentment soothes the spirit, fills the heart with joy, and grants freedom in life. With sufficiency, one is as if within a secure enclosure. Therefore, if you love your brother, let all his property—everything he can call “mine”—be an inviolable sanctuary to you. For him, this is both a gift from God and the price of his blood: do not touch it. If you find something that is not yours, seek out the owner and return it to him; if you cannot find him, give it to the poor or to the house of God, for this property belongs to God. Others, when they lose something, say to the Lord: “Let it be for the poor.” Thus we must be doers of our brother’s will and, together, of the Will of Him who heard it. All the more, we must not cause harm to our brother’s property in any way whatsoever—whether by theft, unjust judgment, deception in a sale, barter, or other means—but, on the contrary, we must in every way contribute to the increase of his wealth through counsel and active assistance. It is a joy to look upon a contented person: joy is written on his brow. The sight of one weighed down by hardships is sorrowful: he is as if struck down, his head and eyes bowed. In the Word of God, the most severe judgments are prescribed for offenses of this kind, especially those committed against those from whom to take even a little means taking almost everything—such as orphans, widows, and hired laborers. Therefore, offenders of this kind are judged by God as murderers (Sir. 34:21–22).

bb) A favorable course of events. A person is active. Everyone has their own affairs, or occupations and labors, to which God has assigned them by birth and among which they spend their lives. Together with a good reputation and a measure of prosperity, these constitute a person’s lot; therefore, they are not neglected, but are arranged so that they proceed smoothly, so that a little effort is rewarded with good success, so that there are no major obstacles and strength is not wasted in vain, so that there are no unnecessary and vexing delays—in short, so that everything goes for him as smoothly as in a well-oiled machine. Whoever possesses this goes about their business with joy and returns home with joy, enjoying peace and security, without fear of harm. The course of affairs includes both work and interactions with others, even the ordinary routine of all daily activities with their times and places, where, as is evident, everything alternately winds down and unfolds. In relation to this flow, it is our duty to support it in every way, to place no obstacles in its path, to restore what has been disrupted—and not merely to refrain from disrupting it ourselves. Disrupting another’s affairs is a great wickedness, disturbing both the body and soul of the one whose affairs are affected, as well as those around him. Because of this, such a person is likened, in common parlance, to an arch-enemy. One who supports another is a benefactor, a joy to the soul. This person is a messenger of God, His representative, spreading joy around them and, like the sun, warming everyone. All eyes are upon them. And everyone should set as their goal the pursuit of happiness for others. One can be of service to another through advice, action, and assistance, or by providing the strength that the other lacks. Give the needy what they need. Sound advice, helpfulness, and lending—or loans—constitute sociability—the most necessary and, at the same time, most amiable virtue. No one can always have everything they need in the proper measure: one person has an abundance of one thing, another of another. That is why mutual cooperation is necessary—like pouring from one vessel into another—so that a single drink, called happiness, may be formed. Hence, be ready to do everything you can for others. If you are willing, others will be willing too, and God will assist you. When you see where help is needed, do not wait to be asked; offer your help yourself, as much as you can and in whatever way you can. A helpful person is a right hand to everyone in their circle. If someone asks to borrow something—give what you can without ruining yourself, expecting nothing in return; and if you have enough faith and strength of spirit, make no distinction between the one who asks and what he asks for... You are God’s steward. All such deeds provide a field for practicing the virtues of selflessness and flexibility.

If one ought to assist a brother in every way possible, this is all the more true when he wishes to enter into certain arrangements with us, under which, desiring to receive certain things from us, he himself is willing to do something in return for us. This is the origin of various kinds of agreements. A promise serves as their foundation. This promise must be sincere; know what you are promising, and do not promise what you cannot fulfill, for a promise must be kept: once you have given your word, stand by it. Here, trust is earned and the virtue of honesty is revealed.

Our levels of happiness are defined by the terms: rich and noble, content, poor, and destitute. In general, our brothers are either above us or equal to us in all matters of well-being. These degrees are either constant—as if unchangeable, established once and for all and constituting a brother’s fixed condition—or they are variable, rising and falling like the tides, depending on fortunate or unfortunate circumstances.

In the first case, regarding someone superior to you—that is, the rich and noble—rejoice for him and thank the Lord that He does not deprive us of such people; honor him with due respect for being a visible vessel of God’s graces, but do not flatter him when he humbles himself through his deeds; rather, either remain silent and withdraw, or speak the truth when the occasion arises, but without stubbornness, as if pleading; When he calls upon you, do not refuse to labor for him, for he must have the widest possible sphere of influence, which requires means—and be a source of strength to him. The good that comes from this will also be credited to you. As for those of lower station: do not despise them, but honor them with brotherly respect, as commanded; always be kind to them and warm their hearts with this kindness, so that they may feel they are under your care, as if under a wing; help them in every way and assist in improving their well-being in every respect. Here, the destitute—the poor—constitute a special category. Everyone who is well-off must be a foot, a hand, and an eye to such people, just as Job was... for it is said to each of them: “The poor are left to you; be a helper to the orphan” (Ps. 9:35). Therefore, feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, visit those in prison, care for the sick, give rest to the stranger, bury the dead, be merciful, and give alms generously. One most closely resembles God and the Lord through almsgiving, which cleanses sins. The Lord condescends so far to those who give alms that He Himself accepts what they give, and this is infinitely exalted...

In the second case. Happiness is not constant, but constantly rises and falls. That is why we see around us people who are rejoicing in happiness one moment and grieving over misfortune the next, whatever that misfortune may be. In this regard, the law is to rejoice with those who rejoice and to grieve with those who grieve. Such empathy is natural to the human heart, but the passions that have arisen through the Fall distort it, so that instead of rejoicing in another’s happiness, there is sorrow for them or envy; instead of sorrow over their misfortune, there is joy in it or schadenfreude. These demonic dispositions manifest in various shades that cannot even be described. Feelings of joy and sympathy must be expressed; that is, one must show joy to one person and sympathy to another—with comfort and a willingness to help.

Let no one think that all this is merely an outward act! No, it is not only outward but also inward. It springs—or should spring—from a sincerely loving heart, that is, from a good inner disposition, and, by turning toward the outward aspect of another, warms their inner being. The breath of brotherly love is invigorating, like the warmth of spring.

2b) The arena in which these dispositions and actions are manifested is mutual interaction. Such are the dispositions and deeds that a Christian is obligated to perform toward his brothers. All of them require direct interaction with others for their fulfillment; without it, like a seed, they remain undeveloped and unmanifested. Therefore, mutual interaction is a duty—though supplementary, it is nonetheless all-encompassing in the breadth of its application. It is to one’s duties toward one’s neighbor what prayer is to one’s duties toward God. Thus:

1. Every Christian is obligated to mutual fellowship. Willingly enter into fellowship with others, and conduct yourself in such a way that anyone may approach you without fear, with an open heart. He who shuns everyone acts contrary to this. Alienation is a deformity of the heart. But it is not the same as blessed seclusion or the life of a hermit. A hermit, though separated from others in body, remains with them in spirit, whereas this alienated person is separated from all in spirit, even while living among them. The alienated person grows cold, impoverished, and spiritually lifeless. On the contrary, the one who interacts with everyone opens up, grows richer, becomes fuller, and is formed, so that only constant communion with God and the angels is higher than this. It is also a school of self-knowledge. On his own, a person easily becomes conceited, but when he looks at others, he learns humility...

2. The duty of mutual interaction is simple, yet all-encompassing... It provides the means to fulfill all other duties toward one’s neighbors and therefore reveals a multitude of virtues which, though they are nothing other than the application of our general, already explained dispositions toward our brothers, nevertheless acquire here both specific names and specific qualities... Thus, here:

a) One must have sincere cordiality, that is, to welcome everyone from the heart, to feel content and truly delighted by another’s visit or encounter, and to rejoice in it wholeheartedly. It is wrong to feel bored or annoyed in such situations.

b) Kindness—that is, we must ensure that the other person feels comfortable with us, finds pleasure in our company, perks up, is put in a good mood, and never leaves feeling down. This requires agreeableness, friendliness, warmth, and simplicity, all within the bounds of propriety. A person who acts contrary to this is a burden… They are a burden to themselves and to others.

c) Modesty. One must conceal one’s own advantages and, on the contrary, elevate others above oneself. The opposite of this is pedantry, arrogance, and conceit.

d) Gentle peacefulness. Do not take offense yourself, nor offend others, but know how to keep your heart always in harmony with others. Peacefulness both reconciles itself with others and reconciles others, like peacemaking, or even overlooks offenses, like meekness. Opposite to this are offensiveness, quick temper, irascibility, exactingness, and intransigence.

d) Yielding gentleness. Mind meets mind, will meets will. When everyone wants to have their own way, disputes and disagreements arise. The meek person does not dislike the truth, but, having discovered it, modestly refrains from stubborn insistence where the truth is not fully appreciated, for the sake of preserving peace, while awaiting a more favorable opportunity to bring about understanding. Opposed to this are frivolity, intransigence, argumentativeness, and quarrelsomeness.

e) Love of truth. Present things frankly and truthfully, just as they are and as you are convinced. Deceitful lies, fraud, and cunning schemes are purely demonic deeds.

g) Prudent speech. The purpose of mutual interaction is not merely pleasure, but, above all, mutual edification for the common good. We must therefore not allow rotten words to come from our lips; we must know when to speak and when to remain silent. Contrary to this are idle chatter, nothing but jokes and witticisms.

h) Keeping secrets. During mutual encounters, there is a constant exchange of thoughts and information. To preserve peace, do not pass on to another what you have learned from one person without good reason, especially when it may be harmful. Conduct yourself as if you had heard nothing. Whoever is told that a secret is entrusted to him on the condition of silence—if he reveals it to anyone else—is not only imprudent but also a shameless traitor.

3. These are the good qualities needed in mutual fellowship! The primary means of mutual fellowship is mutual visitation. It should be established and maintained out of love, out of necessity, and for the sake of refreshing rest. Circumstances will determine with whom and when to engage in this; however, in doing so, all the virtues of mutual fellowship must be observed in every way, otherwise it becomes an evil... A special form of mutual fellowship, open and expansive, is constituted by gatherings and feasts. They are beneficial, for they set in motion the development of love—which has slowed due to disuse—and thus elevate and strengthen the inner bond among all. Here, the same thing occurs as in Volta’s pillar. It goes without saying, however, that they must be established not to please the flesh and the enemy, but for the benefit of the spirit and salvation. The ancient feasts of love serve as models for this. Above these worldly feasts are the feasts of Christ, or meals for the poor. The Lord Himself prescribed rules for them (Luke 14:12–14). They have now fallen into disuse due to the drying up of love, though they still persist in some places. Most often they now take the form of hospitality, which is a great virtue, rich in promises, for even a glass of water offered in time of need is not without heavenly reward, much less a full meal.

4. Mutual interaction aims to both realize and cultivate true Christian love. In its true form, it accomplishes this; in its false form, however, instead of uniting, it divides, and instead of love, it sows enmity. This occurs where passions reign in place of virtues. Thus, through mutual interaction, we gain benefactors, friends, and enemies.

We are deeply attached to our friends and benefactors. There is no need to teach or compel this. We need only caution against this attachment becoming exclusive, excluding others, or alienating us from them.

We must be grateful to them. Gratitude is a gracious and appealing quality... Whoever is grateful to people is also grateful to God. Gratitude is a sign of a humble spirit devoted to God... It, too, is an almost innate feeling. We must simply not limit it to people alone, but always direct it through them toward God, for everything comes from Him. Aside from special acts of kindness, we constantly receive favors while living with others. We must be grateful for every favor.

Cherish and protect the friend and benefactor you have as the apple of your eye, and do not let your own mistakes lead to losing them, for an old friend is better than a new one. A break here is as sorrowful as it is dangerous—both for life and for morality; for such relationships, once broken, rarely are mended. Of course, if the change is not on our part, what can be done!

One must strive to repay a benefactor in whatever way possible: through helpfulness, by fulfilling their wishes, by offering one’s services, and so on.

Since friends are dear to us, we must be very careful in choosing them.

What should we do with our enemies? A Christian must not be an enemy to anyone himself and, as far as possible, “live at peace with everyone” (Rom. 12:18; Heb. 12:14). If an enemy has arisen in any way, do not withhold your love from him, but strive in every way to reconcile with him, making every concession; be all the more ready for peace when it is offered. Even if he refuses to be reconciled, be a brother to him and do for him everything you would do for a beloved one, and even more: show him special kindness, remembering that love for enemies is the surest test of Christian love. Under no circumstances should one seek revenge. That is the work of Satan.

This concludes the overview of how a Christian, as a member of the Body of Christ, should conduct himself in fellowship with all who make up this Body, whether they are in heaven or on earth. One must only constantly remember that concern for this communion must not be for its own sake, but for the sake of the primary goal of Christian activity—communion with God in the Lord Jesus Christ; for both the Holy Church itself, as a house of salvation ( ), and as a community of the saved, exists for the sake of this one goal and is therefore truly so insofar as it fulfills this one goal. Just as in a living body all the members, being in a living union with one another, remain united with the head—and indeed live in union precisely because they are united with the head—so in the Body of Christ all Christians are firmly united with one another only when they are sincerely united with the Lord. The Lord Himself prayed about this: “May they all be one, just as You, Father, are in Me and I am in You, so may they also be one in Us” (John 17:21). Christian love is the direct offspring of Christian piety and has no other origin. Those who base their hope of salvation solely on charitable love flatter themselves in vain. It is not deeds alone that save, but the Spirit who sets all deeds in motion... And the Christian Spirit comes from God through the Lord Jesus Christ in the Holy Church. Everything that is now seen in Christianity is so intertwined, like the links of a single chain.

c) How a Christian should conduct and form himself in order to be in a living union with the Church, and through her with God

c) How should a Christian conduct and form himself in order to be in a living union with the Church, and through it with God

From the concept of a living union among Christians, similar to that which exists among the members of the body, one might conclude that whoever has entered into this union has nothing else to worry about. For just as in the body each member, acting for the sake of the others, is itself formed by the power of the whole body (a formative power), so too the Christian, acting entirely for the sake of the body of the Church, can sustain and form himself through the whole body. But, on the other hand, since this union is free—that is, founded on freedom and sustained by freedom—even after a Christian has become part of the body of the Church, he remains there not against his will, as if out of some necessity, but solely by his own choice. From this it is natural to ask: how, then, should a Christian conduct himself within the Body of the Church so as not to fall away from union with it? It must also be taken into account that every Christian forms himself, albeit with the essentially necessary help of Divine grace received in the Holy Church. The question arises: how, then, should a Christian form himself in order to have the right and be able to stand in a living union with such and such members? The answers to these questions will determine the manner in which a Christian should conduct himself. Defining this approach is all the more necessary because so close to us and so strong in each of us is our principal weakness—selfishness, which constantly strives to draw everything into itself or to turn it into tools for its own ends. The more difficult it is to keep true self-love within proper bounds, the more necessary it is to provide guidance for it, or to set forth the rules it requires. The main tone of Christian conduct toward oneself is self-denial, but if, in order to be fruitful, it must be done wisely and not indiscriminately, then it is necessary to specify in what ways and how self-centeredness draws one toward itself, and how a Christian must then deny himself in order to stand firm in the truth! This is the meaning of the course of action that is obligatory for a Christian in relation to himself! It determines how, amidst acts of self-denial, he must conduct himself and form his character in order to be a true member of the Church—not in name only, but in spirit—and to remain always in a true, living union with her, and through her, with God.

It is evident from this that there are two points to which the Christian’s gaze must turn: the spirit of faith and the Church, and the Christian himself, in his entirety and condition. From there he draws the spirit of action upon himself and, as it were, an ideal; here he sees exactly what he must do with himself and of himself, based on those principles. Consequently, what must be defined in this regard is how a Christian should understand and perceive himself in light of the terms of his union with the Church under the headship of Christ, and what he must do with this or that aspect of his being, or with his condition as a result of this union.

aa) The feelings and dispositions of a Christian under the terms of entering into union with the Church. Everything pertaining to the first point revolves around the idea of a Christian entering into union with the Church as a community of believers and those being saved. Various questions that naturally arise in this context lead to the corresponding feelings and dispositions with which a Christian ought to reflect upon himself. Namely, having already entered the Church: from where? How? For what purpose?

a) From where did you come? From the abyss of perdition. You were in Satan’s hands, sold into sin, subject to the tribute of death and hell. Now all that is behind you. Remember, then, where you came from; turn your thoughts more often to the darkness of that abyss, lest you return there again through your deeds; pour out your thanksgiving to God the Deliverer, crying out to Him: “Glory to You, O God, my Savior!” —so that the saving hand may not be withdrawn and you may not fall back into that same place, as your thoughts descend into that state and you realize how great an evil man has brought upon himself and what a great price he has exacted from God for his deliverance—weep and lament that this has happened; that is, weep over the fall. Thus, the heart-rending memory of the abyss of the Fall, accompanied by weeping over it and heartfelt thanksgiving to God the Savior, are essential dispositions for a Christian when he looks back on what he once was. They are essential because their subject pertains to the living history of humankind, and its traces remain to this day both within us and outside of us. A Christian does not stand directly before God, but presents himself as one brought back to life from the dead, as a prisoner before the King. Let him always recognize and feel himself in this way. The benefit of this is great: here lies the lesson in humility and in the cultivation of alert attention. The Church guides us toward this by designating a special day for remembrance and lamentation over the Fall, and provides a prayer for this purpose. Many holy fathers devoted themselves to this lamentation for a long time and have left it to us in hymns. The nature of this lamentation is sorrow, anguish, and regret that this is so—and through our own fault. It is the fruit of love for God and for oneself, or for one’s own nature; it is regret over how man has deprived himself and what he has compelled God to do.

b) How did he enter into it? Through the covenant of baptism. God delivers man from all evils in exchange for his vow to always serve Him alone in Christ Jesus, trampling underfoot Satan and all his works. Therefore...

1) Remember the vows you made at baptism; you did not make them to people, but to God, who accepted them from you and, for their sake, has already shown mercy and promises to show even more mercy.

2) Remain faithful to them: the moment you break your faithfulness, all that has been given is taken away and all that has been promised is nullified.

3) Reverently honor the privileges granted to you here; do not dishonor the name and power of Christianity by deviating from the terms.

4) Remain in this order until death. All righteousness will be forgotten in the hour of apostasy. The end crowns the work. Only those who are constantly faithful and unwavering until death are crowned. Be faithful until death, and the crown of life will be given to you.

5) Fight under the banner of Christ. Aware that you are a warrior, stand as if on guard, ready to strike down your enemies. Be vigilant, stay alert, and remain on high alert.

Therefore, remembering your baptismal vows and cherishing the blessings received therein, remain faithful to them until death, fighting under the banner of Christ. Breaking a vow is dishonorable among people; all the more so before God... But here lies the greatest calamity. For the one who breaks his vow is cast into the very calamity from which he may never find deliverance.

c) Why did he come? For salvation—seeking it alone and, without a doubt, hoping to find it here. Such is the meaning of the preaching of Christ’s Gospel!... You who are perishing, come here! Here is the house of salvation! The believer confesses this and says: I, who am perishing, come for the sake of salvation, hoping to receive it nowhere else but here. The community of believers is the house of those who are being saved, but not yet saved. The power of salvation is to be revealed in the age to come. For now, it is only being acquired, and its power works secretly, invisibly. Therefore, people join not merely to reap the fruits, but also to sow with hope. On the pediment of the church is the inscription: “Seek, strive, press on.” A Christian takes on this commitment upon joining the Church—or joins it for that very reason... The question arises: why is this so? Here is the answer: the powers have been received; now they must be channeled throughout our entire being, just as oxygen—inhaled into the lungs from the air—is carried throughout the body via the blood. Furthermore: evil runs deep; we must cast it out, liberate our natural powers from it, and blend the graced powers we have received with them. How is this done? By developing both our natural and graced powers, sanctifying the former with the latter, and channeling the graced powers through the natural ones—or allowing the natural powers to be permeated by them. The aspiration characteristic of Christians is an inner transformation of themselves. What should one seek? The honors of a higher calling, transformation from glory to glory, from strength to strength; attaining the measure of the full stature of Christ—in other words, seeking the highest degrees of perfection in Christ Jesus—this is what one must set as one’s goal. Since the model of perfection for Christians is Jesus Christ and the measure of this perfection is the most complete likeness to Him, the duty to strive for perfection is the same as the duty to imitate the Lord Jesus Christ, to embody Him within oneself, and to imprint His perfections upon oneself. Furthermore, since the model of perfection is infinite, while we are finite—despite our duty to imitate Him—we can never and must never say that we have already attained what we seek; rather, we must “forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal” (Phil. 3:13). It is extremely dangerous to feel that one has already arrived. The inevitable consequence of this is stagnation of strength and life. Therefore, the one seeking salvation, by developing his God-given and natural strengths, should strive for perfection—the reflection of Christ the Lord within himself—never saying, “Enough,” but always reaching for the highest or always just beginning. These are the fundamental feelings and dispositions with which a Christian ought to relate to himself. Let no one be surprised that respect for one’s own nature is not placed first here. This nature, worthy of respect, has been distorted by our fall. Therefore, we must lament this and sigh along with all of creation that sighs over it. It is also clear to everyone why, instead of fidelity to the principles of humanity, fidelity to the vows of baptism is held as obligatory, and instead of progress striving toward an indefinite distance—the pursuit of the honor of the higher calling in Christ Jesus. That is the language of a pagan moralist, unknown in the Church of Christ. Living in the world, one must distinguish between different discourses and not accept every resounding word as truth. Much falsehood and flattery circulate in the world. Let everyone heed the Word of God. It alone is the faithful lamp in the darkness of this life.

aa) How, then, should he conduct himself?

1) The chief law is self-mastery through self-sacrifice to God. In this regard, one must pay particular attention to what happened to the Christian when he became a Christian. He is called a new creation, born again; what did this new birth bring about in him? To determine this, one must turn to the original nature of man and his subsequent condition. In the very beginning, God, granting man freedom, entrusted him to himself: let him do whatever his soul chooses; but at the same time, within the nature of freedom and the essence of the human spirit, He embedded a secret decree to freely surrender oneself to God in order to enjoy true freedom. This has not been fulfilled, for it has not been understood or has been misinterpreted. Man did not submit to God and fell into slavery to sin and the devil, serving them as a slave. In this state, he is unfit to perform deeds worthy of man and of God. It is necessary to restore his freedom, to establish him as ruler over himself, and to give him the strength to subdue his tyrant—the devil—under his feet. This is accomplished through the new birth, granted to the Christian from above. Here, a person reigns over himself and gains the courage and strength to trample the devil underfoot. But again, so that the same bitter fate does not recur, this king, reigning over himself, must submit himself to the one God; he must fulfill the original condition of surrendering his freedom to God—that is, freely offering his whole self as a sacrifice to God. The Apostle commands those who have come to the Lord as “living stones” to build themselves up “into a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices… acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Pet. 2:5). So, here is the first law for a Christian! Having reign over yourself and been graced, rule over all that you possess, but offer your whole self as a sacrifice to God in Jesus Christ. This sacrifice is not death, but true life. Just as a flower held up to the sun warms and revives it, so the Christian who lifts up himself and all that he has to God is united with Him, is filled by Him and brought to life. Thus, in this self-sacrifice lies the true life and true perfection of the Christian in every aspect—or in everything he offers to God. Rule over your inner and outer self, and, as your own, surrender it to God.

This self-control and self-sacrifice of the Christian extends to his whole being and to everything he possesses. Just as there must be nothing within or outside him that escapes his authority, lies outside it, or—much less—opposes it, so too, in the realm of freedom, there must be nothing that has not been offered up and surrendered to God—nothing that has been definitively appropriated for oneself and asserted as one’s own. The Christian is a ceaseless offerer and a complete sacrifice to God.

2) The Aspects of Self-Sacrifice. Since two aspects are seemingly distinguishable in every person—his own person and his condition—the sacrifices required of a Christian must pertain to both of these aspects.

A person’s being consists of body and soul. Hence, there are sacrifices of the soul and of the body. “Glorify God in your bodies and in your souls, which belong to God” (1 Cor. 6:20). Take control of your soul and offer it up to God; take control of your body and offer it up to the same God (Rom. 12:1).

2a) Sacrifices of the soul.

As for the soul, here is the law: destroy your soul and you will save it; fail to destroy it, and you will destroy it; so commanded the Savior. This destruction is already accomplished in the act of new birth; for where there is the whole, there is also the part. However, whenever a Christian turns his attention to the soul, he must bear in mind that it must be destroyed both as a whole and in its parts. This is the meaning of self-denial. Cast yourself down at your feet and trample on yourself without mercy. Whoever does not possess and maintain this disposition will never gain mastery over himself. He may wear himself out in toil, but he will see no fruit. He who has not destroyed his soul destroys all his goodness and renders all his labor futile. This is the main point. Now, let us consider the parts.

One must lay everything within oneself down and offer it to God as a sacrifice for sanctification, or for the reception of true life. Therefore:

1. Offer your mind to God so that you may become wise. “Let anyone who claims to be wise become truly wise,” says the apostle (1 Cor. 3:18). A mind devoted to God is filled with true wisdom from Him. Therefore, strip your mind of its own wisdom, subdue it, and surrender it to God. Hence, it is essential for a Christian not to have a mind of his own or, as the holy ascetics say, not to form his own opinions. This duty is fulfilled when a Christian, acknowledging something as true, does so not because he finds it so by his own reasoning, but because it is so written and handed down by God; when, accepting a commandment or a dogma, he does not question why! —does not ask in bewilderment, “Is that so?”—nor does he suggest, with worldly wisdom, “Wouldn’t it be better this way?”—but believes childlike in what is revealed to him and finds rest in it.

When, in this way, the mind is subdued and made an unquestioning recipient, it must be filled with the holy truths handed down to us. This is the duty of having the mind of Christ, or of acquiring true wisdom, which descends from God and embraces all things. What is all that exists, where does it come from, what is the fate of all things, what is man, what he was, what he has become, what awaits him, what is the path to eternal bliss?—in short, the entire body of faith must fit within the mind, blend with it, and be consciously held by it. It is evident that a Christian, by his very calling, is a true philosopher, taught from above.

Furthermore, since Christian wisdom is not idle but active, and action requires the ability to act, it is always accompanied by prudence—the knowledge of how to conduct one’s affairs and how to align means with ends—or, in other words, Christian prudence, to which the Savior commits us when He says, “Be wise as serpents” (Matt. 10:16), and the Apostle: “Conduct yourselves with wisdom toward those outside” (Col. 4:5). Among the Holy Fathers, it is called either “prudent consideration” or simply “reasoning,” and to it is entrusted, in general, the governance of all human affairs: both internal and external. This is both the gift of counsel and an acquisition gained through attention and effort. However, even without possessing a high degree of prudence within oneself, one can still be prudent if, not trusting in oneself, one always seeks counsel from people known for their wisdom. When prudence is prescribed, it is not necessarily commanded that one be a man of counsel, but rather that our affairs be conducted with counsel, even if it is not our own.

The question is: How should a Christian conduct himself with regard to worldly wisdom, or to a scientific education? From among the subjects of this wisdom, choose those most necessary for your circumstances—especially those to which you feel drawn, as well as those in which your fellow Christians are most in need. And in your studies, strive to sanctify the principles of every science you study with the light of heavenly wisdom—or even to draw them from that realm; as for other principles that are hostile to it, not only should you not accept them, but you must drive them out and persecute them. In general, there is nothing wrong with expanding one’s knowledge of things through observation and the reasoning of the mind… It is only necessary that this be done once one already possesses true wisdom. For the latter, being eternal, heavenly, and divine, must take precedence, while the former, being suitable only for a time, must be subordinate. For this very reason, one must never, in word or thought, attribute any unconditional significance to the latter, nor place it above, but rather regard it as crawling lowly on the ground, as it truly is, and not allow oneself to take pride in it or in oneself for its sake. One more remark on the measure of one’s abilities. The measure of one’s abilities comes from God. Therefore, accept it with gratitude and contentment, but do not torment yourself if it is not too high. Everyone is capable of knowing what is necessary and essential. Special scientific knowledge is not for everyone. Special people are born for this purpose, to whom God entrusts such knowledge and from whom He will demand their well-being and goodness. However, it is not uncommon for God Himself to yield to the faith and seeking of those who love Him and, through His blessing, to open up what He had closed at birth. Therefore, work hard, for through labor one’s strength is increased; and above all, seek and pray. Who has believed and been put to shame? Yet even so, entrust yourself to God, for He knows best what is salvific for us. If, however, it turns out that the weakness of our knowledge and strength depends on us—on our negligence and debauchery—then we must be contrite over this, and after our contrition, do everything possible to restore what has been disrupted.

2. Surrender your will to God so that you may be sanctified and have strength. When a person renounces his own will, the Lord comes and bestows upon it holiness and strength—that is, holy rules and principles of conduct, along with the strength to walk in them and keep them. Thus, it is characteristic of a Christian not to have a will of his own. Whatever you do, do it not because you want to, but because you must—because God’s will requires it, however that will may manifest itself. In the Word of God, there is not the slightest leniency toward those who follow their own will, and the holy fathers command not only that one should not act according to one’s own will, but, on the contrary, that one should always act contrary to it.

Therefore, one must nourish one’s will with the rules and principles of God’s will; one must not only know what God’s will is, but imprint it upon one’s own will, so that God’s will may be the force that stirs and moves the human will. This is from within. Moreover, with regard to the inner spirit, one must comprehensively shield oneself with rules—though conditional at first, yet unconditional in their significance and choice.

In addition to this, we must also ensure that our will is flexible and quick to carry out God’s will, steadfast and measured in this, strong and unshakable. Since this is achieved through effort, this duty is the same as the duty of asceticism—a duty so rarely recognized, and even then only by very few.

3. Offer your heart to God in order to find bliss. The heart cannot help but be possessed by something. But it suffers from insatiability and longing when it is possessed by created things. It is necessary to free it from these bonds of attachment and give it to God. The measure of this sacrifice is the measure of bliss. This duty is directly commanded in the words, “My son, give me your heart” (Prov. 23:26), and implicitly in the exhortations to “rejoice always” (Phil. 4:10; 1 Thess. 5:16) and “be at peace” (2 Cor. 13:11; Heb. 12:14). Hence, it is characteristic of a Christian not to keep his heart for himself, or to indulge his feelings and desires, not to take pleasure in what we like, but in what God has declared to be good, joyful, and blissful. This is the same as detaching the heart from everything. Where this is not observed, the waywardness of the heart’s feelings prevails—a tyrannical waywardness similar to that of the mind and will.

Then it is necessary to cultivate sympathy for all that is holy and divine through the genuine imprinting of holy religious sentiments upon the heart... All of this, taken together, will constitute the virginal purity of the heart, radiating unceasing peace and sweet warmth; to preserve this within oneself—both as a gift from God and as the good fruit of one’s labors—is a great, though not an easy, duty of the Christian.

This also directly determines the rule regarding feelings inspired from without—even the most innocent ones—aroused by aesthetic objects. Delight in the latter is permissible only if their content is drawn from the world of God or if they represent that world in a form that can be tolerated by the true spirit of piety.

4. Likewise, all the lower faculties must first be subordinated, or placed in the service of the higher ones, and through them offered up to God as a sacrifice and sanctified in Him. These include the imagination and memory, as well as the passions and desires. When a person fell and lost control of himself, his self-will was reflected most strongly in his lower faculties, so that, until he emerges from the state of the fall, he is a slave to his imagination, passions, and desires. Although, by reigning within himself through self-sacrifice to God, he is freed from their tyranny, these powers—still untamed—continue to require restraint even afterward, for they often become agitated and rebel. Hence the duties: to watch over oneself, especially over the imagination and the stirrings of the passions; to overcome and subdue one’s lower self, or to struggle against it; to direct it toward one’s goals for the good of the inner life—that is, to completely suppress some aspects of it, and, if allowing others to act, to compel them to act only according to one’s own judgment.

This work of transforming the lower part of oneself is difficult and protracted, but inevitable. The Apostle Paul commands us to continue this process until self-mortification. “Put to death,” he says, “your members that are on the earth” (Col. 3:5). Here he refers, of course, to the body and the lower faculties closest to the body, all of which are directed toward the earth and earthly things. Of course, they cannot be destroyed, but one can and must destroy in them self-will, unwholesome objects, and vicious tendencies. When confusion arises in them, it must be subdued; when there is a deviation from the real toward the empty and the fanciful—one must anchor them to the real. Let them act according to the guidance of higher powers. Do you need, for example, assistance for the mind? Provide an image; recall it. In this way, they will be dead to dead works and will always be awakened by the inspiration of the spirit. Do you need, for example, to be angry at sin?—then be angry.

Since the restlessness of these powers is aroused most of all by external distractions, the only remedy against it—and consequently, an important duty—is not to be distracted, not to be scattered, to seek solitude, and to accustom oneself to composure. Distraction is both a path to the extinction of the spirit and a decisive sign of it. In addition to external distractions—which are remedied by seclusion and composure—other sources and, at the same time, irritants of inner turmoil are the external senses and the tongue. Hence the duty to guard one’s senses and restrain one’s tongue. The senses can introduce impurity into the soul; the tongue can deplete the soul’s goodness and diminish it. One must, however, remember that behind speech lies talkativeness, behind the senses lies a thirst for impressions and effects, and behind distractions lies absent-mindedness. Therefore, one should not limit oneself to restraining a single external factor, but must go deeper to the underlying tendencies and root them out.

2b) Sacrifices of the Body.

Now, regarding how a Christian should treat his body. The body is the vessel of the soul and the spirit, the organ of interaction with the external world, the instrument for fulfilling one’s earthly purpose, and the means of preparing oneself for eternity; therefore, it is worthy of all attention, care, and vigilance. But, despite its importance, the body cannot rule itself; rather, everything must be placed under the authority of the spirit. Hence, the primary principle in dealing with the body is to exercise sovereign control over it as the most essential organ. Whoever submits to the body destroys both body and soul. One must care for the body, but detachedly and dispassionately, without extending that care to “lusts” (Rom. 13:14). Having no autonomy in our person and no purpose in itself, the body cannot and must not develop on its own. Its cultivation and adaptation to a purpose belong to the person himself. Hence:

1. One must preserve the life of the body, its integrity, and its health by lawful means as long as none of these need be sacrificed for the ultimate and higher purposes of a Christian. Although longevity lies in God’s hands, it does not, by God’s will, bypass human hands. One must, as far as possible, learn about and follow the remedies devised for this purpose by sound medicine. We live to reap the fruits of eternity; yet we must cherish life, for it is a prerequisite. Do not squander life in vain. Make the most of every minute of your life and do not waste time in vain. We have been given a measure of strength for our work. This measure of strength must be preserved and increased by distributing it over the entire span of life. Excessive expenditure of strength will yield fewer fruits, and those fruits will be of little lasting value. Life and strength are depleted by ill health. No one is completely healthy; everyone is ill in some way, though they may not feel it; at the very least, everyone is ready at any moment to fall ill to the point of helplessness. One must safeguard one’s health, prevent the onset of illness, and, when illness has already set in, treat it with wholesome and natural remedies. Nevertheless, the length of our lives is not within our control; therefore, having done all that is in our power, we must resolutely entrust ourselves to God’s will and await at every moment His decree or call to depart from this life—and consequently, prepare for it at every moment.

2. We must train our bodies and make them suitable instruments for fulfilling our earthly purpose. In general, we must ensure that it is lively, strong, and agile. An inactive, weak, and sluggish body—what kind of instrument is that? Therefore, to the extent that human means are available, we must ward off these shortcomings and preserve the aforementioned virtues within it. It goes without saying that this must not be achieved at the expense of morality and purity of heart. Physical exercises are intended for this purpose. A teacher who, for the sake of the body’s strength and vitality, destroys the soul is wicked. On the contrary, if possessing these physical perfections might cause harm to the soul, or if one cannot attain them without such harm, it is better not to have them. For what kind of means is it that leads one away from the goal? In particular, one must adapt one’s body to one’s calling and station in life, or acquire the skill to use it appropriately for one’s purpose. Where the eye is needed, train the eye; where the hand is needed, train the hand; where the foot is needed, train the foot; and so on.

3. A constant focus in the care and formation of the body must be its discipline—that is, governing it in accordance with the spirit and demands of Christian perfection. This includes: a) its constant vigilance, or maintaining it in the posture of one standing guard. Relaxation and idleness of the body weaken a person’s moral strength and bring one closer to a fall; b) keeping it constantly active. One must avoid bodily comfort of any kind. This applies to food and drink, sleep and rest, skin irritation, body temperature, and so on. Here, not only are sensual indulgence, gluttony, drowsiness, idleness, and the like vices and sins, but also any activity in which the comfort of the body is made the goal—or, as they say, to pamper oneself, cool off, lie down, and so on; for all of this signifies a relaxed spirit and, in turn, produces relaxation. Each such activity has this effect, and all the more so if one constantly keeps one’s body in a state of laxity, indulgence, and idleness. A little relaxation may be permissible, but only very rarely, and with vigilance toward moral goals. It is true that any satisfaction of the body’s needs brings it rest; but even so, there is always the possibility of turning one’s attention away from it inwardly, which is what one ought to do. Let the body have its due and rest, but do not find rest in it yourself; rather, regard it as a working animal that is resting.

4. Finally, there is a matter in which the duties of the body and the soul are combined, and a violation of which constitutes a violation of both. This is chastity. The source of the body’s vitality is the nerves; in them lie the foundations and strength of the muscles. Every body is assigned its own supply of these nerves and, along with them, nervous tissue. Preserving this reserve in moderation is a prerequisite for the health and vitality of the body. Whoever depletes it is killing himself or bringing himself closer to death. It is preserved through chastity and depleted through immorality. Immorality weakens and subjects even a living body to decay, for it robs it of its life-giving principle. The immoral person is guilty because the human person suffers within them. This applies to both spiritual and physical immorality. In the latter, a person descends and is reduced to the level of an animal, becoming shameless and losing their sense of humanity. In the former—that is, in passionate love for a single person—one loses oneself and lives within the other, which sometimes extends to perceiving the other’s very face, or to identifying oneself with the other. Passionate love is a disease of the soul, one that exhausts and consumes it. The acts of immorality to which it leads, meanwhile, exhaust the body... Taken together, they constitute a great scourge of the human race. Chastity demands a great deal. It guards the eyes, the ears, the sense of touch, and, most importantly, the sobriety of the inner senses to the point of indifference and detachment from everything. The immoral person immediately becomes ensnared and surrenders his soul; his eyes and ears are left unchecked. At the root of this kind of life lies a love-obsessed nature, which is tormenting and deadly. This calamity threatens young men above all, but even men and the elderly are not safe from it.

By acting in this way toward his body and soul, a Christian will truly glorify God in soul and body and do everything for the glory of God. How well-ordered is the one who treats himself as the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus requires! May the Lord be everyone’s helper in this!

2b) Offerings from what is outside oneself, even though one possesses it.

And everything that is outside the Christian, yet which he possesses, he must offer as a sacrifice to God. Just as he receives everything from the Lord’s hand, so he must also offer it up to Him or consecrate it. Here:

1. The first things he encounters, setting aside his own self, are the necessities of the body, or all worldly matters: shelter, food, clothing—in general: possessions, sustenance, and property. The first duty regarding these in the Christian’s external life is to acquire, preserve, and use all things as is proper. St. Dorotheus calls this “conscience regarding material things.” This is absolutely essential in every respect. Who else is to care for us, if not ourselves? Labor for this purpose is a means of humility and enlightenment, ordained from the very beginning, immediately after the Fall. However, one must use honest and God-ordained means in doing so, the chief of which consists in labor and diligent action, primarily in accordance with one’s calling; and while applying one’s labor and efforts, one must expect everything from God alone, therefore praying for His blessing and accepting success as coming from the hand of God. There is no obligation for everyone to seek wealth; but if anyone possesses the means at hand—as if indicated by God—and sees a special blessing, and wealth flows, then, without setting one’s heart on it, one should accept it, multiply it, and preserve it, and use everything for the glory of God and the benefit of the brethren, recognizing oneself and feeling like a steward in the house of God. If, however, one lacks such means, or if they do not yield sufficient income, and one therefore feels a sense of scarcity, one should bear it cheerfully, confident that God, who ordains all things, sees better than we do what is best for us. The same should be felt by those who suffer loss. One acts unlawfully with worldly goods if one becomes attached to them, tormenting oneself with excessive concern over acquiring them, stinginess in storing them, and wastefulness in using them. The greatest feat in this regard is voluntary poverty.

2. When leaving one’s home and entering the community of others—which is, as it were, a step away from one’s own self—a Christian must bear on his brow the marks of honor, dignity, and self-respect, or have a good reputation. Without this, he can do nothing or expect success in anything. A name belongs to everyone by nature, and everyone has one; however, there are also duties associated with it. In this regard, a Christian must act honestly, conscientiously, in accordance with his faith and his duty, without worrying about what others will say or think of him, and without being in the least troubled by their judgment. True honor is a righteous and virtuous life. When someone bestows honor upon him for this and expresses it in word or deed, he may accept it—always, however, keeping in mind that it is a fleeting external adornment, valuable only when there is inner beauty. Honor entails responsibilities. By virtue of the trust inseparable from one’s name, one may be obliged to accept an office along with the benefits that come with it. One must accept it, for God calls; but one must accept it not as a promotion, but as the yoke of service to one’s brothers, and set out not for self-exaltation, but for labor—that you may be a servant to all and a minister. But as soon as you notice that this service is beyond your strength or that it leads to a disturbance of your inner , you may always humbly decline—not out of self-will, not to indulge laziness, but after careful counsel and reflection. Moreover, the higher one’s position, the more one must humble oneself and, always receiving all honor and dignity from God, dedicate and entrust them to Him. As for cases where one’s honor is insulted, one may, without anger or strife, prove one’s rightness; one may demand the lawful restoration of one’s reputation, without causing offense to others and without disturbing peace and love; but it is better to endure, entrusting oneself, one’s fate, and those who insult one to the Lord.

Those who err in this regard are those who set as their goal either the opinion of others—such as the vain and glory-seeking—or honor and dignity—such as the ambitious and power-hungry. The greatest feat in this regard is holy folly.

3. So that all this may be more easily accomplished, one must ensure the smooth running of one’s affairs, or the proper ordering of one’s external life. Settle yourself if you have not been provided for by your parents. Do not loiter idly. Take on a task for which you consider yourself capable. Once you have established yourself, you must work tirelessly within your sphere, without fear of illness from labor or anxiety, without being deterred by failure, and without fear of obstacles. But order is paramount. A person must bring regularity to their entire life, to their activities and relationships. This is the structure of life, or the course of affairs, where everything is given its proper measure and weight. Moderation in food and drink, moderation in clothing, in home decoration, in work and rest, in acquaintances and relationships. The lazy, the idle, the disorderly, drunkards, dandies, the ostentatious, and revelers sin against this.

This concludes the commandments and rules binding upon a Christian as a Christian. The intention was to imbue all our obligatory deeds, feelings, and dispositions with a single thought, and to establish our Lord and Savior as sovereign in all things, so that He may never depart from the eye of our mind or the feelings of our heart, no matter what we do. If something like this takes root in the reader’s soul after reading all of this, let us give thanks to the Lord. We must serve the Lord in every way, and this service will teach us everything better than any theory. Bless us, O Lord!

V. Commandments and Rules of Life Binding Upon a Christian According to the Circumstances and Relationships in Which He Finds Himself in This Life

There is a range of duties incumbent upon a Christian—not merely because he is a Christian, but also because he finds himself in one situation or another, in one relationship or another. These are relative duties. They are also called mutual because they concern a person who is in some lawful relationship with others; they rest upon him in mutual relation to other persons and, while requiring a certain kind of action from him, at the same time require mutual compliance from others as well. These include the duties of a Christian as viewed within the family, the Church, and society. It can be seen that they correspond to the duties enumerated thus far and constitute, as it were, arenas for the exercise and fulfillment of those duties.

13. Family Duties

A family is a community that, under one head and through the harmonious performance of various tasks, arranges its external well-being to support its internal well-being. It usually consists of parents and children, sometimes including other relatives and servants. In this regard, there are duties common to the entire family and mutual duties among the various family members.

1) Common Responsibilities of the Entire Family

a) The Head

The head of the family, whoever that may be, must take upon himself the full and comprehensive care of the entire household, in all its aspects, and exercise constant vigilance over it, recognizing that he is accountable both before God and before people for its welfare and misfortune; for in his or her person he or she represents the whole family: he or she receives both shame and praise on its behalf, suffers and rejoices for it. This care, in particular, must be directed 1a) toward prudent, sound, and comprehensive household management, so that all may have, to the best of their ability, a comfortable life, free from hardship and want. In this lies worldly wisdom—honest and blessed by God... In this regard, he is the steward and ruler of affairs. It is up to him to decide when to begin something, what each person should do, with whom to enter into what kind of transactions, and so on. 2a) While attending to material affairs, spiritual matters also fall to him. The main things here are faith and piety. The family is a church. He is the head of this church. Let him, then, preserve its purity. The manner and times of family prayer are his responsibility: determine them and uphold them. The methods of instructing the family in the faith are his responsibility; the religious life of each family member is his responsibility: instruct them, strengthen them, and guide them to a life of moderation. 3a) While managing everything internally with one hand, he must act externally with the other; with one eye he looks inward, with the other—outward. The family follows him. When he appears in society, society holds him directly responsible for the entire family. Therefore, all necessary interactions and public affairs rest upon him. He must know what is needed and put it into practice. 4a) Finally, it is his duty to preserve family customs—both common and private—and, in the latter case, especially to uphold the spirit and morals of the ancestors within the family and to pass on the memory of them from generation to generation. Every family has its own character; let it remain and be preserved, yet in harmony with the spirit of piety. From their diversity will emerge a harmonious yet varied and complete whole—a village, a city, a state.

b) The Entire Family

b) The entire family

Under the head are all the members of the family—every one of them. First and foremost, they must 1b) have a head, not be without one, and under no circumstances allow there to be two or more. This is required by simple prudence and for their own good, which would otherwise be impossible. 2b) Next, once there is a head, they must obey him in everything, not impose their own orders, not act on their own initiative, and not neglect what has been commanded. 3b) They must live among themselves in strong peace and harmony, in heartfelt unity: a division of forces weakens and hinders success. 4b) From this comes mutual aid and cooperation: you help one person, and that person helps you. 5b) Finally, when going out into the world, do not reveal the household’s secrets. Let outsiders know only what is external. What happens within must remain a sacred secret for the entire household. One must defend the honor of one’s household in both word and deed: do not bring shame upon it through bad deeds, nor speak ill of it; defend it when you hear something amiss; for the honor of the household, blessed by God, is the virtuous, pure, and godly life of all its members—a life known to all and one that inspires respect and trust in them.

2) Mutual Responsibilities of Different Family Members

3) Spouses

a) General duties

Marriage brings temporary happiness and even eternal salvation. Therefore, one should not enter into it lightly, but with reverence and caution. , God, blesses a good marriage. Therefore, be devout and devoted to God; trusting in Him, pray that He Himself may send you a partner who is pleasing to Him and salvific for you. When seeking a marital union, do not entertain evil motives, such as passionate indulgence, self-interest, or vanity; but seek only that which God has ordained: mutual support in this temporary life for the sake of the eternal, for the glory of God and the good of others. When you have found such a partner, accept them as a gift from God, with gratitude to God—with as much love as you have, and with equal respect for this gift.

When the choice is made, a union must take place—a mysterious fusion of spirit and body ordained by God. A natural union based on love is a wild and gloomy union. Here it is purified, sanctified, and sobered by the prayer of the Church through divine grace. It is difficult for one person alone to stand firm in a strong and salvific union. The bonds of nature are broken. Grace is insurmountable. Presumption is dangerous everywhere, and all the more so here... Therefore, approach the sacrament with humility, fasting, and prayer.

Having been united, they have become one flesh—and all the more so, one soul. Their shared duties are founded on this concept, namely: a strong love—not passionate, but pure and sober—evidenced inwardly by mutual affection and lively participation, as well as by prompt and responsive sympathy; and outwardly, by mutual cooperation, whereby the eye and hand of one are where those of the other are. From this flow unbroken peace and indissoluble harmony, which prevent discontent and quickly resolve any that may have arisen unexpectedly; trust, by which one can undoubtedly rely on the other in everything and be at ease regarding the other in all matters: whether they concern secrets or entrusted tasks. The crown of it all is marital fidelity—that is, upholding the first condition of the union: to belong to one another alone, in body and soul. A husband does not belong to himself but to his wife, and a wife does not belong to herself but to her husband. Fidelity strengthens trust; infidelity—even if only suspected—gives rise to suspicious jealousy, which drives away peace and harmony and destroys family happiness. Not to be jealous is a sacred duty, but at the same time a feat—or the art of marital wisdom and love. For here the ego always intervenes, demanding exclusivity while at the same time fearing for it. Here it is utterly ridiculous, arming itself against itself.

b) The Husband’s Duties

As for the specific duties of each spouse, they stem from an understanding of the role of each. The husband is the head of his wife. Therefore, the husband must exercise and demonstrate his authority over his wife without humiliating himself or surrendering his leadership out of cowardice or passion, for this is a disgrace to husbands. However, this authority must not be despotic, but loving. Treat your wife as a friend, and through strong love, lead her to submit to you. In all matters, you must regard her as your foremost, most faithful, and most sincere advisor, and the first confidante of your secrets. He must watch over her, care for her intellectual and moral perfection, gently and patiently correcting what is wrong and fostering what is good, while bearing with good grace and piety whatever in her body or character is beyond correction. But under no circumstances should he allow himself to corrupt her through his negligence or licentiousness. A husband is a murderer if a humble, meek, and pious wife becomes, under his influence, distracted, wayward, and godless... Observance of morality, however, does not prevent her from fulfilling her desire to conduct herself decently and to socialize with outsiders, though not without his consent.

c) The Wife’s Duties

For her part, a wife must obey her husband in all things, strive in every way to conform her character to his, and be wholly devoted to him, so that she does not even entertain the thought of doing anything—whether in deed or in thought—without his will. Therefore, she must faithfully carry out all his instructions, advice, and commands, and never entertain the thought of ever having her own way, nor desire or display dominance in any matter. In the event of disagreement, she must be yielding and patiently endure everything that seems disagreeable; otherwise, she will not preserve the precious peace. However, this does not relieve her of the duty to care for her husband’s moral character. Through her wisdom and influence, she can reform his character if it is flawed; at the very least, she must not neglect him, but, to the best of her ability and strength, must influence him and rescue him as if from a fire. To this end, she must adorn herself primarily with virtues, while regarding other adornments as something secondary and incidental—things that can easily be set aside, especially when the need to set things right demands it. Finally, she must remember that it is her lot to oversee household affairs, although this is merely an executive role... Her duty is to do what is required of her; upon seeing any disorder, she must point it out and restore order, or make amends.

4) Parents and Children

a) Parents’ Responsibilities

Spouses are meant to be parents. Children are one of the purposes of marriage and, at the same time, a rich source of family joy. Therefore, spouses should cherish children as a great gift from God and pray for this blessing. Childless spouses are indeed somewhat disadvantaged, although sometimes this happens according to God’s special purposes. While praying, they must also prepare themselves to be good parents to good children; to this end, they must preserve marital chastity—that is, a sober detachment from sensuality—and maintain their health, for it is an inescapable inheritance for their children: what joy is there in a sick child? They must preserve piety, for no matter how souls come into being, they remain in a vital dependence on the parents’ hearts, and the parents’ character is sometimes very sharply imprinted on their children. A beloved child, when God grants it, must be raised, and for that, one must have sufficient means; let them therefore provide for the child in advance, not only for the present but also for the future.

When God grants you a child, rejoice and give thanks, for a human being has been born into the world. God has repeated His first blessing through you: accept the child as if from the hand of God. But for this very reason, hasten to sanctify the child through the sacraments, for in this way you will dedicate the child to the service of the true God, to whom you yourselves and all that is yours must belong. In a child there is a mixture of spiritual and physical forces, ready to take any direction: place upon him the seal of the Divine Spirit as the foundation and seed of eternal life. Satan presses in from all sides with his evil: shield the child with a divine barrier, impenetrable to the forces of darkness. Once consecrated in the sacraments, guard the child thereafter as a sacred treasure: do not offend the Spirit of grace and the Guardian Angel who surrounds the cradle with your unbelief, intemperance, or hostility.

The task of raising a child begins—the most important, arduous, and fruitful duty of parents, from which the well-being of the family, the Church, and the fatherland depends. This is where you must demonstrate true love. Parents, one might say, you did not choose this: the child was born to you without your knowing how. But raising him is your responsibility. In this endeavor, you must pay attention to everything: both to what the child is and to what he is to become. You must nurture his body, bringing it to a state where it is strong, vigorous, and agile. It is not enough to leave everything to nature; you must also act according to a plan with a purpose, drawing on the experiences of others and the principles of sound pedagogy. But even greater care must be taken in nurturing the spirit. One who is well-nurtured in spirit will be saved even without a strong body. One left to his own devices, however, will suffer even with a strong body. In this regard, you must cultivate the mind, character, and piety. Develop the mind yourself if you can; if not, send the child to school or hire a tutor. In this, sound judgment—which can be learned even without formal education—is more necessary than scholarly knowledge. But it is everyone’s duty to teach the Creed, the Commandments, and prayer, or to help others come to know the Christian faith. Character is formed by nothing more than one’s own good example and by avoiding the bad examples of others. Prevent this: an innocent heart, under the influence of grace, will grow strong, and its good inclinations will become character. This makes one’s own piety all the more necessary for strengthening the child’s piety... For it pertains to the invisible. Here, acts of piety within the home are performed entirely by the grace of God. Let the child participate in morning and evening prayer; let him attend church as often as possible; let him receive Holy Communion as often as possible, in accordance with your faith; let him always hear your pious conversations. There is no need to address him directly: he will listen and reflect on his own. For their part, parents must do everything in their power so that when the child comes of age, it is most keenly aware that it is a Christian. But again, the most important thing, in fact, is the spirit of piety that permeates and touches the child’s soul. Faith, prayer, and the fear of God are above all earthly possessions. Instill these above all else. A child who has learned to read must be guarded against aimless reading. The thirst for reading is indiscriminate. One must select and provide appropriate reading material. A developing child will show what he is suited for. Therefore, one must lay the foundations for his future—a firm, unshakable, and fearless course of action in his chosen field—and prepare him for his calling, so that he may act skillfully within it, and so that he may be united with it in body and soul and live in it as in his natural element. If, in doing so, it becomes necessary to increase supervision—increase it; if it is necessary to add subjects of study—add them. It is not acceptable to leave everything to the course of events. True, the Lord ordains all things , but He also enables us to understand His will through our abilities, inclinations, and character. It is our duty to heed this guidance and act upon it. We must guide the child to become accustomed to propriety in speech, dress, posture, and conduct in the presence of others. This is all the more important in early childhood, when children are highly impressionable—primarily in outward matters—and because habits formed at that stage may remain with them for life. Propriety may seem like a trivial matter, yet it causes much anxiety and confusion for those unaccustomed to it. One must protect the child from this. But again, this matter should be treated as secondary, as an afterthought; it should not be emphasized, nor should one even speak of how it should be done, but rather taught simply, just as one teaches a child to walk. Where praise for this is lavished, propriety stands out at the expense of other, more important matters and overshadows them. And that is bad. Moreover, what is meant here, of course, is simple, modest, and respectful propriety—not the fashionable, fussy, or refined kind. Teaching the arts—singing, drawing, music, and others—is a wonderful endeavor; the same applies to skills specific to women and men. They provide pleasant rest for the spirit and a cheerful disposition. But one must not forget the main thing: the cultivation of the spirit for eternity. This should determine the direction of artistry, or its inner content.

One must, however, remember that in education, it is not so much the material that matters as the strength—or the ability and skill—to acquire it. What one must gain from education in this regard is diligence—a penchant for work and a distaste for idleness; a love of order—regularity, so that everything is done on time and in the right place, neither rushing ahead nor falling behind; conscientious diligence—a willingness, without sparing oneself or one’s strength, to carry out everything that is required in good conscience. This is the happiest disposition, one that secures both external happiness and inner piety for a lifetime. Yet we must not forget that such dispositions constitute only outward goodness, while inner goodness consists in the spirit of Christian piety.

Finally, a well-raised child must be set on the right path: a daughter must be married off properly, and a son must be provided with a position or guided into the way of life for which he is prepared. In this matter, the main thing is that they themselves may then live comfortably and work successfully. When choosing a spouse, one may take personal inclination into account, but one must not yield to whims born of the allure of glamour and appearances; rather, one must do what reason deems to be sound and beneficial. It is a mistake to leave children to the dictates of their hearts in this important matter. However, even after children have grown up, one must not forget them, but must supervise, guide, direct, and instruct them. The rights and duties of parents continue to apply to them until death. Today, people view this differently. But not everything that is now being introduced is lawful.

The guiding principle in raising children is love. It foresees everything and devises ways to handle everything. But this love must be true, sober, and guided by reason, rather than biased and indulgent. The latter is too forgiving, too apologetic, and too lenient. Prudent leniency is necessary; but since it borders on indulgence, it must be strictly monitored. It is better to err slightly toward strictness than toward indulgence, for the latter leaves more and more of evil unrooted day by day and allows danger to grow, whereas strictness cuts it off once and for all—or, at the very least, for a long time. This is why it is sometimes essential to have a stranger serve as a tutor. Where love strays from the truth, it often—or almost always—falls into injustice toward the children through partiality: loving some and not others, or the father loving some while the mother loves others. This inequality robs both the beloved and the unloved of respect for their parents and instills a certain animosity among the children themselves from such an early age, which, under certain circumstances, can turn into a lifelong enmity. What kind of upbringing is this? Finally, we must not forget the most humbling and, at the same time, most effective means of correction—corporal punishment. The soul is formed through the body. There is evil that cannot be driven from the soul without wounding the body. That is why wounds are beneficial to adults, and all the more so to children. “Love your son, and inflict wounds upon him,” says the wise Sirach (Sir. 30:1). But it goes without saying that such a measure should be resorted to only when necessary.

b) The Duties of Children

Children receive so much from their parents! From them comes temporal life; from them, too, come the foundation, the beginning, and the means of eternal life. Hence, children should not only naturally but also out of a sense of duty turn to their parents with special feelings and dispositions, recognize their obligations to them, and cherish these obligations within themselves. The chief sentiment, which for the most part is not taught, is love combined with respect and submission. One must only ensure that these sentiments are both reasonable and enduring, so that they do not fade away over the course of a lifetime. The will of parents is the will of God; their face is the face of God. Whoever does not honor them, does not submit to them, and has separated himself from them in his heart has perverted his nature and fallen away from God as well. Therefore, cherish the honorable images of your parents in your heart in every way; do not cast a shadow upon their faces with any blasphemous thought or word, and do not trouble your own heart. Even if there are reasons to do so, pay no heed to them. It is better to endure everything than to separate your heart from your parents, for God has given them His strength. By honoring your parents in your heart, you will take every care not to offend them with words or deeds. Whoever inadvertently offends them has gone too far; but whoever has done so deliberately and with evil intentions in his heart has gone even further. Offending one’s parents is very dangerous. It is closely linked to surrendering to Satan through some secret connection. He who has dimmed the honor he holds for his parents in his heart has merely separated himself from them, but he who has offended them may separate both himself and his parents. But as soon as this happens, the one who has been cut off comes under the visible dominion of another father—the father of lies and all evil. If this does not happen to every offender, then there is God’s mercy and protection. In any case, insult is dangerous—not merely dishonorable and unwise. That is why one must always hasten to restore peace and love here, which have been disrupted by an insult, whatever the cause may be. While guarding against personal insults, one must refrain from insulting one’s parents in front of others—whether through derogatory words, slander, or blasphemy. Whoever has already shown disrespect stands on the brink of evil. Those who honor their parents will care for them in every way, delight them with their conduct, and before others sanctify them, exalt them, and defend them in every way against injustice and condemnation. Above all, children must cherish their parents’ blessing; therefore, they must strive in every way to receive it, and to that end, they must also ensure that their parents’ hearts are open to them, not closed. A parent’s blessing is like the almighty word of God. Just as that word multiplies, so does this. On the contrary, a curse and an oath diminish and, as it were, dry up. Whoever lacks it has no happiness in anything; everything slips through their fingers. Their own mind is lost, and others turn away from them. Finally, there is the sweet and salvific duty of caring for elderly parents. Here, grateful love is nourished abundantly; through this, the full power of a parent’s blessing is drawn down, along with all the bliss of God’s favor. If one has no parents, one may care for an elderly stranger in their place, for in general, the face of an elder is a face illuminated by God.

5) Relatives

Parents give us relatives and, by placing them in relationships according to their rank, give rise to various new family responsibilities. Here, the first and most immediate place is occupied by brothers and sisters, conceived in the same womb, nourished by the same milk, raised under the same roof, with the same care and love. Feelings of kinship are not taught; they simply exist. Such is the love between brothers and sisters... It is impossible to define exactly what it is. It is not the same as love for parents, friends, or benefactors... It can only be felt, not expressed, distinguished by a single word: brotherly, sisterly. This is the foundation of duties! From it springs, of its own accord, a strong peace and harmony—an inexhaustible source of mutual joy, bringing happiness to parents and the entire family. The greatest misfortune is when brothers and sisters are at odds. They begin to drift apart, each looking out for themselves, and thus order, mutual support, and success come to an end. The strength of the home weakens and eventually collapses entirely. There are older brothers; their duty is to protect and guide the younger ones, while the duty of the younger ones is to respect their elders and obey them. This is natural.

And among other relatives, familial love is both natural and obligatory; it merely takes on different forms and nuances depending on the degree of kinship. Thus, between grandparents and grandchildren there should be—on the part of the former, loving care, and on the part of the latter, respect bordering on reverence, gratitude, and a desire to provide every comfort; between uncles and nephews—advice and a good example from the former, and respect and attention from the latter. Orphans and widows, in their dealings with others, should be treated with a certain degree of affection that is more of a right than a favor, bordering on a requirement; others, in turn, should show them respect, compassion, sympathy, and, above all, protection from insults.

6) Other, occasional individuals welcomed into the family

It is often necessary for parents to share the difficult task of raising children with others in various ways. This gives rise to new relationships within the family, as well as new responsibilities among the parents, those who are welcomed into the family, and the children. It is up to the parents to make a prudent and careful selection so that they can entrust their most precious treasure to these individuals with confidence and trust: those taken in must be watched over and supervised to ensure that they are upright both in their personal conduct and in their duties; the former is the foundation of the latter; if the former is lacking, the latter is pointless. At the same time, parents must respect them, treat them fairly and attentively, and instill such respect in their children. It is especially incumbent upon parents to have a plan, a blueprint for upbringing, and to actively carry it out themselves or guide those who implement it according to that plan: there is no other way when the task is divided among many... The harm resulting from failure to observe this is inevitable; but the reason it is not always visible is that it settles in the soul rather than being visible on the outside. Furthermore, different people are responsible for different aspects of upbringing.

The task of breastfeeding is sometimes entrusted to wet nurses. It goes without saying that those mothers who nurse their children themselves act in a better, more virtuous, and truly parental manner. Here, the unity of bodily fluids—or vital elements—and the unity of the spirit, combined with living love, determine the success and soundness of a child’s upbringing. There is no doubt that a mother who fails to do this out of fashion, laziness, or indolence is not without sin. But there are extreme circumstances that excuse this, when doing so might cause harm to herself and the child rather than benefit them. Those who entrust breastfeeding to others err when they consider only the physical or animal aspect of the wet nurse. These qualities are necessary, but they must be accompanied by a kind disposition and a good heart... It is remarkable how a disposition is passed on through the milk. But, moreover, it can be directly transmitted through constant interaction. Wet nurses must remember this; therefore, when undertaking their work, they must maintain piety and purity and perform it with prayer and love akin to that of a parent.

Once weaned, the child is entrusted to the nanny. Here, even greater caution is required, for the dangers are greater. The nanny’s work is more prolonged, and the child is already beginning to understand. One might say that here a particularly solid foundation is laid for the child’s future character, which, it is doubtful, will ever fade away. This is, of course, good if the character is good; but how much evil there is if it is bad! Here, in addition to kindness, one must also possess the skill to handle young children. How many moods they have! How many desires, how many whims! One must observe all of this and know how to steer them toward the good, how to act in this or that situation, and how to make the most of one thing or another. The nanny’s character is evident in her eyes, her behavior, and her manner, and it is absorbed by the child. A nanny’s treatment of a child can result in a wayward, stubborn, or pampered child, and sometimes even one with vices, such as stealing, mocking others, quarrelsomeness, and so on. Thus, a nanny must approach her role with fear and trepidation, and parents must hire her with the same caution; once hired, they must supervise, guide, persuade, and implore her.

A tutor—or tutors—is assigned to the child as he or she grows into adolescence. Here, the soul takes center stage. Its development begins to be structured. There is no need to remind anyone that the soul must be provided with true elements—that is, something spiritual, not merely language—and elements that are solid, imbued with truth, goodness, and piety, and moreover, complete, permeating every part of the soul, not just one. This is necessary so that the soul does not wither from scarcity, become sick from corruption, or be deformed by incompleteness. In addition to these elements, one must also possess the skill to instill them properly. The soul is not a lifeless vessel, but a living receptacle. It can be filled, even with goodness, but what is not assimilated is not truly its own. From this, it is clear what a teacher must be like. He must possess, in addition to inner richness, experience as well. Such a person may be called a capable teacher. When he sets out to teach, he must base his teaching approach on sincere, even fatherly, love for the children. For although he undertakes to replace the parents only in part, his spirit must be the same in that part as it is in the whole. This fatherly love is accompanied, on the one hand, by an inventive vigilance, burning with zeal not to withhold anything but to provide everything; on the other hand, by prudence, which tempers and guides that vigilance. His task is to prepare the ground, to discern the first signs, and to maintain a subtle, gradual progression. This applies to the development of virtue. Only in this way will it take root and flourish. As for what is bad, it must be cut off without pity, yet not without leniency and caution. Character, rank, age, and habit matter greatly here. Always present alongside this is a dignified gravity—neither haughty nor self-deprecating, attractive yet not indulgent. The most important quality in a mentor, however, is piety—sincere and genuine—and with it, Orthodoxy... A non-Orthodox person has a different spirit; he is entirely imbued with that spirit, as is all his knowledge. He will succeed in passing it on, even if he teaches nothing but the language.

Children must have love for all these surrogates for their parents—otherwise, nothing will take root; respect—otherwise, what is instilled will be foreign, held in contempt, like a growth that will soon be cast off, and woe betide if this concerns religion; gratitude—the holy fruit of the sense of goodness derived from upbringing; at all times, submission and patient endurance of their strictness, and an effort to prevent it.

7) Masters and Servants

Often, outside help is needed, and at other times, service is required. A stranger is taken into the home on certain terms to actively participate in the household’s affairs; a new union is formed between those who serve and those who receive service, and from this arise new duties—for masters and servants alike.

Masters, first and foremost, must maintain a correct understanding of themselves and their servants. For servants are of the same nature as they are—children of the same Heavenly Father, partakers of the same grace, sharing the same hope and the same inheritance in heaven. And masters, too, have a Master above them, Who will call them to account for their deeds and Who alone exalts and humbles, and in this does not show partiality. The statuses of master and servant are temporary, contingent, and transitory; what is eternal in both is that each is in Christ Jesus, and as a result, sometimes, according to the Lord’s word, “the last will be first…” (Matt. 19:30). Based on this understanding, it is not proper for a Christian master to despise servants, to take pride over them, or—much less—to treat them as objects; On the contrary, he must in every way cultivate in his heart the principal Christian dispositions toward them—that is, to regard them as brothers in Christ—and accordingly not deprive them of respect, kindness, justice, or consideration. Such dispositions do not conflict with rights, nor should rights override them. For the former are external, while the latter are internal; the former pertain to action, while the latter reside in the heart. Nothing in the world can give a Christian the right to exempt himself from Christian dispositions toward another Christian, whoever that person may be. Hence, in the primary relationship between servant and master—in service and command, or orders—everything must be arranged so that neither the master, in giving orders, dominates, nor the servant, in carrying them out, becomes a passive instrument. And to achieve this, it is best to involve him in the order of affairs and make him, as it were, a master within his own sphere: let him act, as it were, on his own behalf. The servant must be aware of his dependence and be ready for unquestioning and silent obedience, but brotherhood must compel the master to allow him to act freely. Intelligent service is better than mechanical service. Once accepted into the household, let him be to you like a member of your own family. A servant serves and is ready to serve out of duty, but if you regard him as a brother, you must not accept his labor as a mere obligation, but as a brotherly service for which you owe him gratitude. And it is your duty to feel and express this gratitude through your actions. The best way to demonstrate this gratitude is through mutual service to him or through diligent care for the servant. Provide rest and contentment for his body; preserve his health and well-being. To maim, exhaust, or neglect a servant is inhumane. But all this is temporary, just as the servant’s material service is temporary. There is an eternal task awaiting the servant, which his temporary service must not hinder. This is zeal for the salvation of the soul... In this regard, the master can be the servant’s savior. Enlighten and explain the matter to him, instruct and guide him, provide him with ways to perform acts of piety—especially on feast days—and, in general, actively watch over his conduct: do not discourage what is good, and correct what is bad. Such are the works of love! Truth, however, demands that we not require of them anything to which they are not obligated, and that we fulfill all to which we ourselves are obligated. The more evident this duty is and the easier it is to fulfill, the more criminal its violation becomes. It tears the soul apart, wringing forth murmurs and complaints, which in the Word of God stand alongside the groans of orphans and widows. No less does justice require forbearance—that is, patient tolerance of their weaknesses and shortcomings, those that are tolerable, of course. Anyone who is unjust in this regard—who scorns, reproaches, or is discontented—sins against God, who bestows gifts and knows how to bestow them. Character is another matter; but when something is not done out of caprice, one must patiently remain silent, remembering God, who sees all and tests all. Finally, one’s conduct must be free from pride, a lust for power, and cruelty, but rather meek, gentle, and affable, as it should be in general. Even reprimands must be softened by a tone of persuasion and kindness, delivered in the name of truth, not out of one’s own will; in general, everything must be done so that the servant, as much as possible, feels in his relationship with his master as he does with his own family and relatives; he must not feel alienated, for this is painful, especially in a Christian household.

Both master and servant must, first and foremost, understand and firmly hold to a correct conception of themselves and their station in life. The Lord grants one person one station and another a different one. He also commands every believer to remain faithful to his calling. Hence, with good cheer, humility, and love—without any ill will or discontent—the servant must accept and endure his station; therefore, he must be diligent in practicing those virtues that are incumbent upon him as a servant. The first is reverence for one’s masters. Despite all their forbearance and love, maintain your proper place; and to the extent that they draw near, retreat that much further with respectful distance. What is granted by grace can always be lost—and lost the moment you become careless—for it is this carelessness that most often prompts masters not to show special favor. Second—perfect obedience and submission. Do not exercise authority over yourself; let your hand, your foot, and your eye go wherever they are commanded to turn. Let your masters themselves instruct you in the duties of service; do not be clever, but understand and be a faithful executor. Next—loyalty. Live up to the trust placed in you and enhance it; ensure that you can be relied upon in everything. Finally—sincerity. Do not work merely for show, but according to your conscience, as before God. Thus, by fulfilling the will of your masters, you will serve God. These are the virtues of a servant as a servant. But since he has been accepted into the household, he must also, in his own way, practice the virtues of a household member: to care for the welfare of the household, to uphold and defend its honor, and not to reveal what takes place within it. Finally, realizing that if favors are shown to him, they are shown out of love and may not be shown, he should accept them with grateful and devoted love. If, however, there are displeasures arising from his masters’ temperament, he should endure them patiently as much as possible, and all the more so endure the inconveniences caused by their shortcomings. Share in the lot of those who are above you.

But, in general, the status of masters and servants should not cause you to lose sight of that Christian truth: that we are all free only in Christ, that there is no freedom without a truly Christian, grace-filled life, that whoever is enslaved by passion is a slave, and whoever walks blamelessly in the Lord’s commandments is free.

14. Church Duties

The Lord entrusted the organization of His kingdom—that is, the Church—to the apostles, so that they might teach, baptize, and instruct in obedience; the apostles entrusted it to the bishops, and the bishops share their apostolic work with the priests. Their common task is to build up the house of God through teaching, the sacraments, liturgical services, and guidance—or, in other words, to shepherd the Church. Hence, there are always shepherds in the Church; without shepherds, there is no Church, for through them the Kingdom of God is passed down from age to age. Those called by them, who have heeded the call, constitute the flock, nourished in the pastures of the Divine Word, the Holy Sacraments, and sacred rites. Thus, the Church consists of both the flock and the shepherds. Every Christian must have a close relationship with his or her shepherd, and conversely, the shepherd must have a close relationship with each member of the flock. And from this arise their mutual duties.

1) The Duties of Pastors

The work of a pastor is apostolic, and the spirit of a pastor must be apostolic. This is a zeal for the salvation of souls, a living zeal: not merely perceived as a duty, but one that impels or consumes; active: not merely felt within, but employing the means at hand—not only in word but also in deed; prudent: consciously, rather than in darkness, pursuing a purpose, or wisely discerning the relationship between means and ends; patient, or waiting patiently, like a farmer for the harvest, and not growing weary from the labors of waiting, or enduring hardships and adversities; but above all—pious, devoting all his efforts not to himself, but to the glory of God and the salvation of souls. Guided by this spirit, he must present himself adorned with all virtues, as a representative of Christ’s spiritual Kingdom and as a model for his flock, especially those virtues that must always accompany true zeal and are exercised almost ceaselessly in his labors. These are: fatherly care—attentive and tender—dignity, purity, sobriety, prudence, good nature, courage, compassion, forbearance, and selflessness. In his very pastoral ministry, he must be for his flock a guide to all the treasures of the Church, embodying what the Church is, for the Kingdom has been entrusted to pastors. Consequently, their task is to teach—to insist in season and out of season—and not only to teach, but also to guide in life according to the teaching; and to this end, to strictly observe and oversee all the paths of every member of the flock and act accordingly: to sanctify them through the sacraments and accustom them to serving God in spirit and truth through liturgical rites, and to shield them with prayer—both his own and that of the Church—from all slander. Furthermore, in order to carry out all these tasks successfully and fruitfully, he must know and come to understand more and more the mysteries of the faith and the Christian life, and learn to introduce souls to them—throughout his entire life and with unwavering diligence; he must come to know all the possible characteristics of the entire flock and of each individual member, and learn to adapt his actions to them for their edification; above all, to win the flock’s affection in every way, so that they may look upon him with respect and love. This heartfelt bond is the condition for all success everywhere, and all the more so in spiritual matters.

2) The Duties of the Flock

In accordance with this spirit and this care on the part of the shepherds, the flock must not remain passive in the work of salvation, but, submitting themselves to the shepherds’ guidance as malleable material, must themselves strive wholeheartedly for this cause, assist the shepherds in it, and lighten their labors. Therefore, they must accept pastors who are zealous for their salvation as messengers of God, as God Himself drawing near through them; they must choose pastors who demonstrate pastoral and general Christian virtues as models for their own lives and strive to imitate them. Since the distribution of the Church’s treasures rests with the pastors, let them turn with all their spiritual needs directly to them, and not to any other place; and let each one hasten to his own pastor, and in doing so, listen when he teaches, submit when he guides, and also ask for sanctification through the sacraments and for the protection of the Church through prayer. A pastor must know those in his care: let them open up to him sincerely, without fear or suspicion; he must command respect: let them take care not to deprive their souls of respect for him, overlooking and erasing from their minds all imperfections and shortcomings, and striving in every way, in word and deed, to defend his honor against slander, blasphemy, and condemnation. Since the pastor spends almost all his time developing ways to minister to them spiritually, they, for their part, must serve him materially by providing for his livelihood and sustenance.

3) The Duties of the Clergy

Surrounding the pastor are always secondary, auxiliary figures who make up the clergy. They occupy, as it were, a middle ground between the pastor and the flock; therefore, they must have a relationship with the flock and corresponding duties. It is their duty to submit to the pastor and obey him in all things; not only must they refrain from opposing or hindering his directives and activities, but they must also assist him in every way by faithfully carrying out their assignments, and at times by offering warnings and even humble counsel; to carry out the duties entrusted to them with care and reverence, and during their service to show everyone that they are performing God’s work, which is supreme and takes precedence over all other matters; to live among themselves in peace and harmony, united in a single purpose, and to that end to hasten, with every sacrifice, to restore their unity and reconcile in the event of disagreements; to set an example of virtue and piety in all things, to be accessible to the people and ready to meet all their needs with compassion, to be sociable with everyone and to draw all people close to themselves, so as to have a positive influence on everyone.

4) The Duties of Monastics

Monastics constitute a special order within the Church. In the early days, they did not separate themselves from the people, although they led a distinct life among them. But later they separated and formed their own sacred union based on piety—a union led by the most perfect, striving for salvation in brotherly unity. Their primary purpose is to represent, on a small scale, the face of Christ’s Church in its most perfect state. Perfection in the Christian life is the chief task of every monastic. But since they have all entered into a special relationship with one another and with their spiritual leader, they consequently have various duties. Accordingly:

a) The primary task of monks is unceasing, ceaseless prayer for the Church, the fatherland, the living, and the dead. They are a sacrifice to God from society, which, by entrusting them to God, forms a protective barrier for itself through them. In light of this, the liturgical service in monasteries must above all flourish—being dignified, orderly, most complete, and most enduring. Here, the Church appears in all the beauty of her vestments.

b) Having perfection in the Christian life as their primary goal, they take vows. They must fulfill these vows all the more strictly, for they strive to please God, and the fulfillment of vows is part of that service. By the very nature of these vows, each one must feel within himself that he possesses nothing of his own; he must consider himself poor, acquire nothing, and dedicate all that he has and possesses to the common good; one must hasten to attain dispassion, striving for an angelic life; to this end, one must mortify the body through fasting, vigil, and labor, and conduct oneself in such a way that not only does the body feel no passionate impulses, but the soul is also free from thoughts—whether passionate or vain; He must not have a will of his own, but must wholly surrender both soul and body to the abbot’s authority and, regardless of any apparent inconsistencies, do only what he commands; above all, while acting physically, he must also act spiritually, for the purpose of the body lies in the spirit.

c) Forming, under the guidance of one, a brotherly union and, as it were, a single body, they constitute, as it were, a particular Church, and therefore bear upon themselves the ecclesiastical duties set forth above. Here the abbot is the shepherd; the brethren are the flock. The abbot’s duty is the unceasing care for the salvation and most perfect life of the brethren; to preserve the integrity of the time-honored order—both the general monastic rule and the specific rules of their own monastery—as well as the customs handed down from the fathers; it is also his duty to care for the well-being and splendor of the church and the entire monastery, and to provide for the monastic sustenance of the brethren. It is the duty of the brothers to submit in all things to their abbot and father; to perform their service and obedience accurately and diligently, for by this the whole is built up and sustained; among themselves, they must always remain in fraternal unity, peace, love, humble mutual respect, spiritual fellowship, mutual support, admonition, and encouragement; they must neither tempt nor be tempted, nor offend nor take offense.

Since monastics, having withdrawn from the world in body, do not abandon it in spirit—constantly offering up prayers for the well-being of society—the world must not forget them; it must not only refrain from hindering the establishment of monasteries but must desire this in every way and promote it, first by granting the necessary persons and places, and then by providing the most essential supplies; and it must always hold monasteries in high esteem and pious regard, give thanks to God for them, and pray for the safety of those who labor there—both externally and internally—for their labor is great, and the temptations they face are strong and swift.

15. Civic and Social Duties

The Lord establishes states on earth and gives them a head in the king, so that, under the rule of one, through the concerted action of all, they may build their temporal well-being for the most successful attainment of eternal salvation. A Christian, upon becoming a member of the Church, does not cease to be a member of society, nor should he. He must only, having embraced Christianity, sanctify his service to society through it. Hence, Christians also have civic duties, all of which, as in any state, are subject only to Christianity and imbued with its spirit. Judging by this:

a) The duty of the sovereign—appointed by God and representing the face of God’s Providence toward humanity—is to recognize this great significance of his office and to fulfill it with reverence, attentiveness to his inner self, and in unceasing devotion, so as to receive from God, through his heart, His providential dispositions; to love the people as his own body or as a father loves his family; to this end, to care for them compassionately in every respect, in all their needs and from every angle; to safeguard their dignity and external security and to establish internal order; to devise means for their well-being, the equalization of rights, and order; to spread education among all classes of the people—and true education; to uphold moral purity and eradicate vices; to preserve the national spirit, character, customs, and laws; above all, to instill true faith and to care for the prosperity and flourishing of the Church out of a sense of reverence or love for God, who has exalted it, out of love for the people, and in accordance with the very conditions of prosperity, which are God’s blessing, purity of heart and will, and loyalty to the throne and to the oath; and to that end, to pay great attention to the religious spirit and not only to prevent any institutions from undermining it, but on the contrary, to sanctify all institutions with this spirit, so that in this way life in society may merge with religious life and both may walk hand in hand, like Moses and Aaron. In general, everything must be arranged so that faith and the Church stand above all else, and the cross of Christ covers everything.

b) Society—the body under the head—is the sovereign. Every member of it must have a relationship both to the person of the sovereign—the head—and to society as a whole—the body.

aa) Duties toward the person of the sovereign, the emperor: to accept him with reverence as one appointed by God, as a consecrated anointed one; to show him silent submission in all things as one who proclaims the will of God; to cling to him with grateful love and to be always ready to sacrifice even one’s life for his safety, peace, and happiness; to honor him in one’s heart and before others with words, refraining from inappropriate—and all the more so, presumptuous—judgments about him and his deeds; to offer fervent prayers for him day and night, for he too has no rest day or night as he cares for us; to honor, accept, and carry out his commands and ordinances without hesitation and with patience.

bb) One’s duties toward the body of the state—to which every person is bound for life, whose prosperity and adversity are felt by all its members, and with which each person enters into a relationship by virtue of birth—are to love it as is fitting, to cherish it, and to be loyal to it out of a sense of gratitude and piety; not only to refrain from plotting or doing anything to harm or humiliate it, but, on the contrary, to contribute to its well-being in every way possible, to care for it, to keep it in mind, and to rejoice in its success and grieve over its misfortune; to prevent evil in every way and to disclose all that is discovered, warning everyone of suspected and perceived dangers; to know and uphold its laws, willingly obeying them and diligently fulfilling all duties, without deviating from existing regulations; to preserve the character of one’s people, to honor them, to rise to their level, to defend them, and to unquestioningly preserve all good national customs, while striving to eradicate the bad ones—especially those that are unchristian; to hate and despise all that is foreign, but to accept it only on condition of extreme necessity and perfect harmony with one’s own spirit; not to be unreasonably partial to one’s own, but never to be cold toward it, and to abandon it only when it is shown to be alien to our spirit and to be, in and of itself, a flaw that has crept in, like a growth.

(bb) Society is a body. The work of life within the body is divided among many members and sustained by their harmonious, faithful, and uninterrupted interaction. Likewise, the work of social life is divided among many, and only through the harmonious and faithful action of its parts can the common good be achieved. Hence arise individual social duties.

Government officials and institutions occupy the foremost place under the sovereign. They are the sovereign’s hands, feet, and eyes. Through them, he is everywhere, sees everything, and does everything. Through them, the entire state is encompassed—as if by a net—across the entire territory, from the capital to the remotest village, and in all its aspects: military, educational, economic, judicial, and supervisory. These are the channels of the tsar’s mercy and justice, and at the same time the pathways through which the people’s needs and demands ascend to the tsar. This gives meaning to the existence of authorities—in all their various forms—and their subordinates within society. Hence:

1) The primary duty of those in authority is to be a faithful instrument of the tsar, a mediator between him and the people; to understand the significance and requirements of their office and to scrupulously carry out the regulations assigned to it; toward those under their authority, for their part, to show complete honesty, standing before them as the face of the law; and to show them all love and favor, so as not to deprive them of access to the tsar’s graces and to the laws; and in all this to act sincerely, as before God, in accordance with the oath and pledge that has been given.

2) The duty of subordinates is to obey their superiors and carry out every command in good faith, without grumbling, laziness, or delay; to respect, honor, and love them gratefully; to pray for them and defend their honor against slander, and above all, not to slander them themselves.

gg) The various needs of the state are entrusted to different individuals, or undertaken by different individuals, all of whom together constitute the public service sector, which is essential to society. Hence there are various public services and various offices, which correspond to these needs: for external security—soldiers; for public order—the police; for intellectual education—teachers; in case of illness—doctors; for domestic comforts—craftsmen and artists; for sustenance—farmers, merchants, and so on. All of these are the state’s resources, through which the sovereign, by means of the government, builds his state. Therefore, there is a vital need for each of them to act as they ought and, as Christians, to act in a Christian manner. Hence:

1) Since people are not born into a vocation but choose one, understand the vocation you wish to embrace; examine yourself, and if you find yourself capable and suitable, accept it with God’s blessing and prayer. For some, a vocation is determined by birth, but there is still a time when they must enter into it; therefore, they too must do the same. It is best in this matter to listen to your inner voice and personal disposition and to accept what God has destined for you through the gifts of strength and character.

2) Devote yourself wholeheartedly to the ministry you have accepted; love it until death, and never switch from one to another without compelling reasons—that is, only by order of superiors or upon realizing a mistake in your initial choice of ministry.

3) Every line of service is open to improvement. Strive for this and openly propose suggestions for the collective consideration of others. As for your specific duties, your knowledge and skill in this regard must be constantly refined to the highest degree of perfection.

4) Not everyone knows everything, nor can they. Therefore, learn throughout your life: converse with and seek counsel from the best and most experienced in your field, accepting their advice with joy and gratitude.

5) With all this in mind, remember that all that is temporary is for the eternal, all that is physical is for the spiritual, and society is for faith. Therefore, strive in every way to instill the spirit of faith in the sphere that has fallen to your lot, to harmonize with it and to be imbued by it.

dd) The various estates of society provide public servants to society or the state; this is a common breeding ground for its needs, from which it draws those who have been raised and educated by it and assigns them to various public offices according to their nature and abilities. Our social classes are: the nobility, the clergy, the townspeople—comprising merchants and the petty bourgeoisie—and the common people. These are the vital fluids of society, which correspond to the vital fluids of the body, giving rise to phlegmatic, sanguine, melancholic, and choleric temperaments. Each social class has its own spirit, its own rank, its own rights, and, in a certain sense, its own unique purpose. Each person, being bound to all this by birth and blood, does not and must not forget this throughout their entire life. Hence:

1) Love your social class, through which God saw fit to bring you into this world and lay the first foundations of your character.

2) Preserve its character without distorting it with foreign elements, for it is only through the harmonious combination of diverse elements that a beautiful whole is formed.

3) Endure its advantages and disadvantages, for they are found everywhere.

4) Adorn it with your virtuous life and excellence, thereby raising its value and stature.

5) Do not envy, for among others, too, there are those who are superior and those who are inferior, those who are happy and those who are unhappy...

6) Remember and honor it, even if your duties require you to rise above it or change it.