The Path to Salvation

“An Outline of Christian Morality” describes the feelings and dispositions that are obligatory for us, but this is far from everything needed to secure our salvation. Our primary task is to live authentically in the spirit of Christ. But just touch upon this, and you will see how many questions arise and how much guidance is therefore needed—and at almost every step!

True, the ultimate goal of man is indicated there—communion with God—and the path to it is described: it is faith combined with obedience to the commandments, with the help of God’s grace. One might simply say: “Here is the path! Go!”

It is easy to say, “Here is the way; go!” But how is this to be done? For the most part, the desire to go is lacking. The soul, carried away by some passion, stubbornly rejects every compulsion and every call; it turns its eyes away from God and refuses to look at Him. The law of Christ is not to its liking; it has no inclination even to hear about it: the soul, as they say, is not in the mood. The question is, how can we reach the point where the desire to go to God through Christ’s way is born? How can we ensure that the law is imprinted on the heart, so that a person, acting in accordance with this law, acts of their own accord, without compulsion—so that this law does not weigh upon them, but rather flows from within them?

But suppose someone turns to God and comes to love His law; is the very journey toward God, the very walking in the way of Christ’s law, already necessary and will it be successful simply because we have desired it? No. In addition to desire, one must also have the strength and ability to act: active wisdom is needed. Whoever sets out on the true path of pleasing God, or begins—with God’s gracious help—to strive toward God along the path of Christ’s predestined law, will inevitably face the danger of straying onto a crossroads, going astray, and perishing, while imagining himself to be saved. These crossroads are inevitable due to the lingering—even in the converted—sinful inclinations and the disruption of one’s spiritual powers, which, even in this state, are capable of presenting things in a distorted light—deceiving and destroying a person. Added to this is the flattery of Satan, who is reluctant to part with his victims; and when someone from his domain turns toward the light of Christ, he pursues him and sets all manner of snares to capture him again—and not infrequently succeeds. Consequently, even for those who already have the desire to walk the path toward the Lord, it is still necessary to point out all the possible deviations along this path, so that the traveler may be forewarned, see the dangers that lie ahead, and know how to avoid them.

These inevitabilities, common to all on the path to salvation, necessitate specific guiding principles for the Christian life, which must define: how to attain the saving desire for communion with God and the zeal to abide in it, and how to proceed safely toward God amid all the crossroads that may be encountered at every stage of this path—in other words: how to begin living a Christian life and, having begun, how to be established in it. This guidance must take a person from outside of God, turn them toward Him, and then bring them into His presence; it must trace the Christian life in its manifestations, in practice, from beginning to end—that is, how it begins, develops, matures, and reaches its fullness—or, in other words, write the history of the active life of every Christian, showing how, in each situation, he must act in order to remain steadfast in his calling.

The origin and development of the Christian life differ fundamentally from the origin and development of natural life. This depends on the special nature of the Christian life and its relationship to our nature. A person is not born a Christian but becomes one after birth. The seed of Christ falls upon the soil of a heart that is already beating. But just as a naturally born person is flawed and opposed to the demands of Christianity—whereas, for example, in a plant the beginning of life is the sprouting of the seed, the awakening, as it were, of dormant forces—so the beginning of a truly Christian life in a person is a kind of re-creation, the bestowal of new strength and new life. Furthermore, suppose Christianity is accepted as a law—that is, a resolve to live a Christian life is formed: this seed of life (the resolve) is not surrounded within a person by elements favorable to it; and at the same time, the whole person—body and soul—remains ill-equipped for this new life, unyielding to the yoke of Christ; therefore, from this moment on, a person’s arduous labor begins—to reshape their entire being and all their powers in a Christian manner. This is why, whereas growth in plants, for example, is a gradual development of strength—easy and effortless—for a Christian it is a laborious struggle with oneself—tense and sorrowful—and he must direct his strengths toward what they are not naturally inclined to do: like a warrior, he must wrest every step of ground—even his own—from his enemies through battle, using the double-edged sword of self-discipline and self-resistance. Finally, after long toil and effort, Christian beginnings prove victorious; reigning unopposed, permeating the entire fabric of human nature, driving out from it the demands and desires hostile to themselves, and bringing it into a state of dispassion and purity, making it worthy of the bliss of the pure in heart—to behold God within oneself in most sincere communion with Him.

Such is the state of the Christian life within us. It has three stages, which, by their nature, may be named as follows: the first—conversion to God; the second—purification or self-correction; the third—sanctification. In the first stage, a person turns from darkness to light, from the realm of Satan to God; in the second—he purifies the temple of his heart from all impurities in order to receive the Lord Christ, who is coming to him; at in the third, the Lord comes, dwells in the heart, and shares the Lord’s Supper with him. This state of blissful communion with God is the goal of all labors and struggles!

To depict all this and define it by rules is to point the way to salvation. A complete guide in this matter takes a person standing at the crossroads of sin, leads them along the fiery path of purification, and elevates them to the degree of perfection possible for them, in accordance with the measure of Christ’s fulfillment. Furthermore, it must show:

1) how the Christian life begins within us;

2) how it is perfected—maturing and growing stronger, and

3) what it is like in its full perfection.

On the beginning of the Christian life through
Holy Baptism

With guidance on how to preserve this grace during one’s upbringing

How does the Christian life begin within us?

We need to understand for ourselves when and how a truly Christian life begins, so that we may see whether the beginning of this life has been laid within us, and if not, to know how to lay it, insofar as it depends on us. It is not yet a sure sign of true life in Christ if someone calls himself a Christian and belongs to the Church of Christ. Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of Heaven… (Matt. 7:21). And not all who are of Israel are truly Israel (Rom. 9:6). It is possible to be counted among Christians and yet not be a Christian. Everyone knows this.

There is a moment—and a very noticeable one at that—which stands out sharply in the course of our lives, when a person begins to live a Christian life. This is the moment when the distinctive characteristics of the Christian life begin to manifest in him. The Christian life is the zeal and strength to remain in active communion with God, through faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, by the help of God’s grace, by fulfilling His holy will, to the glory of His most holy name. The essence of the Christian life consists in communion with God through Christ Jesus our Lord—a communion that is at first usually hidden not only from others but also from oneself. The visible—or inwardly felt—testimony to this communion is the fervor of active zeal, directed exclusively toward pleasing God as a Christian, with complete self-sacrifice and hatred for everything contrary to it. Thus, when this fervor of zeal begins, the Christian life is established; and whoever is constantly moved by it lives a Christian life.

We must dwell a little longer on this distinctive feature.

“I have come to bring fire upon the earth,” says the Savior, “and how I wish it were already kindled!” (Luke 12:49). He speaks of the Christian life, and He says this because its visible testimony is the zeal for pleasing God, kindled in the heart by the Spirit of God, which is like fire; for just as fire consumes the substance into which it penetrates, so too does the zeal for a life in Christ consume the soul that has received it. And just as during a fire the flames engulf the entire building, so too does the fire of zeal, once received, embrace and fill the whole being of a person.

Elsewhere, the Lord says: “Everyone will be salted with fire…” (Mark 9:49). And this is a reference to the fire of the Spirit, which, through zeal, permeates our entire being. Just as salt, by penetrating a perishable substance, preserves it from decay, so the spirit of zeal, by permeating our entire being, drives out sin—which corrupts our nature both in soul and body—from even the smallest of its recesses and storehouses, and thereby saves us from moral corruption and depravity.

The Apostle Paul commands: “Do not quench the Spirit” (1 Thess. 5:19), “do not grow weary in doing good”; to burn with zeal (Rom. 12:11)—he commands this to all Christians, so that they may remember that the burning of the spirit, or tireless zeal, is an indispensable attribute of the Christian life. Elsewhere, he speaks of himself: “Forgetting w what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:13–14); and he exhorts others: “Run in such a way as to win” (1 Cor. 9:24). Thus, in the Christian life, as a result of the fervor of zeal, there is a certain spiritual alacrity and liveliness with which one undertakes works pleasing to God, denying oneself and willingly offering up to God all manner of labors, without sparing oneself.

Based on this understanding, it is easy to conclude that a cold, mechanical observance of the Church’s canons, as well as regularity in one’s actions established by a calculating mind, and diligence, decorum, and honesty in conduct are not yet decisive indicators of a truly Christian life within us. All of this is good, but as long as it does not embody the spirit of life in Christ Jesus, it has no value before God. Such deeds are then, as it were, soulless idols. A fine clock runs smoothly; but who can say that there is life in it?! So it is here: often they are merely called alive, while in reality they are dead (Rev. 3:1). This outward propriety of conduct is most likely to lead to deception. Its true significance depends on inner dispositions, in which significant deviations from essential truth are possible even in righteous deeds. Just as one can outwardly abstain from sinful deeds while harboring attachment to them or taking pleasure in them in one’s heart, so too, while outwardly performing righteous deeds, one may lack a heartfelt disposition toward them. Only true zeal seeks to perform good in all its fullness and purity, and likewise pursues sin down to its slightest nuances. It seeks the former as daily bread, and treats the latter as a mortal enemy. An enemy hates his enemy not only in his own person, but also hates his relatives and acquaintances, even his possessions, his favorite color—in short, everything that in any way reminds him of him. So it is with true zeal for pleasing God: it pursues sin in the slightest reminders or hints of it; for it is zealous for absolute purity. Were it not for this, how much impurity might take root in the heart!

And what success can one expect when there is no fervent zeal for pleasing God as a Christian? Whatever requires no effort will still be accomplished; but as soon as something demands increased effort or any self-sacrifice—refusal will immediately follow, due to the inability to control oneself. For then there will be nothing to rely on to spur oneself to a good deed; self-pity will undermine all support. If, however, any other motive besides the one mentioned is mixed in, it will turn even a good deed into a bad one. The spies under Moses were afraid because they pitied themselves. The martyrs willingly went to their deaths because they were consumed by an inner fire. A true zealot does not merely follow the law, but also heeds counsel and every good inspiration secretly imprinted on the soul; he does not merely act on what comes to mind, but is inventive for the sake of good, wholly devoted to a single, enduring, true, and eternal good. “Everywhere,” says St. John Chrysostom, “we need zeal and a great fervor of the soul, ready to take up arms against death itself; for otherwise it is impossible to attain the Kingdom” (Homily 31 on the Acts of the Apostles).

The path of piety and communion with God is a laborious and painful one, especially in the beginning. Where can we find the strength to undertake all these labors? Through the help of God’s grace—in fervent zeal. A merchant, a soldier, a judge, and a scholar all perform duties that are full of cares and hardships. What sustains them in their labors? — Enthusiasm and love for their work. Nothing else can sustain us on the path of piety. Without this, we will find our service to God tedious, burdensome, boring, and listless. A slow-moving person walks, but with difficulty, whereas for a swift chamois or a nimble squirrel, movement and travel are a pleasure. Zealous service to God is a joyful, spirit-lifting journey toward God. Without it, the whole endeavor can be ruined. We must do everything for the glory of God, in defiance of the sin that dwells within us; without this, we will perform everything merely out of habit, out of a sense of propriety, simply because that is how it has always been done and how others do it. We must do everything; otherwise, we will do some things and neglect others, and moreover, without any remorse or even awareness of our omissions. We must do everything with attention and care, as if it were the most important task; otherwise, we will do things haphazardly.

Thus, it is clear that without zeal, a Christian is a poor Christian—sluggish, lax, lifeless, neither warm nor cold—and such a life is no life at all. Knowing this, let us strive to prove ourselves true zealots for good deeds, so that we may be truly pleasing to God, free from defilement or vice, or anything of the sort.

Thus, the true testimony of the Christian life is the fire of active zeal for pleasing God. The question now is, how is this fire kindled? Who are its kindlers?

Such zeal is produced by the action of grace, yet not without the participation of our free will . The Christian life is not a natural life. So too must be its beginning, or its first awakening. Just as plant life is awakened in a seed when moisture and warmth penetrate the sprout hidden within it, and through them—the all-restoring power of life—so too is divine life awakened within us when the Spirit of God enters the heart and plants there the seed of life according to the Spirit, purifying and gathering together the darkened and broken features of the image of God. Desire and free seeking are awakened (by an external influence); then grace descends (through the Sacraments) and, united with freedom, gives birth to a powerful zeal. And let no one think they can bring forth such a life-giving power on their own: one must pray for it and be ready to receive it. The fire of zeal with power is the grace of the Lord. The Spirit of God, descending into the heart, begins to act within it not merely with a consuming zeal, but with an all-pervading one.

Some may wonder: why is this work of grace necessary? Can we not do good deeds on our own? We have done this or that good deed. We will live a little longer and do something else. Perhaps few have not pondered this question. Others say that we cannot do anything good on our own. But here the issue is not about individual good deeds, but about the rebirth of one’s entire life, about a new life, about life in its entirety—one that leads to salvation. On occasion, it is not difficult to do something—even something very good—just as the pagans did. But let someone deliberately commit himself to unwavering virtue, establish its order according to the guidance of God’s Word—not for just one month or year, but for his entire life—and resolve to abide steadfastly in this order; and then, when he remains faithful to it, let him boast of his strength; but without this, would it not be better to keep his mouth shut? How many attempts at self-made endeavors and arrangements for the Christian life have there been and continue to be? And all of them have ended and continue to end in nothing. A person persists for a short while in a newly chosen way of life—and then gives it up. And how could it be otherwise? There is no strength. Only God’s eternal strength is capable of sustaining us steadfast in our resolve amid the ceaseless tides of temporal change. Therefore, we must be filled with this strength, ask for it, and receive it in due order—and it will lift us up and deliver us from this temporal turmoil.

Turn once more to experience and observe: when do such thoughts of self-satisfaction arise? When a person is in a state of peace, when nothing disturbs him, nothing entices him, and nothing draws him toward sin—then he is ready for the holiest and purest life. But the moment a stir of passion or temptation arises—where are all those vows?! Doesn’t a person leading a dissolute life often say to himself, “I won’t do this anymore”? But once the passion has been satisfied, a new urge arises, and he finds himself back in sin. It is easy to talk about bearing insults when everything goes our way, without thwarting our pride. In such a situation, the feelings of offense or anger that others give in to may seem strange to us. But should we ourselves find ourselves in a similar situation, then even a single glance—not just a word—will set us off. Thus, in self-confidence, one may dream of being able to lead a Christian life on one’s own, without divine assistance, when the spirit is at peace. But when the evil that has settled at the bottom of the heart is stirred up like dust by the wind, then everyone will find, through personal experience, condemnation of their own arrogance. When thought after thought, desire after desire—each worse than the last—begins to trouble the soul, then everyone will forget themselves and involuntarily cry out with the prophet: “…the waters have come up to my soul. I am sunk in deep mire” (Ps. 68:2). O Lord, save me! O Lord, hasten to help me! (Ps. 117:25).

Does it not often happen that someone dreams of remaining steadfast in goodness? But then an image of a person or an object comes to mind, a desire is born, a passion is aroused; the person is carried away and falls. Afterward, all that remains is to look at oneself and say, “How terrible this is!” But then an opportunity for distraction presents itself, and he is once again ready to lose himself. Furthermore, someone insults them: quarrels, reproaches, and judgments begin; an unjust but profitable deal presents itself—and they go for it: they humiliate one person, share with another, push a third out of the way—and all this after boasting of their ability to conduct themselves righteously on their own, without any special help from above. Where, then, is the strength? — “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matt. 26:41). You see what is good and yet do what is evil: “For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing” (Rom. 7:21). We are captive: redeem us, O Lord!

One of the enemy’s first slanders against us is the thought of self-confidence—that is, if not outright rejection, then a lack of awareness of the need for God’s grace. The enemy seems to say: “Don’t go there—toward the light, where they want to give you some new strength! — You’re just fine the way you are with me.” And so a person gives in to complacency. Meanwhile, the enemy—here he throws a stone (troubles), there he leads one onto slippery ground (the allure of passions), and elsewhere he sets hidden snares disguised as flowers (a bright atmosphere). Without looking back, a person strives farther and farther and does not realize that he is falling lower and lower, until finally he descends to the very depths of evil—to the threshold of hell. In such a case, should we not call out to him, as we did to the first Adam: “Man, where are you? Where have you gone?” This very call is the work of grace, which compels the sinner to take a good look at himself for the first time.

So, if you wish to begin living a Christian life, seek grace. The moment when grace descends and unites with your will will be the moment of the birth of the Christian life—strong, steadfast, and fruitful.

Where can one find, and how can one receive, the grace that gives life? — The acquisition of grace and the sanctification of our nature by it are accomplished in the Sacraments. Here we submit ourselves to God’s action, or present our unworthy nature to God—and He, through His action, transforms it. It pleased God, in order to subdue our proud minds, to conceal His power under the veil of simple matter at the very beginning of true life. We do not comprehend how this happens, but the experience of all Christendom testifies that it cannot be otherwise.

There are two sacraments that pertain primarily to the beginning of the Christian life: baptism and repentance. Therefore, the rules concerning the beginning of a truly Christian life are grouped, on the one hand, around baptism, and on the other, around repentance.

How does Christian life begin through the sacrament of baptism?

Baptism is the first sacrament in Christianity, making a Christian worthy to partake of the gifts of grace through the other sacraments. Without it, one cannot enter the Christian world—become a member of the Church. Eternal Wisdom has built a house for Himself on earth: the door leading into this house is the sacrament of baptism. Through this door, one not only enters the house of God, but is also clothed in garments worthy of it, receives a new name, and is marked with a sign imprinted upon the entire being of the baptized person, by means of which both heavenly and earthly beings will recognize and distinguish him thereafter.

…“If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation,” the Apostle teaches (2 Cor. 5:17). Through baptism, a Christian becomes this new creation. A person emerges from the baptismal font completely different from how he entered it. Just as light is opposed to darkness, and life to death, so the baptized person is opposed to the unbaptized. Conceived in iniquity and born in sin, a person carries within himself, before baptism, the full poison of sin, with all the weight of its consequences. He is in God’s disfavor; by nature, he is a child of wrath; he is corrupted and disordered within himself, in the balance of his faculties and powers, and in their orientation—which is primarily toward the multiplication of sin; subject to the influence of Satan, who acts powerfully within him because of the sin dwelling in him. As a result of all this, upon death, he is inevitably destined for hell, where he must suffer alongside his prince and his minions and servants.

Baptism delivers us from all these evils. It removes the curse by the power of the Cross of Christ and restores the blessing: the baptized are children of God, for the Lord Himself has given them the right to be called and to be so. And if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ (Rom. 8:17). The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the baptized person by virtue of baptism itself. He is delivered from Satan’s dominion; Satan now loses his power over him and his ability to act arbitrarily within him. By entering the Church—the house of refuge—Satan’s access to the newly baptized is blocked. Here, the person is as though within a secure enclosure.

All of this consists of spiritual and external benefits and gifts. What happens within?—The healing of the sickness and corruption of sin. The power of grace penetrates inward and restores the divine order there in all its beauty; it heals the disorder both in the composition and relationship of the powers and parts, and in the primary orientation—from oneself toward God—for God’s pleasure and the multiplication of good deeds. This is why baptism is regeneration or new birth, placing a person in a renewed state. The Apostle Paul compares all the baptized to the risen Savior, implying that they, too, possess a nature as radiant in its renewal as that which humanity manifested in the Lord Jesus through His resurrection in glory (Rom. 6:4). That the direction of a baptized person’s life is also transformed is evident from the words of the same Apostle, who says elsewhere that they no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died for them and was raised to life (2 Cor. 5:15). For He died—and He died once for all to sin; but He lives—and He lives for God (Rom. 6:10). We were buried with Him through baptism into death (Rom. 6:4), and: our old self was crucified with Him, so that the body of sin might be done away with, that we might no longer be slaves to sin (Rom. 6:6). Thus, by the power of baptism, all human activity is turned away from oneself and from sin toward God and righteousness.

The Apostle’s words are remarkable: “so that we may no longer be slaves to sin”… and another: “Sin shall not have dominion over you” (Rom. 6:14). This leads us to understand that what in our corrupted, fallen nature constitutes the power that draws us to sin is not completely eradicated in baptism, but is merely brought into a state in which it has no power over us, does not possess us, and we do not serve it. It remains within us, lives, and acts, but not as a master. From that point on, dominion belongs to God’s grace and to the spirit that consciously surrenders itself to it. Saint Diadochus, explaining the power of baptism, says that before baptism, sin dwells in the heart, while grace acts from without; but after baptism, grace is instilled into the heart, while sin lures from without. Sin is driven out of the heart like an enemy from a fortress and settles outside, in the parts of the body, from where it acts in a fragmented manner through sporadic attacks. That is why it remains a constant tempter and seducer, but is no longer a ruler: it disturbs and troubles, but does not command.

Thus a new life is born in baptism! What is required of a person in this process, or how one comes to be renewed in baptism, is described in *Outline of Christian Morality*, particularly in the section “The Norm of the Christian Life.” This will not be repeated here, because an adult receiving baptism is the same as a sinner who has turned to God in repentance; and the latter topic will be discussed at length later, in the second section. Then everyone’s curiosity about this subject will be fully satisfied.

Here, attention is drawn to how Christian life begins through baptism in those who are baptized as infants, as is predominantly the case among us. For here, the beginning of Christian life is established with a certain distinctive feature arising from the relationship between grace and freedom.

You already know that grace descends upon a free will and a seeking heart, and that only through their mutual union does a new life of grace—one in harmony with grace and befitting a free creature—begin. The Lord bestows grace as a gift; but He requires that a person seek it and willingly receive it, consecrating himself entirely to God. The fulfillment of this condition is evident in the repentance and baptism of adults. But how is it fulfilled in the baptism of infants? An infant does not possess the use of reason or free will; consequently, it cannot fulfill the condition for the beginning of the Christian life on its own part—that is, the desire to dedicate itself to God. Meanwhile, this condition must necessarily be fulfilled. Due to the manner in which this condition is fulfilled, the beginning of life through infant baptism takes place with a certain distinctive feature. Namely:

Grace descends upon the infant’s soul and works within it all by itself, as if freedom were also involved in this process, solely on the basis that in the future this infant—who is currently unaware of himself and does not act of his own accord—will, when he comes to consciousness, will willingly dedicate himself to God, will gladly receive grace upon discovering its workings within himself, will rejoice that it exists, will give thanks that this has been done for him, and will confess that, had he been given reason and freedom at the moment of baptism, he would have acted no differently than he did and would have desired nothing else. For the sake of such a future free dedication to God and the union of freedom with grace, divine grace is bestowed in its entirety upon the infant and, without his participation, brings about in him all that it is meant to produce, based solely on the assurance that the required desire and surrender to God will undoubtedly be present, — an assurance given by the godparents when they pledge before the Church to God that this infant, upon coming to consciousness, will exercise his freedom precisely as required for grace, thereby undertaking the duty to bring the infant to that state of receptivity through their own actions.

Thus, through baptism, the seed of life in Christ is planted in the infant and dwells within him; yet it is not yet, as it were, his own—it acts as the power that forms him. The spiritual life, kindled by the grace of baptism within the infant, will become the person’s own and will manifest itself in its fullness, in accordance not only with grace but also with the nature of a rational creature, from the moment when, having come to consciousness, he dedicates himself to God of his own free will and, with a joyful and joyful, and grateful acceptance, he assimilates the grace-filled power found within himself. Until that time, a truly Christian life is at work within him, but as it were without his knowledge; it acts within him, yet is not yet truly his; from the moment of self-awareness and choice, however, it becomes his own—not merely by grace, but also freely chosen.

Because of this more or less prolonged interval between baptism and consecration to God, the beginning of the Christian moral life through the grace of baptism in infants extends, so to speak, to an indefinite period of time, during which the infant matures and is formed into a Christian in the Holy Church among Christians, just as he was previously formed physically in his mother’s womb.

Take this thought to heart, dear reader. We will need it greatly when determining how parents, godparents, and guardians should treat the baptized infant entrusted to them by the Holy Church and the Lord.

It goes without saying that after the infant’s baptism, a very important task lies before the parents and godparents: to guide the baptized child so that, upon coming of age, he may recognize within himself the powers of grace, accept them with joyful desire, as well as the duties associated with them and the way of life they require. This brings us face to face with the question of Christian upbringing—or, more precisely, upbringing in accordance with the demands of the grace of baptism—with the aim of preserving that grace.

To clarify how a baptized infant should be treated for these purposes, we must recall the idea expressed earlier: that grace descends upon the heart and dwells within it when there is a turning away from sin and from oneself toward God. For the sake of this disposition, actively manifested, all other gifts of grace and all the benefits of the blessed are further bestowed: God’s favor, joint inheritance with Christ, deliverance from Satan’s domain, and freedom from the danger of being condemned to hell. But as soon as this disposition of mind and heart is diminished or lost, sin immediately begins to take possession of the heart again, and through sin, Satan’s bonds are imposed, and God’s favor and joint inheritance with Christ are taken away. Grace in the infant subdues and silences sin; but it can come to life again and rise up if given nourishment and freedom. Therefore, all the attention of those upon whom rests the duty to preserve the Christian child—received at baptism—in its integrity must be directed toward ensuring that sin does not gain the upper hand over the child again, toward suppressing and neutralizing sin in every way, and toward fostering and strengthening the child’s orientation toward God. We must ensure that such a disposition grows within the maturing Christian—though under guidance from others, yet through his own initiative—so that he may become increasingly accustomed to prevailing over sin and overcoming it for the sake of pleasing God, and to using the powers of his spirit and body in such a way that this is not work for sin, but service to God. That this is possible is evident from the fact that the one who is born and baptized is, in his entirety, a seed of the future or soil filled with seeds. The new disposition instilled by the grace of baptism is not merely conceptual or imputed, but real; that is, it, too, is a seed of life. If every seed develops according to its nature, then the seed of a life of grace can also develop within the baptized person. If the seed of a turning toward God—which prevails over sin—is planted within them, then it too can be developed and brought to fruition, just like other seeds. One need only employ effective means for this purpose or determine the appropriate way to influence the baptized infant.

The goal toward which all efforts must be directed is that this new person, upon coming of age, may recognize himself not merely as a human being—a rational and free creature—but also as one who has entered into a covenant with the Lord, with whom his eternal destiny is inseparably bound; not only to recognize himself as such, but also to find himself capable of acting in accordance with this commitment and to feel within himself a predominant inclination toward it. The question arises: How is this to be achieved? How should one deal with the baptized so that, upon reaching adulthood, they desire nothing more than to be a true Christian? Or—how should one provide a Christian upbringing?

In response to this, we will not attempt to examine everything in detail. We will limit ourselves to a general overview of the entire matter of Christian upbringing, with the aim of indicating how, in each case, to support and strengthen the good in children and how to weaken and suppress the bad.

Here, first and foremost, our attention turns to the infant in the cradle, before any of its faculties have awakened. The infant is alive; therefore, it is possible to influence its life. Here the Holy Sacraments apply, followed by the entire life of the Church; and along with them, the faith and piety of the parents.

All of this, taken together, creates a salvific atmosphere around the infant. Through all of these, the grace-filled life conceived within the infant is mysteriously instilled (inspired, imparted—Ed.).

Frequent reception of the Holy Mysteries of Christ (one might add: as frequently as possible) vividly and effectively unites this new member of the Lord’s body with Him through His most pure Body and Blood, sanctifies the child, brings peace to the child’s soul, and makes the child impervious to dark forces.

Those who act in this way notice that on the day a child receives Communion, the child is immersed in deep peace, without the strong urges of natural needs—even those that are most pronounced in children . Sometimes the child is filled with joy and a playful spirit, ready to embrace everyone as their own. Holy Communion is often accompanied by miracles. Saint Andrew of Crete did not speak for a long time during his childhood. When his distraught parents turned to prayer and the means of grace, the Lord, by His grace, loosened the bonds of his tongue during Communion, after which he quenched the Church with streams of eloquence and wisdom. One doctor testified, based on his observations, that in most cases of childhood illnesses, children should be brought to receive Holy Communion, and he very rarely needed to resort to medical treatment afterward.

Frequent visits to church, touching the Holy Cross, the Gospel, and icons, and sprinkling with holy water have a great influence on children; as well as at home—frequently presenting them before icons, frequently making the sign of the cross, sprinkling them with holy water, burning incense, blessing the cradle, food, and everything that comes into contact with them with the sign of the cross, receiving a priest’s blessing, bringing icons from the church into the home, and holding prayer services; In general, everything related to the Church miraculously warms and nourishes the child’s life of grace, and always serves as the safest and most impenetrable shield against the temptations of invisible dark forces, which are ever ready to penetrate (infiltrate, take root. Ed.) the developing soul in order to infect it with their breath.

Beneath this visible protection lies an invisible one: the Guardian Angel, appointed by the Lord to the infant from the very moment of baptism. He watches over the child, invisibly influencing him through his presence, and, when necessary, inspires the parents as to what must be done for their child in times of extreme need.

But all these strong safeguards, these powerful and effective inspirations, can be destroyed and the fruit deprived of them by the parents’ unbelief, negligence, wickedness, and unrighteous life. This is partly because, in such cases, these means are either not used at all or are used improperly; but especially because of an internal influence. It is true that the Lord is merciful, especially toward the innocent, but there is a connection between the souls of parents and the souls of their children that is incomprehensible to us, and we cannot determine to what extent the influence of the former extends to the latter; nor, at the same time, to what extent, in the face of the corrupting influence of the former, God’s mercy and forbearance extend to the latter. It sometimes happens that this influence ceases, and then the causes that have been laid in store bear their fruit. Therefore, the spirit of faith and piety in parents must be regarded as the most powerful means for preserving, nurturing, and strengthening a life of grace in their children.

An infant’s spirit, as it were, is still unresponsive in the first days, months, and even years. It is impossible to impart anything to it for assimilation through ordinary means. But it is possible to influence it indirectly.

There is a special way for souls to communicate through the heart. One spirit influences another through feeling. Such an influence on an infant’s soul is all the more effective the more fully and deeply the parents’ hearts are turned toward the infant. The father and mother lose themselves in the child and, as they say, are utterly devoted to it. And if their spirit is imbued with piety, it is impossible for it not to influence the child’s soul by its very nature. The best external conduit for this is the gaze. Whereas in other senses the soul remains hidden, the eye reveals it to the gaze of another. This is the point of encounter between one soul and another. Let the souls of the mother and father, filled with holy feelings, pass through this opening to the child’s soul. They cannot help but anoint it with this holy oil. It is necessary that their gaze shine not only with love—which is so natural—but also with the faith that they hold in their arms more than just a child, and with the hope that He, Who has entrusted this treasure to their care, as a vessel of grace, will provide them with sufficient strength to preserve it, and, finally, unceasing prayer in the Spirit, stirred by hope born of faith.

When parents thus surround their child’s cradle with this spirit of sincere piety, and when, on the one hand, the Guardian Angel, on the one hand, and the Holy Mysteries and the entire life of the Church, on the other, act upon the child both from without and within, a spiritual atmosphere inherent to that nascent life will form around it, one that will impart its own character to the child, just as blood—the source of animal life—depends greatly in its properties on the surrounding air. It is said that a newly made vessel retains, for a long time if not forever, the scent of the substance poured into it at that moment. The same must be said of the arrangement described here regarding children. It permeates the developing forms of the child’s life in a grace-filled and salvific manner and will impress its own seal upon them. Here, too, lies an impenetrable barrier against the influence of evil spirits.

Having begun such a practice from the cradle, one must continue it thereafter throughout the entire period of upbringing: in childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. The Church, piety, and the Holy Mysteries—like the tabernacle for children—under which they must remain constantly. Examples show how salvific and fruitful this is—Samuel (the prophet; August 20—Ed.), Theodore of Sikeon (April 22), and others. This alone can replace—and does replace, not without success—all other means of upbringing. The ancient method of education consisted primarily of this.

As a child’s faculties begin to awaken, one after another, parents and educators must redouble their attention. For when, under the influence of the means described, the child’s inclination toward God grows and strengthens, drawing the faculties in its wake, at the very same time the sin dwelling within them does not slumber but intensifies its efforts to take possession of those same faculties. The inevitable consequence of this is an inner struggle. Since children are incapable of waging this struggle on their own, parents wisely take their place. But since this struggle must ultimately be waged by the children’s own powers, parents must strictly watch over the first stirrings of their awakening, so that from the very first moment they may guide them toward a disposition consistent with the primary goal toward which they must be directed.

Thus begins the parents’ battle against the sin dwelling within the child. Although this sin lacks a foothold, it is nonetheless active and, in order to gain a firm hold on something, strives to take possession of the powers of the body and soul. We must not allow this to happen; we must, as it were, wrest these powers from the hands of sin and hand them over to God. But in order to act not without foundation, but with a clear understanding of the soundness of the chosen method, we must clearly understand what the remaining sin seeks, what nourishes it, and through what means exactly it takes hold of us. The main impulses that lead to sin are self-will (or inquisitiveness) in the mind, self-indulgence in the will, and self-gratification in the senses. Therefore, one must guide and direct the developing powers of the soul and body in such a way as not to surrender them to sensual indulgence, curiosity, self-will, and self-gratification—for this would be sinful captivity— — but rather, one must accustom oneself to renounce them and prevail over them, and in this way, as much as possible, render them powerless and render them harmless. This is the principal principle. All education must then be aligned with it. Let us examine, with this aim in mind, the principal activities of the body, soul, and spirit.

First of all, the body’s needs are awakened and then remain in constant, active operation until death. It is therefore all the more necessary to set proper limits for them and reinforce these limits through habit, so that they may cause less disturbance later on. Here, the function that is most crucial to bodily life is nutrition. From a moral standpoint, it is the seat of the passion for sinful carnal pleasure or the arena for its development and sustenance. Therefore, a child must be fed in such a way that, while developing the body’s vitality and providing it with strength and health, it does not inflame the soul with sensual indulgence. One must not assume that the child is too young—from the earliest years, one must begin to temper the flesh, which is inclined toward coarse matter, and accustom the child to exercising self-control over it, so that in adolescence, youth, and beyond, this need can be managed easily and freely. The initial foundation is very important. Much depends on a child’s diet in later life. A love of pleasure and intemperance in eating—two forms of gluttony, these tendencies destructive to both body and soul—can develop imperceptibly through one’s diet.

Therefore, even doctors and educators advise: 1) to choose healthy and appropriate food, taking into account the age of the child being raised: for one kind of food is suitable for an infant, another for a toddler, a preteen, and a young adult; 2) to subject its consumption to established rules (again, adapted to the child’s age), which specify the time, quantity, and manner of eating; and 3) to adhere to the routine thus established without deviation unless necessary. In this way, the child will learn not to demand food whenever the desire to eat arises, but to wait for a set time; Here, too, lie the first attempts at learning to deny one’s own desires. Where a child is fed every time it cries, and then every time it asks for food, the child becomes so spoiled that later on it can refuse food only when ill. At the same time, the child becomes accustomed to self-will because it succeeds in begging for or crying its way to everything it desires. The same principle must be applied to sleep, to warmth and cold, and to other comforts naturally necessary for nourishment, keeping firmly in mind the need not to inflame a passion for sensual pleasures and to accustom the child to denying itself. This must be strictly observed throughout the entire period of upbringing—adjusting, of course, the rules in their application rather than in their essence—until the child, having become firmly established in them, takes control of himself.

The second bodily function is movement; its instrument is the muscles, in which lie the body’s strength and vigor—the tools of labor. In relation to the soul, it is the seat of the will and is highly capable of fostering self-will. The measured, prudent development of this function, imparting vigor and liveliness to the body, accustoms one to labor and fosters moderation. On the contrary, perverse development, left to its own devices, fosters in some excessive liveliness and distraction, and in others—sluggishness, lifelessness, and laziness. The former reinforces and institutionalizes self-will and disobedience, which give rise to impetuosity, irascibility, and unbridled desires. The latter plunges one into carnality and surrenders one to sensual pleasures. Therefore, one must bear in mind that, while strengthening the body’s powers, one must not thereby inflate self-will or, for the sake of the flesh, destroy the spirit. To this end, the key is moderation, discipline, and supervision. Let the child play, but at the time, in the place, and in the manner prescribed. The parents’ will must guide their every step—in general, of course. Without this, the child’s character can easily become warped. Having played capriciously, the child always returns unwilling to obey, even in the smallest matters. And this is after just one instance; what then can be said when this aspect is entirely neglected? How difficult it is to eradicate willfulness once it has taken root in the body, as if in a fortress. The neck does not bend, the arms and legs do not move, and the eyes do not even want to look where they are told. On the contrary, a child becomes highly responsive to any command when their movements are not given free rein from the very beginning. Moreover, there is no better way to learn to control one’s body than by forcing it to exert itself according to instructions.

The third bodily function pertains to the nerves. The sensory nerves are the instruments of observation and the fuel of curiosity. But more on that later. For now, let us consider another general function of the nerves: as the seat of the body’s sensitivity, or the ability to receive external impressions that are pleasant or unpleasant to it. In this regard, one must make it a rule to accustom the body to painlessly endure all kinds of external influences: from air, water, temperature changes, dampness, heat, cold, wounds, pain, and so on. Whoever has acquired such a skill is the happiest of people, capable of the most difficult tasks, at any time and in any place. In such a person, the soul is the absolute master of the body; it does not procrastinate, waver, or abandon tasks out of fear of physical discomfort; on the contrary, it turns with a certain eagerness toward whatever might cause the body distress. And this is very important. The greatest evil in relation to the body is a love of warmth and pity for the body. It strips the soul of all authority over the body and makes the former a slave to the latter; on the contrary, one who does not spare the body will not be hindered in his endeavors by fears stemming from blind self-preservation. How fortunate is the one accustomed to this from childhood! This includes medical advice regarding bathing, the time and place of walks, and clothing; the main point is to care for the body not so that it experiences only pleasant sensations, but rather to subject it to unsettling ones. The former pamper the body, while the latter strengthen it; under the former, a child fears everything, but under the latter, he is ready for anything and able to persevere patiently in what he has begun.

This kind of treatment of the body is prescribed by pedagogy. Here we show only how this advice is also suitable for the development of the Christian life, precisely because its zealous observance bars the entrance into the soul of the noxious poison of sensual pleasures, self-indulgence, sensuality, or self-pity; it fosters dispositions opposed to these and, in general, teaches one to master the body as an instrument rather than submit to it. And this is very important in the Christian life, which by its very nature is detached from sensuality and all indulgence of the flesh. Therefore, one must not leave a child’s physical development to chance, but must keep the child under strict discipline from the very beginning, so that later the child may be entrusted to the child’s own care, already adapted to the Christian life rather than hostile to it. Christian parents who truly love their children must spare nothing—not even their own parental hearts—to bestow this blessing upon their children. For otherwise, all their subsequent acts of love and care will be either of little fruit or even fruitless. The body is the seat of the passions, and for the most part of the most ferocious ones, such as lust and anger. It is also the organ through which demons penetrate the soul or take up residence within it. It goes without saying that in doing so, one must not lose sight of the Church, nor of anything within it that can be applied to the body, for thereby the body will be sanctified and its ravenous animal nature will be subdued.

Not everything is written here; only the general approach to dealing with the body is indicated. The details will become clear in practice for those who need them. From this outline, it is also clear how one should treat the body at all other times in life: for our approach to it is the same.

Along with the emergence of bodily needs, the lower faculties in the soul also begin to manifest themselves in their natural sequence. Behold, the child begins to fix its gaze on one object or another—on one more than on another—as if it likes one more and the other less. These are the first stirrings of the use of the senses, immediately followed by the awakening of the imagination and memory. These faculties stand at the threshold between physical and mental activity and act in concert, so that what one does is immediately conveyed to the other. Judging by the importance they hold in our lives at this stage, how beneficial and salvific it is to sanctify their first stirrings with objects from the realm of faith. First impressions remain deeply etched in memory. We must remember that the soul enters the world as a bare force; it grows, becomes richer in inner content, and diversifies in its activities only later. It receives its first material, the first nourishment for its formation, from the outside, from the senses, through the imagination. It goes without saying what kind of character the first objects of the senses and imagination must have, so that they not only do not hinder but further promote the developing Christian life. For it is well known that just as the first food has a significant influence on the body’s temperament, so too do the first objects with which the soul engages have a strong influence on the soul’s character or the tone of its life.

The developing senses provide material for the imagination; the imagined object is stored in memory and constitutes, so to speak, the content of the soul. Let the senses receive their first impressions from sacred objects: an icon and the light of a lamp for the eyes, sacred hymns for the ears, and so on. The child does not yet understand anything of what is before his eyes, but his eyes and ears grow accustomed to these objects, and as they occupy his heart, they thereby push other objects into the background. Consequently, the senses and the first exercises of the imagination will be sacred; it will be easier for the child to imagine these objects than others: such are its first inclinations. Then, in the future, beauty—which is intrinsically linked to the forms of the senses and the imagination—will attract the child only in sacred forms.

So, let them shield the child with sacred objects of all kinds; yet let them remove anything that might corrupt the child through examples, images, or objects. But then, and for all time thereafter, they must maintain the same order. It is well known how powerfully corrupting images affect the soul, no matter in what form they reach it! How unfortunate is the child who, having closed their eyes or been left alone and lost in thought, is overwhelmed by a multitude of unwholesome images—vain, seductive, and brimming with passion. This is to the soul what fumes are to the head.

Nor should we lose sight of the nature of these forces’ activity. The role of the senses is to see, hear, touch—in short, to experience and explore. Therefore, they are the primary catalysts of curiosity, which then, for their sake, passes into the imagination and memory and, having taken root there, becomes an indomitable tyrant over the soul. One cannot do without the senses: for it is only through them that we come to know the things we must know, for the glory of God and our own good. But at the same time, curiosity is inevitable—an irrepressible inclination to see and hear, without any purpose, what is happening where and how things come to be. How, then, should one proceed? The very act of testing is, in itself, curiosity. Curiosity consists in striving to find out everything haphazardly, aimlessly, without distinguishing whether it is necessary or not. Therefore, one must simply exercise the senses with moderation and order, directing them toward what is necessary and in accordance with a conscious sense of need—then curiosity will have no fuel; that is, one must accustom the child to experience only what is deemed necessary for him; and to refrain from and turn away from everything else. Then, in the very act of experiencing, one must observe gradualness—not jumping from one object to another, or from one feature to another, but, examining one thing after another, taking care to form a proper mental image of the object afterward. This kind of practice will free the child from the inclination to be distracted even among permitted activities, teach them to control their senses, and through them, their imagination. And they will not jump from one thing to another without need; consequently, they will not daydream or be distracted by images, thereby disturbing the soul and clouding it with the ebb and flow of their aimless visions. A child who cannot control their emotions and imagination is bound to be distracted and fickle, tormented by a restlessness that will drive them from one object to another until their strength is exhausted—and all to no avail.

Alongside these faculties, passions arise in the child and begin to trouble him from an early age. The child does not yet speak or walk; he has only just learned to sit and pick up toys, yet he already gets angry, feels envy, claims things for himself, isolates himself, and so on—in short, he exhibits the effects of passions. This evil, rooted in animal nature, is corrupting; therefore, it must be counteracted from its very first manifestations. How to do this is difficult to determine. The whole matter depends on the prudence of the parents. One may, however, resolve as follows: 1) to prevent the emergence of these passions (Ed.) by every means possible; 2) then, if any passion has manifested itself, one must hasten to extinguish it using well-thought-out and proven methods. This will prevent them from taking root or a predisposition toward them from developing. The passion that manifests itself most frequently must be treated with special attention, because it can become the dominant ruler of one’s life. The most reliable method of treating passions is the use of divine remedies. These must be sought with faith. A passion is a phenomenon of the soul, yet parents initially have no means of influencing the soul… Therefore, first and foremost, one must pray to the Lord that He may accomplish His work. Experience will then serve as a further guide for the zealous father, mother, or nanny. Once the child has developed understanding, then the general remedies against passions may be employed. One must arm oneself with them in every way at the outset and continue to apply them throughout the child’s upbringing, so that the child may learn and become accustomed to mastering them, for the disruptive assaults of these passions will not cease until the end of life.

If the prescribed order of action regarding the body and the lower faculties is strictly observed, the soul will thereby receive excellent preparation for a truly good disposition; however, this is merely preparation; the disposition itself must be cultivated through positive action on all its powers: the mind, the will, and the heart.

Regarding the mind. Children quickly display intelligence. It develops alongside speech and grows as speech matures. Therefore, the education of the mind must begin alongside the development of speech. The main thing to keep in mind is sound concepts and judgments based on Christian principles regarding everything the child encounters or should pay attention to: what is good and evil, what is right and wrong. This is very easy to achieve through ordinary conversations and questions. Parents themselves talk among themselves: children listen and almost always absorb not only their thoughts but even their turns of phrase and mannerisms. Let parents, then, when they speak, always call things by their proper names. For example: what true life means, how it will end, from whom everything comes, what pleasures are, what value certain customs have, and so on. Let them talk with their children and explain things to them—either directly or, better yet, through stories—such as whether it is good to dress up, whether receiving praise brings happiness, and so on. Or let them ask their children what they think about various matters and correct their mistakes. In a short time, this simple method can instill sound principles for judging matters, which will then remain firmly rooted for a long time, if not for a lifetime. In this way, worldly speculation and that malicious, insatiable curiosity will be nipped in the bud. Truth binds the mind by satisfying it. Worldly speculation, however, does not satisfy and thus stokes curiosity. By freeing children from it, one will do them a great service—even before they pick up books. Furthermore, one need only refrain from giving children books containing perverse ideas, and their minds will remain intact, in holy and divine soundness. It is in vain to neglect to train a child in this way, on the assumption that he or she is still too young. The truth is accessible to everyone. Experience has shown that a young Christian child is wiser than philosophers. This is still true today, but it used to be the case everywhere. For example, during times of martyrdom, young children spoke of the Lord and Savior, of the folly of idolatry, of the life to come, and so on; this was because their mother or father had explained these things to them in simple conversation. These truths became ingrained in their hearts, which came to cherish them to the point of being ready to die for them.

Regarding free will. A child is full of desires: everything captures its attention, everything draws it in and gives rise to desires. Unable to distinguish good from evil, it desires everything and is ready to act on whatever it desires. A child left to its own devices becomes uncontrollably willful. Therefore, parents must strictly oversee this aspect of the child’s mental activity. The simplest way to keep it within proper bounds is to teach children not to do anything without permission. Let them turn to their parents whenever they have a desire and ask: “May I do this or that?” Convince them, through their own experiences and those of others, that it is dangerous for them to act on their desires without asking; instill in them a mindset such that they even fear their own will. This disposition will be the most desirable, but it is also the easiest to instill, for children already turn to adults with questions for the most part, aware of their own ignorance and weakness; one need only elevate this matter and present it to them as an inviolable law. The natural consequence of such a mindset will be complete obedience and submission in all things to their parents’ will, in defiance of their own; a disposition to deny themselves in many ways and a habit—or skill—in doing so; and, most importantly, an experiential conviction that one must not always listen to oneself. This is most clearly understood by children from their own experiences: they desire many things, yet what they desire is harmful to their body and soul. While weaning them from their own will, we must accustom the child to doing good. To this end, let parents themselves set a true example of a good life and introduce their children to those whose primary concerns are not pleasures and distinctions, but the salvation of the soul. Children are quick to imitate. How early they learn to copy their mother or father! Here, something similar to occurs—much like what happens with instruments tuned to the same pitch. At the same time, children themselves must be encouraged to perform good deeds; at first, they should be commanded to do them, and later guided so that they do them on their own. The most ordinary of these deeds are: charity, compassion, mercy, forbearance, and patience. It is not at all difficult to accustom them to all of this. Opportunities arise constantly; one need only seize them. From this will spring a will inclined toward various good deeds and, in general, a natural inclination toward goodness. And doing good must be taught, just like anything else.

The heart. Under such influence of the mind, the will, and the lower faculties, the heart itself will naturally be attuned to having sound and true feelings, to acquiring the habit of taking delight in what truly brings delight, and to having no sympathy whatsoever for that which, under the guise of sweetness, pours poison into the soul and body. The heart is the capacity to savor and feel satisfaction.

When man was in union with God, he found delight in things that were divine and sanctified by God’s grace. After the Fall, he lost this delight and craves the sensual. The grace of baptism has delivered him from this, but sensuality is once again ready to fill the heart. This must not be allowed to happen; the heart must be protected. The most effective means of cultivating a true taste in the heart is church life, in which the children being raised must be constantly immersed. A sense of communion with all that is sacred, the sweetness of dwelling among it for the sake of peace and warmth, and detachment from the glittering and alluring distractions of worldly vanity—these cannot be better imprinted on the heart. The church, sacred music, and icons are the foremost and most refined objects in terms of both content and power. We must remember that the future eternal abode will be determined by the taste of the heart, and the taste of the heart there will be such as it is formed here. It is evident that theaters, circuses, and the like are unsuitable for Christians.

A soul that has been subdued and organized in this way will not, through its inherent disorder, hinder the development of the spirit. The spirit develops more easily than the soul and reveals its power and activity before the soul does. These include: the fear of God (corresponding to reason), conscience (corresponding to the will), and prayer (corresponding to emotion). The fear of God gives rise to prayer and enlightens the conscience. There is no need for all this to be directed toward another, invisible world. Children have a natural predisposition toward this, and they quickly internalize these feelings. Prayer, in particular, is instilled very easily and operates not through the tongue but through the heart. That is why they willingly and tirelessly participate in family prayers and church services and take joy in them. Therefore, we must not deprive them of this part of their education, but rather gradually introduce them into this sanctuary of our being. The sooner the fear of God is instilled and prayer is awakened, the more firmly piety will take root for all time to come. In some children, this spirit manifested itself spontaneously, even amid apparent obstacles to its emergence. This is quite natural. The spirit of grace received at baptism, if it is not extinguished by the improper development of body and soul, cannot fail to enliven our spirit; and in doing so—what could prevent it from manifesting itself in its full strength? The conscience, however, requires the closest guidance. Sound concepts, combined with the good example of parents and other methods of teaching virtue, along with prayer, will enlighten the conscience and imprint within it a sufficient foundation for subsequent virtuous action. But most importantly, these elements must foster a disposition toward conscientiousness and self-awareness. Consciousness is a matter of the utmost importance in life; but just as easily as it can be fostered, so too can it be stifled in children. For young children, the will of their parents is the law of conscience and the law of God. To the extent that parents possess wisdom, let them issue their commands in such a way as not to force their children into the necessity of disobeying them; and if the children have already disobeyed, let them do everything possible to incline them toward repentance. Just as frost is to flowers, so is disobedience to a parent’s will to a child; the child dares not look into their eyes, does not wish to receive affection, wants to run away and be alone, and meanwhile the soul grows coarse, and the child begins to become wild. How good it is to prepare the child for repentance in advance, to ensure that, without fear, with trust and with tears, the child comes and says: “I did such-and-such a wrong thing.” Of course, all this will concern only ordinary matters; but it is also good that this will lay the foundation for a future, steadfast, truly religious character—the ability to rise immediately after a fall, the development of the skill of swift repentance and self-purification, or renewal through tears.

This is the order: let the child grow in it, and the spirit of piety will develop further within him. Parents must watch over every movement of the emerging forces and direct everything toward a single goal. This is the rule: to begin from the child’s very first breath, to begin with everything at once—not just one thing—and to carry it all out continuously, evenly, gradually, without sudden surges, with patience and anticipation, while observing, however, a wise gradualness, noticing the first signs of growth and making use of them, considering nothing trivial in a matter of such importance. Details are not disclosed; for the intention is merely to indicate the general direction of upbringing.

It is impossible to determine when a person comes to the realization that they are a Christian and makes the independent decision to live a Christian life. In practice, this happens at different times: at 7, 10, 15 years of age, and later. Perhaps the time for instruction will come before this, as is usually the case. In this regard, the indispensable rule is to maintain the entire previous order without change throughout the entire period of instruction: for it essentially flows from the nature of our strengths and the demands of the Christian life. The order of instruction must in no way be contrary to the spirit described above; otherwise, everything that has been established there will be ruined; that is, schoolchildren, just like infants, must be shielded by the piety of all those around them and by church life, as well as by the sacraments; and their body, soul, and spirit must also be nurtured. In this regard, with respect to instruction, one need only add: let the curriculum be arranged in such a way that it is clear what is primary and what is secondary. This idea is best illustrated by the distribution of subjects and time. Let the study of the faith be considered primary; let more time be allocated to acts of piety, and, in the event of a conflict, let the latter take precedence over academic pursuits; let approval be earned not only by success in the sciences, but also by faith and good character. In general, we must cultivate in the students a spirit such that their conviction is not extinguished that our primary purpose is to please God, while scholarship is a secondary quality, a mere accident, useful only for the duration of this present life. And therefore, it must by no means be placed so high or presented in such a dazzling light that it occupies all attention and consumes all concern. Nothing is more poisonous and destructive to the spirit of the Christian life than this emphasis on scholarship and the exclusive concern for it. It directly leads to spiritual apathy and can then keep one in that state forever; sometimes it even adds moral corruption if circumstances are favorable for it.

Another point to which attention must be paid is the spirit of teaching or the perspective on the subjects being taught. It must be established as an immutable law that every discipline taught to a Christian be imbued with Christian principles—and, moreover, Orthodox ones. Every discipline is capable of this, and only when it fulfills this condition will it be a true discipline in its own right. Christian principles are undoubtedly true. Therefore, without hesitation, establish them as the universal standard of truth. Our most dangerous error is that sciences are taught without any regard for the true faith, allowing for license and even falsehood, under the assumption that faith and science are two completely separate realms. We have one Spirit. This same Spirit receives the sciences and is nourished by their principles, just as it receives faith and is imbued with it. How, then, can they fail to come into contact—whether favorable or unfavorable—here? Moreover, there is but one realm of truth. Why, then, fill people’s minds with things that do not belong to this realm, or with which one cannot appear in its bright court?

If education is conducted in such a way that faith and life in the spirit of faith take precedence over all else—both in the focus of the students and in the nature of the lessons and the spirit of instruction—then there is no doubt that the foundations laid in childhood will not only be preserved but will also be elevated, strengthened, and brought to a commensurate maturity. And how beneficial this is!

If a person’s upbringing is conducted in this manner from the earliest years, then little by little the character that his life ought to possess will be revealed to him; he will become increasingly accustomed to the thought that it is his duty, on behalf of God and our Savior, to live and act according to His precepts; that all other affairs and pursuits are inferior to them and are appropriate only as a continuation of this present life; and that there is another place of residence, another homeland, toward which one must direct all one’s thoughts and all one’s desires. In the natural course of the development of one’s faculties, everyone naturally comes to the realization that they are human. But if a new, grace-filled Christian principle is instilled into their nature at the very first moment of the awakening of their faculties and their activity (at baptism), and if, thereafter, at every stage of the development of these faculties, this new principle not only did not yield primacy but, on the contrary, always prevailed, giving, as it were, form to everything, then, upon coming to self-awareness, a person will at the same time find himself acting according to Christian principles; he will find himself to be a Christian. And this is the main goal of Christian upbringing: that, as a result, a person might say to himself that he is a Christian. If, however, having come to full self-awareness, he says, “I am a Christian, bound by the Savior and God to live in such and such a way, so as to be deemed worthy of blessed communion with Him and His elect in the life to come,” — then, having attained independence—or a self-determined, rational way of life—he will set as his first essential task the independent preservation of and the rekindling of the spirit of piety in which he previously walked, under someone else’s guidance.

It was previously noted that there must be a special moment when one must deliberately renew in one’s consciousness all the obligations of Christianity and take upon oneself their yoke as an immutable law. At baptism, they were accepted unconsciously; afterward, they were maintained more by another’s mind, according to another’s disposition, and in simplicity. Now one must consciously take upon oneself the good yoke of Christ, choose the Christian way of life, and devote oneself exclusively to God, so that one may then serve Him with zeal for the rest of one’s days. It is only here that a person truly begins the Christian life on his own. It was within him before, but, one might say, it did not spring from his own initiative, as if it were not coming from him personally. Now he himself, in his own name, will begin to act in the spirit of a Christian. Then the light of Christ was within him like the light of the first day—unfocused, diffused. But just as light needed to be given centers by being drawn to the suns and the centers of the planets, so too must this light, as it were, gather around the starting point of our life, our consciousness. A person becomes fully human when he attains self-knowledge and rational independence, when he becomes the full master and ruler of his own thoughts and deeds, holding onto certain ideas not because others have passed them on to him, but because he himself finds them to be true. Even in Christianity, a person remains a person. That is why he must be rational here as well, only he must direct this rationality toward the benefit of the holy faith. Let him rationally convince himself that the holy faith he professes is the only true path to salvation and that all other paths, which are not in accord with it, lead to ruin. It is an honor for a person not to be a blind follower, but to be one who is conscious that, by acting in this way, he is doing what is right. He will do all this when he consciously takes upon himself the good yoke of Christ.

Only then does his personal faith—or a life of goodness rooted in faith—gain firmness and steadfastness. He will not be led astray by bad examples or carried away by empty thoughts, because he is clearly aware of his obligation to think and act in a decisive manner. But if he has not realized this, then just as a good example previously inclined him to act as he does, so now a bad example may incline him toward evil and lead him into sin; and just as the good thoughts of others previously held sway over his mind easily and without resistance, so now evil thoughts will take hold of it. And experience shows how shaky the profession of faith and the goodness of life are in one who has not previously recognized himself as a Christian. Whoever encounters few temptations will continue to grow in simplicity of heart for longer. But whoever cannot avoid them faces great danger. We see in the lives of all who have preserved the grace of baptism that there was a moment when they resolutely dedicated themselves to God. This is expressed by the words: “his spirit was kindled,” “he was set ablaze by a divine desire.”

Having recognized himself as a Christian, or having consciously resolved to live a Christian life, let him now preserve, with the utmost care, the perfection and purity of life he received from his earlier years, just as others have preserved it before him. There is no need to offer him any special rules as a guide. In this respect, he is on the same path as the penitent, who, having turned away from sin, embraces a fervent resolve to live a Christian life. Therefore, from this point forward, he must be guided by the same rules as the penitent, which will be discussed in the third section.

The difference between him and the repentant person in their pursuit of perfection will become clear of its own accord.

Now it remains only to offer a few—albeit very important—cautions specifically relevant to adolescence. How beneficial and salvific it is not only to be raised in a Christian manner but also to come to self-awareness and resolve to be a Christian before entering adolescence. This is necessary in view of the great dangers to which a young person is inevitably exposed: 1) due to the nature of his age and 2) due to the great temptations he faces throughout this period.

1. The river of our lives is intersected by the undulating stream of youth. This is a time when physical and spiritual life comes to a boil. The child and the adolescent live quietly; the man has few sudden impulses; venerable gray hairs incline toward tranquility; only youth is brimming with life. One must have a very firm foundation to withstand the pressure of the waves during this time. The very disorder and impulsiveness of one’s movements are dangerous. One’s first independent movements begin—the first stirrings of one’s awakening powers—and they hold all the charm for him: by the force of their influence, they displace everything that had previously occupied his mind and heart. What was once real to him will become a dream, a prejudice. Only his present feelings are true; only they have reality and significance. But if, before the awakening of these forces, he has bound himself by a commitment to the Christian faith and way of life, then all other passions, being secondary, will be weaker and will more readily yield to the demands of the former—simply because the latter are older, have already been tested and chosen by the heart, and, most importantly, are sealed by a vow. The young man is determined to always keep his word. What can be said of one who not only did not love the Christian life and truth, but has never even heard of them?

In this case, he is a house without a fence, left open to plunder, or dry brushwood, left to burn in the fire. When the waywardness of youthful thought casts a shadow of doubt over everything, when the stirrings of his passions greatly trouble him, when his whole soul is filled with tempting thoughts and impulses—the young man is in the fire. Who will give him a drop of dew for refreshment or extend a helping hand if no voice for truth, goodness, and purity arises from his heart? And it will not arise unless love for these things has first taken root within him. Even advice will be of no help in this case. There is no point in trying to instill it then. Advice and persuasion are powerful if, passing through the ear into the heart, they awaken feelings that are already there and are precious to us, but are merely overshadowed at the moment by other things, and we ourselves do not know how to release them and give them their proper strength. In this case, advice is a precious gift from the counselor to the young man. But if there are no seeds of a pure life in the heart, it is useless.

The young man lives on his own, and who can fathom all the movements and inclinations of his heart? It is like trying to fathom the path of a bird in the air or the course of a ship in the water!! The heart of a young man is like the fermentation of a souring liquid or the movement of the elements when they are mixed in a heterogeneous blend. All the needs of so-called nature, in their living agitation, each raises its voice, seeking satisfaction. Just as disorder prevails in our nature, so too is the aggregate of these voices like the disorderly shouts of a noisy crowd. What, then, will become of the young man if he has not been taught from the outset to bring his impulses into some order and has not committed himself to keeping them in strict submission to certain higher demands? If these principles are deeply imprinted on the heart during early upbringing and are later consciously adopted as a rule, then all agitations will occur, as it were, on the surface—transiently—without shaking the foundation or unsettling the soul.

How we emerge from our youthful years depends very much on how we enter them. Water falling from a cliff boils and swirls below, and then flows quietly along various channels. This is a metaphor for youth, into which everyone is cast like water into a waterfall. Two kinds of people emerge from it: some shine with kindness and nobility, others are overshadowed by wickedness and debauchery; and a third group—the middle class—is a mixture of good and evil, likened to an ember from the fire, which leans now toward good, now toward evil, just as a broken clock is sometimes right, sometimes fast, and sometimes slow.

Whoever has bound himself in advance by a vow is, as it were, sheltered in a sturdy, watertight little boat or has guided a calm channel through the whirlpool. Without this, even a good upbringing will not always save him. Even if someone does not fall into gross vices, if he is not inwardly united, his heart—not detached from all else by a vow—will be torn apart by passions, and he will inevitably emerge from his youth jaded, neither here nor there.

Thus, it is vital, even before the years of youth, not only to cultivate a good disposition but also to strengthen oneself with a vow—to be a true Christian. Let the one who has made this resolve fear youth itself as if it were fire, and therefore avoid all situations in which youth easily runs wild and becomes uncontrollable.

2. Youth is dangerous in and of itself; but added to this are two more impulses characteristic of this age, which cause youthful passions to flare up more intensely and acquire greater strength and danger. These are: a) a thirst for excitement and b) a tendency toward social interaction. Therefore, as a means of avoiding the dangers of youth, one may advise subjecting these impulses to rules, so that they do not bring harm instead of good.

The positive dispositions aroused earlier will remain in full force if they are not extinguished or stifled.

A. The thirst for new experiences lends a certain impetuosity, continuity, and variety to a young man’s actions. He wants to experience everything for himself, see everything, hear everything, and go everywhere. Look for him where there is splendor for the eyes, harmony for the ears, and space for movement. He wants to be under a constant stream of impressions, always new and therefore varied. He cannot sit still at home, cannot stay in one place, cannot focus on a single object. His element is entertainment. But this is not enough for him; he is not satisfied with actual, personal experience, but wants to absorb and, as it were, take on the impressions of others, to experience what others felt and how they acted on their own or in circumstances similar to his own. Then he throws himself into books and begins to read; he goes through one book after another, often without grasping their content; his main goal is to find the so-called “effect,” no matter what kind of subject matter it deals with or what it concerns. New, vivid, and incisive—these are the best recommendations a book can offer him. Here, a penchant for light reading emerges and takes shape—the same thirst for impressions, only in a different form. But that is not all. The young man often grows weary of reality, of what is, as it were, imposed on him from the outside: this constrains him and confines him too strictly within certain boundaries, while he seeks a certain freedom. Then he often breaks away from reality, retreats into his own imagined world, and there begins to act to his heart’s content. His imagination constructs entire stories for him, in which the hero is, for the most part, himself. The young man is just entering life. A seductive, alluring future lies before him. In time, he too must take his place there: what will he become? Is there no way to lift this veil and take a peek? The imagination, which is very active at this age, does not delay in providing satisfaction. It is here that a dreamy disposition is revealed and nurtured through such activities.

Dreams, light reading, entertainment—all these are almost one and the same in spirit: children crave impressions; they crave the new and the varied. And the harm they cause is the same. Nothing can better stifle the good seeds previously sown in a young man’s heart than these very things. A young sapling planted in a place where winds blow on it from all sides will suffer for a short while and then wither; grass that is frequently trampled does not grow; a part of the body subjected to prolonged friction becomes numb. The same happens to the heart and the good inclinations within it if one indulges in daydreams, idle reading, or frivolous amusements. Anyone who has stood in the wind for a long time—especially a damp wind—feels, upon entering a sheltered spot, as if everything within them were out of place; the same happens to the soul that has been distracted in any way. Returning from distraction to himself, the young man finds everything in his soul in a distorted order; and most importantly—all that is good is veiled by a certain veil of oblivion, and only the allurements left by impressions stand in the foreground; consequently, it is no longer what it was and what it should always be: the dispositions have changed their order of precedence. Why, then, does the soul begin to yearn when it returns to itself after some distraction? Because it finds itself robbed. The distracted person has turned his soul into a broad highway along which, through the imagination, seductive objects pass like shadows and lure the soul after them. But then, as the soul is thus, as it were, torn away from itself, the devil secretly approaches, carries off the good seed, and sows the evil one. This is what the Savior teaches when He explains who steals what is sown along the path and who sows the tares. Both are the work of the enemy of mankind.

So, young man! Do you wish to preserve the purity and innocence of childhood or the vow of a Christian life without reproach? To the best of your strength and wisdom, refrain from entertainment, the indiscriminate reading of seductive books, and—daydreams! How good it is, in this case, to subject oneself to strict and rigorous discipline and to remain under guidance throughout one’s youth. Those young men who are not allowed to manage their own conduct until they reach maturity may be called fortunate. And every young man should rejoice if he finds himself in such circumstances. The young man himself, of course, can hardly achieve this on his own; but he will show great wisdom if he follows the advice to spend more time at home working, rather than daydreaming or reading frivolous material. Let him replace idleness with diligence, and daydreaming with serious pursuits under supervision—supervision that must particularly govern his reading, both in the choice of books and in the manner of reading. However, whoever does this, let them do it. Passions, doubts, and enthusiasms flare up precisely in this, so to speak, turbulent ferment of a young man’s mind.

B. A second, equally dangerous tendency in a young man is his inclination toward social interaction. It manifests itself in the need for companionship, friendship, and love. All of these are good in their proper order, but it is not up to the young man to arrange them in that order.

Youth is a time of vivid emotions. They surge in his heart like the ebb and flow of the tide along the seashore. Everything captivates him; everything amazes him. Nature and society have revealed their treasures to him. But emotions do not like to be kept hidden within, and the young man wants to share them. Therefore, he needs someone who can share his feelings—that is, a companion and a friend. It is a noble need, but it can also be dangerous! To whom you entrust your feelings, to that person you give, in a sense, power over yourself. How careful one must be in choosing a close friend! You may encounter someone who can lead you far, far astray from the straight path. It goes without saying that a good person naturally gravitates toward goodness and turns away from evil. The heart has a certain instinct for this. But, again, how often does simple-heartedness get lured by cunning! That is why every young man is rightly advised to be cautious in choosing a friend. It is wise not to form a friendship until you have tested the friend. It is even better to have as your first friend your father, or someone who in many ways takes the place of a father, or a relative—one who is experienced and kind. For one who has resolved to live a Christian life— —the first friend given by God is the spiritual father; converse with him, confide your secrets to him, weigh matters with him, and learn from him. Under his guidance, through prayer, God will send, if necessary, another friend as well. There is, however, not so much danger in friendship as there is in mere companionship. We rarely see true friends, but rather acquaintances and casual companions. And here, how much evil is possible—and how often it occurs! There are social circles with very unwholesome rules. If you give in to them, you will not even notice how you become united with them in spirit, just as you imperceptibly become saturated with the stench in a foul place. They themselves often lose all awareness of the depravity of their behavior and calmly persist in it. Even if this awareness does awaken in someone, they lack the strength to break away. Everyone is afraid to speak out, expecting to be hounded everywhere with barbed remarks, and says, “So be it; perhaps it will pass.” Bad company corrupts good character (1 Cor. 15:33). Deliver everyone, O Lord, from these depths of Satan. For one who has resolved to serve the Lord, fellowship should be only with the godly who seek the Lord; from others one must withdraw and sincerely avoid associating with them, following the example of God’s saints.

The greatest danger for a young man lies in his interactions with the opposite sex. Whereas in his first temptations a young man merely strays from the straight path, here he also loses himself. In his initial awakening, this matter is intertwined with a longing for beauty, which, from the moment of his awakening, compels the young man to seek satisfaction. Meanwhile, beauty gradually begins to take shape in his soul, and it is usually a human form, because we find nothing more beautiful than that… The image he has created haunts the young man’s mind. From that moment on, he seeks what appears to be the beautiful—that is, the ideal, the unearthly—yet he encounters a human woman and is wounded by her. It is precisely this wounding that the young man must avoid above all else, for it is a disease all the more dangerous in that the sufferer desires to be ill to the point of madness.

How can this affliction be averted? Do not walk the path that leads to this wounding.

This path is depicted as follows in a certain psychological treatise. It has three turns.

First, a certain sorrowful feeling awakens in the young man—he knows not what it is or where it comes from—but it is marked, however, by the fact that he feels as if he were alone. This is the feeling of loneliness. From this feeling, another immediately springs forth—a certain pity, tenderness, and attention to himself. Before, he lived as if he were not even aware of himself. Now he turns his attention to himself, examines himself, and always finds that he is not the worst, not among the least—that he is a person of worth: he begins to feel his own beauty, the pleasing contours of his body, or—to take a liking to himself. This concludes the first phase of self-seduction. From this point on, the young man turns his attention to the outside world.

This entry into the outside world is inspired by the confidence that he must be pleasing to others. With this confidence, he boldly and, as it were, triumphantly steps onto the stage of action and, perhaps for the first time, makes neatness, cleanliness, and elegance—even to the point of dandyism—a rule for himself; he begins to wander, or seek acquaintances, as if without a specific goal, driven by the secret yet distinct longing of a searching heart, and in doing so strives to shine with wit, pleasant manners, thoughtful consideration—in short, everything by which he hopes to be liked. At the same time, he gives free rein to the primary organ of emotional communication—the eye.

In this state of mind, he is like gunpowder held beneath a spark, and soon falls prey to his own affliction. Struck or pierced as if by an arrow—whether by a glance or a particularly pleasant voice—he stands at first somewhat in a state of ecstasy and stupor; but once he has come to his senses and regained his composure, he finds that his attention and heart are turned toward a single object and drawn to it with irresistible force. From that moment on, his heart begins to be consumed by longing; the young man is despondent, withdrawn into himself, preoccupied with something important, searching as if he had lost something, and whatever he does, he does for that one person and as if in his presence. He is truly lost; sleep and food do not cross his mind, his usual affairs are forgotten and fall into disarray; nothing is dear to him. He is afflicted by a fierce illness that gnaws at his heart, constricts his breath, and dries up the very springs of life. Such is the gradual course of this affliction! And it goes without saying what a young man must guard against in order not to fall into this misfortune. Do not walk this path! Drive away the harbingers—vague sadness and a sense of loneliness. Defy them: if you feel sad, do not daydream, but start doing something serious with focus—and it will pass. If self-pity or a sense of your own superiority begins to take root—hurry to snap yourself out of it and drive away this delusion with some severity and harshness toward yourself, especially by clarifying the sound notion of the insignificance of what is creeping into your head. Accidental or intentional humiliation in this case was like water on a fire… You must take special care to suppress and drive away this feeling, precisely because this is where the movement begins. Stop here—you won’t go any further: neither the desire to please, nor the pursuit of finery and dandyism, nor the urge to socialize will arise. If these feelings break through—fight them. What a reliable safeguard in this case is strict discipline in everything, physical labor, and even more so mental exertion! Intensify your studies, stay at home, and avoid entertainment. If you must go out—keep your emotions in check, avoid the opposite sex, and above all—pray.

In addition to these dangers, which stem from the nature of youth, there are two more: first, a state of mind in which rational knowledge—or self-willed understanding—soars to the heavens. The young man considers it an advantage to cast a shadow of doubt over everything and sets aside anything that does not conform to the measure of his understanding. By this alone, he cuts off from his heart the entire spirit of faith and the Church; consequently, he falls away from it and remains alone. Seeking a replacement for what he has abandoned, he throws himself into theories constructed without regard for revealed (divinely revealed—Ed.) truth, entangles himself in them, and banishes all the truths of the faith from his mind. The trouble is even greater if the teaching of the sciences in schools provides a pretext for this and if such a spirit becomes prevalent there. They think they possess the truth, but they accumulate vague, empty, and fanciful ideas—most of which are even contrary to common sense—which, however, captivate the inexperienced and become an idol for the inquisitive youth. Second—worldliness. While it may have some useful aspects, its predominance in a young person is pernicious. It is characterized by a life governed by sensory impressions, a state in which a person is rarely present within themselves, but almost entirely focused outward—whether on action or on dreams. With such a mindset, they come to despise the inner life and those who speak of it and live by it. To them, true Christians are either mystics entangled in abstract concepts, or hypocrites, and so on. The spirit of the world, which prevails in the circle of secular life—and with which young men are freely allowed and even encouraged to come into contact—prevents them from understanding the truth. Through this contact, the world, with all its corrupt concepts and customs, seeps into the receptive soul of the young man—who is unprepared, not yet opposed to it, but still only absorbing its atmosphere—and leaves its mark on him, as on wax; and he unwittingly becomes its child. And this kind of offspring is contrary to the offspring of God in Christ Jesus.

Such are the dangers facing young men from their youth! And how difficult it is to resist! But for one who is well-bred and has resolved to devote himself to God before the years of youth, it is not so dangerous; endure a little while, and then the purest and most blissful peace will come. Just keep your vow of a pure Christian life during this time; and afterward, you will live with a certain holy steadfastness. Whoever has safely passed through the years of youth is as if he has crossed a turbulent river and, looking back, blesses God. But others, with tears in their eyes and in repentance, look back and curse themselves. What you lose in your youth can never be regained. Will those who have fallen ever attain what those who have not fallen possess?

From what has been said so far, it is easy to understand why so few preserve the grace of baptism. Upbringing is the cause of everything, both good and evil.

The grace of baptism is not preserved because the order, rules, and laws of the upbringing applied to it are not observed. The main reasons are: a) Distancing oneself from the Church and its means of grace. This stifles the sprout of Christian life, severing it from its sources, and it withers, just as a flower placed in a dark place withers; b) Neglect of bodily functions. People think that the body can develop in every way without harm to the soul; meanwhile, within its functions lie the seats of the passions, which, as the body develops, also develop, take root, and take possession of the soul. By permeating the bodily functions, the passions establish a foothold within them, or build an impregnable fortress out of them, thereby consolidating their power for all time to come. c) The indiscriminate development of the soul’s faculties, not directed toward a single goal. If one does not see the goal ahead, one does not see the path to it. Hence, despite all the concern for the most modern education, nothing more is done than to inflame curiosity, self-will, and the thirst for pleasure. d) Complete neglect of the spirit. Prayer, the fear of God, and conscience are rarely taken into account. Outward propriety is sought, while those innermost states are always assumed to be present and are therefore always left to one’s own devices. e) During education—the overshadowing of the most important task by secondary ones, the obscuring of its singular purpose by a multitude of others, f) Finally, entering adolescence without having first established sound principles and a resolve to live a Christian life, and furthermore—failing to keep the impulses of youthful life in proper order, surrendering oneself entirely to a thirst for excitement through entertainment, light reading, stirring the imagination with dreams, indiscriminate socializing with peers and especially with the opposite sex, an exclusive focus on scholarship , and devotion to the spirit of the world, prevailing ideas, rules, and customs—all of which are never conducive to a life of grace but are always hostile toward it and seek to suppress it.

Any one of these causes is sufficient on its own to extinguish the life of grace within a person. But more often than not, they act in concert, and one inevitably draws the other; yet taken together, they so stifle the spiritual life that sometimes not even the slightest trace of it is discernible, as if a person had no spirit at all, were not created for communion with God, lacked the powers intended for that purpose, and had not received the grace that enlivens them.

The reason why a proper method of upbringing is not followed lies either in ignorance of such a method or in neglect of it. Upbringing, left to its own devices, inevitably takes a perverse, false, and harmful course, first in the home and then during schooling. But even where, on the surface, upbringing is not neglected and follows established rules, it often proves fruitless and deviates from its purpose because of the false ideas and principles upon which its system is built. What is intended is not what should be, nor is what should be regarded as primary; specifically, it is not the pleasing of God or the salvation of the soul, but something entirely different: either the perfection of natural powers alone, or adaptation to professional roles, or fitness for life in high society, and so on. But when the foundation is impure and false, what is necessarily built upon it cannot lead to good.

The following can be pointed out as the main deviations: 1) The rejection of the means of grace. This is a natural consequence of forgetting that the person being educated is a Christian and possesses not only natural but also grace-given powers. And without these means, a Christian is like an unfenced garden trampled by roaming demons, ravaged by the storm of sin and the world, with no one and nothing to restrain or drive them away. 2) A primary focus on preparing for happiness in this temporal life, while suppressing the memory of the eternal. This is discussed at home, taught in classrooms, and emphasized in everyday conversations. 3) The predominance of outward appearances in everything, not even excluding the ministry.

Unprepared at home and having received such an upbringing, one’s mind is inevitably clouded; one views everything through the wrong lens; everything is perceived in a distorted manner, as if through broken or false glasses. Therefore, one does not wish to hear either about one’s ultimate true purpose or about the means to achieve it. All of this is a secondary matter to him, as if a joke.

Given this, it is not difficult to determine exactly what is needed to correct such a deplorable state of affairs. What is needed is:

To thoroughly understand and internalize the principles of true Christian upbringing and to act in accordance with them, first and foremost at home. Home upbringing is the root and foundation of everything that follows. A child who is well-raised and properly guided at home will not be so easily led astray from the right path by a misguided school education.

Next, we must restructure school education according to new, true principles, introduce Christian elements into it, and correct what is flawed; most importantly, we must ensure that throughout the entire educational process, the student remains under the most abundant influence of the Holy Church, which, through its entire structure, has a salvific effect on the formation of the spirit. This would prevent sinful influences from flaring up, foster a spirit of peace, and drive away the spirit of the abyss. At the same time, we must direct everything from the temporal to the eternal, from the external to the internal, and educate the children of the Church, the members of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Most of all, it is necessary to: 3) train educators under the guidance of those who know true education not from theory but from experience. Having been trained under the supervision of the most experienced educators, they will in turn pass on their art to others, to those who follow, and so on. An educator must pass through all the stages of Christian perfection so that, in their work, they may conduct themselves appropriately, be able to discern the inclinations of those they educate, and then influence them with patience, success, strength, and fruitfulness. This must be a class of the purest, God-chosen, and holy individuals. Education is the holiest of all holy deeds.

The fruit of a good upbringing is the preservation of the grace of Holy Baptism. The latter richly rewards all the labors of the former. For certain exalted advantages belong to those who have preserved the grace of Baptism and dedicated themselves to God from their earliest years.

1. The first advantage, as it were the foundation of all other advantages, is the integrity of one’s naturally grace-filled constitution. A person is destined to be a vessel for extraordinarily high powers, ready to pour out upon him from the source of all good things, provided only that he does not disrupt himself. And the repentant person can be completely healed ; but it seems that he is not granted the knowledge and feeling that the one who has not fallen possesses, or he cannot delight in that integrity or possess the boldness that results from it.

2. From this flow, of their own accord, the liveliness, ease, and naturalness of virtuous conduct. He walks in goodness as in the only world that is truly his own. The repentant person must strive for a long time and accustom himself to this goodness in order to perform it with ease, but even after achieving this, he must constantly keep himself in a state of tension and fear. In contrast, the other lives with simplicity of heart, in a certain comforting certainty of salvation—a certainty that is not deceptive.

3. Then a certain evenness and continuity take hold in his life. There are neither surges nor lapses in him; and just as our breathing is for the most part even, so too is his walk in goodness. The same is true of the repentant person, but it is not quickly attained and does not manifest in such perfection. A repaired wheel often reveals its defect; and a repaired clock is no longer as accurate as an unrepaired or new one.

4. He who has never fallen is always young. The traits of his moral character reflect the feelings of a child before it has sinned against its father. Here is the first sense of innocence, childhood in Christ—as it were, ignorance of evil. How much does this cut off his evil thoughts and the tormenting agitations of the heart! Then there is extraordinary warmth, sincere kindness, and a gentle disposition. In him, the fruits of the Spirit mentioned by the Apostle are revealed in all their power: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Gal. 5:22–23). He seems to be clothed in mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience (Col. 3:12). Furthermore, he maintains a genuine cheerfulness, or spiritual joy; for in him is the Kingdom of God, which is peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. Furthermore, he possesses a certain discernment and wisdom, seeing everything within himself and around him and knowing how to manage himself and his affairs. His heart assumes such a disposition that it immediately tells him what needs to be done and how to do it.

Finally, one might say that he is characterized by a fearlessness in the face of failure, a sense of security in God. “Who shall separate us from the love of God?” (Rom. 8:35). All of this, taken together, makes him both respectable and endearing. He draws people to himself without even trying. The existence of such people in the world is a great grace from God. They take the place of the apostles’ ministry. Just as sawdust gathers around a strong magnet, or just as a strong character draws in the weak, so the power of the Spirit dwelling within them draws everyone to themselves, especially those who possess the beginnings of the Spirit.

The foremost moral perfection, however, belonging to one who has remained intact through the years of youth, is a certain steadfastness of virtue throughout one’s entire life. Samuel remains steadfast amid all the temptations in the house of Elijah and amidst the turmoil of the people in society. Joseph, among his wicked brothers, in the house of Potiphar, in prison, and in glory alike, kept his soul blameless. Truly, it is good for a man to bear the yoke in his youth (Lamentations 3:27). My son! Devote yourself to learning from your youth, and you will find wisdom even in your old age. Approach it as one who plows and sows, and await its good fruits (Sirach 6:18–20). A righteous disposition becomes, as it were, second nature, and even if it is occasionally somewhat disturbed, it soon returns to its original state. That is why, in the Chet-Mineyot, we find among the saints for the most part those who preserved moral purity and the grace of baptism in their youth.

Moreover, whoever, having preserved purity, dedicates himself to God from an early age:

1. Does the work most pleasing to God, offering Him the most pleasing sacrifice—a) because, according to the law of righteousness, God generally finds the first things most pleasing: the first fruits, the firstborn of humans and animals, and, consequently, the early years of youth; b) because a pure sacrifice is offered—an unblemished youth, which is, above all, what is required of any sacrifice; c) because they accomplish this by overcoming considerable obstacles, both within themselves and from without, and by renouncing the pleasures to which they feel a particular attraction at this time.

2. He does what is most prudent. One must devote oneself to God, for in this alone lies salvation—unless, of course, one has given in to despair. But there is nothing better or more reliable for this time than the first moment we became aware of ourselves—for who knows what tomorrow will bring? But even if someone hoped to live longer without devoting all their time to God, they would only make things difficult for themselves by becoming accustomed to a life contrary to God’s will, and God alone knows whether they will be able to overcome themselves afterward. Even if they do overcome it: what kind of sacrifice to God is that—one that is sick, emaciated, maimed, and incomplete? However, although all this does happen, how rare it is! How rarely does one who has lost innocence manage to regain it! How difficult it is for someone who has not known a virtuous life from childhood to turn back is vividly depicted, from his own experience, by Blessed Augustine in his *Confessions*. “The years of my youth,” he says, “I spent in frivolity and mischief—even of an impermissible nature—in disobedience and disregard for my parents. With the onset of adolescence, debauchery began, and within three years I had become so depraved that for the next 12 years I kept resolving to reform—yet could not find the strength to carry it out. Even after I made a decisive turn toward a radical change of will, I still hesitated for two more years, putting off my conversion from day to day. So weakened was my will by those early passions! But after my resolute conversion and receiving grace through holy baptism, I had to endure a struggle against my passions, which strongly drew me back to my former way!”

Is it any wonder that so few are saved among those who have spent their youth in a way that is not right?! This example most clearly shows the great danger faced by a person who has not received sound guidance in youth and has not consecrated himself to God in advance. What a blessing, then, it is to receive a sound, truly Christian upbringing, to enter the years of youth with it, and then, in the same spirit, to enter the years of manhood.

On the Beginning of the Christian Life Through Repentance

or on the repentance and conversion of a sinner to God

How does the Christian life begin in the sacrament of repentance?

The beginning of a grace-filled Christian life lies in baptism. But few preserve this grace; the majority of Christians lose it. We see that some are, in their actual lives, more or less corrupted, with evil tendencies that have been allowed to develop and take root within them. Others may have been endowed with good beginnings, but in the early years of their youth—whether through their own inclination or through the temptation of others—they forget them, begin to grow accustomed to evil, and become accustomed to it. All such people no longer possess a truly Christian life within themselves; they must begin it anew. Our holy faith offers the Sacrament of Penance for this purpose. “If anyone sins, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous” (1 John 2:1). If you have sinned, acknowledge your sin and repent. God will forgive your sin and once again give you “a new heart and a new spirit” (Ezek. 36:26). There is no other way: either do not sin, or repent. Indeed, judging by the great number of those who fall away after baptism, it must be said that repentance has become for us the sole source of a truly Christian life.

It is important to know that in the Sacrament of Penance, for some, the gift of a life of grace—already received and active within them—is merely reawakened and rekindled; for others, this life is only just beginning, or this life is granted and received anew. We will consider it from this latter perspective.

In this second sense, it is a decisive change for the better, a turning of the will, a turning away from sin and a turning toward God, or the kindling of a fire of zeal for the exclusive pleasing of God, with the rejection of oneself and everything else. What characterizes it most of all is a painful turning of the will. A person has become accustomed to evil; now, as it were, one must tear oneself apart. He has offended God; now he must burn in the fire of impartial judgment. The penitent experiences the pangs of childbirth and, in the feelings of his heart, touches in some way upon the torments of hell. To the weeping Jeremiah, the Lord commanded him to tear down and rebuild, and to plant (Jer. 1:10). And the sorrowful spirit of repentance is sent by the Lord to the earth so that, penetrating those who receive it “even to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow” (Heb. 4:12), it may tear down the old man and lay the foundations for the building up of the new. In the repentant soul—now fear, now faint hope, now anguish, now slight comfort, now the terrors of near despair, now a breath of the joy of mercy—these alternate with one another and place or keep him in a state of decay, or of parting with life, yet in the expectation of receiving a new one.

This is painful but salvific, and so inevitable that whoever has not experienced such a painful turning point has not yet begun to live through repentance. And there is no hope that a person could or would purify himself in every respect without passing through this crucible. Resolute and active resistance to sin arises only from hatred of it; hatred of it stems from a sense of the evil it brings; and this sense of the evil it brings is experienced in all its intensity during this painful turning point in repentance. It is only here that a person feels with all their heart how great an evil sin is; only then will they flee from it as from the fire of Gehenna. Without this painful trial, however, even if a person begins to purify himself, he will do so only superficially—more outwardly than inwardly, more in deeds than in dispositions; and therefore his heart will remain impure, like unrefined ore.

Such a change is wrought in the human heart by divine grace. It alone can inspire a person to raise a hand against himself, to slay himself and offer himself as a sacrifice to God. “No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him” (John 6:44). “A new heart and a new spirit” are given by God Himself (Ezek. 36:26). Man feels pity for himself. Having become one with the flesh and sin, he has become one with them. Only an external, higher power can separate him from them and turn him against himself.

Thus, the transformation of a sinner is brought about by grace, yet not without free will. In baptism, grace is given to us at the moment this Sacrament is performed upon us; but free will comes afterward and appropriates what has been given. In repentance, however, free will must participate in the very act of transformation.

Change for the better—turning to God—seems as though it ought to be instantaneous or take only a moment, as indeed it often is. But in preparation, it goes through several stages, signifying the union of freedom with grace, in which grace takes hold of freedom, and freedom submits to grace—stages that are necessary for everyone. Some pass through them quickly, while for others the process lasts for years. Who can fathom all that takes place here, especially when the ways in which grace acts upon us are so varied and the states of the people upon whom it begins to act are innumerable? One must, however, expect that, despite all this diversity, there is a single general order of change here that no one can bypass. Every repentant person is one who lives in sin—and grace transforms every such person. Therefore, based on the concept of the sinner’s condition in general and the relationship between freedom and grace, it is now possible to describe this order and define it by rules.

The Condition of the Sinner

The Word of God mostly depicts the sinner, who is in need of renewal through repentance, as being immersed in a deep sleep. The distinguishing feature of such individuals is not always obvious wickedness, but rather the very absence of that inspired, self-sacrificing zeal for pleasing God, with a resolute aversion to all that is sinful, — that piety is not the main focus of their concerns and efforts; that, while concerned with many other things, they are completely indifferent to their own salvation, do not realize the danger they are in, do not strive for a virtuous life, and live a life cold toward the faith, even though it may sometimes appear upright and outwardly blameless.

This is a general characteristic. In specific terms, this is what a person devoid of grace is like.

Having turned away from God, a person focuses on himself and makes himself the primary goal of his entire life and activity. This is partly because, apart from God, there is nothing higher for him than himself; but especially because, having previously received every fullness from God and now being emptied of Him, he hastens and strives to find a way to fill himself. The emptiness formed within him through his falling away from God ceaselessly kindles in him an insatiable thirst—indefinite, yet unceasing. Man has become a bottomless abyss; he strives with all his might to fill this abyss, yet he neither sees nor feels any fulfillment. That is why he spends his entire life in sweat, toil, and great trouble: occupied with various objects in which he hopes to find relief from the thirst that consumes him. These objects absorb all his attention, all his time, and all his activity. They are the primary good in which he lives with his heart. From this it is clear why a person, having made himself the sole object of his pursuit, is never at peace within himself, but is entirely outside himself, in things created or invented by vanity. He has fallen away from God, Who is the fullness of all things; he himself is empty; all that remains, as it were, is to spill out into an infinitely varied array of things and to live within them. Thus the sinner craves, cares about, and busies himself with objects outside himself and God—with many and varied things. This is why a characteristic feature of the sinful life—amidst carelessness regarding salvation—is concern for many things, or excessive worry (see Luke 10:41).

The nuances and distinctions of this over-concern depend on the nature of the voids that have formed in the soul. The emptiness of a mind that has forgotten the One Who is all gives rise to a desire for extensive knowledge, inquiry, experimentation, and curiosity. The emptiness of the will, having lost possession of the One Who is all, produces many desires, a striving for the possession of many things or for universal dominion, so that everything may be subject to our will and in our hands—this is self-indulgence. The emptiness of the heart, having lost the delight in the One Who is all, gives rise to a thirst for many and varied pleasures, or the pursuit of those countless objects in which we hope to find the gratification of our senses, both internal and external. Thus, the sinner, constantly preoccupied with the pursuit of knowledge, possessions, and pleasures, delights in, seizes, and experiments with them. This is a cycle in which he spins for his entire life. Curiosity beckons; the heart longs to taste sweetness and captivates the will. Anyone can see for themselves that this is so by observing the movements of their own soul for even a single day.

The sinner would remain in this cycle if left to himself: such is our nature when we are enslaved to sin. But this cycle is magnified a thousandfold and complicated by the fact that the sinner is not alone. There is a whole world of people who do just that—who torment, indulge, and accumulate—who, in these respects, have systematized these practices, subjected them to laws, and made them a necessity for all who belong to their sphere; who, through mutual association, inevitably coming into contact, rub against one another, and in this friction only heighten to the tens, hundreds, and thousands of times their curiosity, self-indulgence, and self-gratification, placing all happiness, bliss, and life in their dissolution. This is a vain world, whose pursuits, customs, rules, connections, language, amusements, entertainments, and concepts—everything, from the smallest to the greatest—are imbued with the spirit of those three spawn of overprotectiveness mentioned above, and constitute the hopeless ruin of the spirit of the peace-loving. Living in a living union with this entire world, every sinner becomes entangled in its thousand-fold web, wrapped up in it so deeply that he himself is no longer visible. A heavy burden lies upon the entire person of the worldly-minded sinner and upon every part of him, so that he lacks the strength to make even the slightest move contrary to the ways of the world, for to do so would require him to lift, as it were, a weight of a thousand poods. That is why no one undertakes such an insurmountable task, nor does anyone even think of undertaking it; instead, everyone lives, moving along the path into which they have fallen.

To make matters even worse, this world has its own prince, the most cunning in deceit, malice, and skill in seduction. Through the flesh and materiality with which the soul became mingled after the Fall, he has free access to it; and, drawing near, he stirs up within it, in various ways, curiosity, self-indulgence, and self-gratification; with his various deceptions, he keeps them trapped without escape; with various temptations, he leads them to plans for their gratification and then either helps them carry out those plans or ruins them by pointing out other, even stronger plans—all with a single goal: to prolong and deepen their abiding in these states. This constitutes the succession of worldly misfortunes and successes, which are not blessed by God. This prince has a whole host of servants, spirits of malice subject to him. At every moment, they dart swiftly across the entire inhabited world to sow one thing here and another there, to entangle those caught in the web of sin, to renew bonds that have weakened or broken—and especially to ensure that no one dares to free themselves from their bonds and step into freedom. In the latter case, they hasten to gather around the wayward soul—first one by one, then in detachments and legions, and finally as a whole host—using various forms and tactics to block all exits, renew the threads and nets, and, to use another analogy, push back into the abyss those who have begun to climb out of it along its steep slopes. This invisible kingdom of spirits has special places—thrones—where plans are drawn up, orders are issued, and reports are received with approval or rebuke of the agents. These are the depths of Satan, in the words of St. John the Theologian. On earth, within their human kingdom, these places are the alliances of evildoers and debauched individuals, especially unbelievers and blasphemers, who, through their deeds, words, and writings, spread the darkness of sin everywhere and obscure the light of God. The instrument through which they express their will and power here is the sum total of worldly customs, steeped in sinful elements that constantly beguile and distract from God.

Behold the structure of the realm of sin! Every sinner is wholly within it, yet is primarily preoccupied with one thing in particular. And this one thing may, on the surface, sometimes seem quite tolerable—and even commendable. Satan has but one concern: that whatever occupies a person entirely—where his mind, attention, and heart are focused—should not be God alone and exclusively, but something outside of Him, so that, having clung to it with his mind, will, and heart, he might have it in place of God and concern himself only with it, seek it out, take delight in it, and possess it. Here, not only carnal and emotional passions, but also seemingly respectable things—such as scholarship, artistry, and worldly concerns—can serve as the bonds with which Satan holds blinded sinners captive in his realm, preventing them from coming to their senses.

If one looks at a sinner—at his inner disposition and state—it becomes clear that he may know much at times, yet is blind to the works of God and to the matter of his own salvation; that though he is constantly caught up in troubles and cares, he remains inactive and careless regarding the arrangement of his salvation; that although he constantly experiences either anxiety or joy in his heart, he is completely insensitive to all things spiritual. In this regard, all the powers of his being are afflicted by sin, and the sinner is characterized by blindness, indifference, and insensitivity. He does not see his condition, and therefore does not perceive the danger of his situation; he does not perceive the danger to himself, and therefore does not care to rid himself of it. It does not even occur to him that he needs to change and be saved. He is in complete, unshakable certainty that he is in his proper place, that he has nothing to desire, and that everything must remain just as it is. And therefore, he considers any reminder of a different way of life to be superfluous for himself; he pays no heed to it, cannot even understand its purpose—he shuns it and flees from it.

The Work of God’s Grace

We have said that a sinner is like a person immersed in a deep sleep. Just as one who sleeps soundly, no matter what danger may approach, will not wake up on his own or rise unless someone from the outside comes and wakes him—so too, one who is immersed in the sleep of sin will not come to his senses or rise unless Divine grace comes to his aid. By God’s boundless mercy, it is ready for all, goes to everyone, and calls out clearly to each one: “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you” (Eph. 5:14).

This comparison of sinners to sleepers provides a framework for a comprehensive examination of their conversion to God. Specifically: the sleeper awakens, rises, and prepares to set out on his task. And the sinner who turns to God and repents is roused from his sinful slumber, reaches a resolve to change (rises), and, finally, is clothed with the power for a new life through the sacraments of repentance and communion (ready for action). In the parable of the Prodigal Son, these moments are described as follows: “When he came to his senses”—he realized his error; “I will get up and go”—he resolved to leave his former life behind; and “he got up and went”; and he says to his father: “I have sinned”—repentance—and the father clothes him in fine garments (justification and forgiveness of sins) and prepares a feast for him (Holy Communion) (Luke 15:11–32).

Thus, there are three stages in the conversion of sinners to God: 1) awakening from the slumber of sin; 2) progressing to the resolve to abandon sin and devote oneself to pleasing God; 3) being clothed with power from on high for this work through the Sacraments of Penance and Holy Communion.

The Awakening of the Sinner from the Sleep of Sin

The awakening of a sinner is an action of God’s grace in his heart, as a result of which he, as one awakened from sleep, sees his sinfulness, feels the danger of his situation, begins to fear for himself, and concerns himself with how to rid himself of his misfortune and be saved. Previously, he was blind, insensitive, and careless regarding salvation; now he sees, feels, and cares. But this is not yet a transformation; it is merely the possibility of change and a call toward it. Here, grace merely says to the sinner: “See where you have strayed; now, take steps toward salvation.” It merely frees him from his habitual bonds, places him and keeps him outside of them, thereby giving him the opportunity to choose a completely new life and commit himself to it. If he takes advantage of this—good for him; if he does not—he will be cast aside again, and will once more sink into the same slumber and the same abyss of ruin.

God’s grace accomplishes this by revealing to a person’s mind and heart the insignificance and shame of that to which he is devoted and which he so highly values. Just as the word of God “penetrates even to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow” (Heb. 4:12), so too does grace penetrate to the division of the heart and sin and dissolves their unlawful union and combination. We have seen that the sinner, with his whole being, descends into a realm where principles, concepts, judgments, rules, customs, pleasures, and orders—all are completely opposed to the true spiritual life for which man is destined. Having fallen here, however, he does not remain isolated or cut off, but, permeating everything, merges with everything: he is wholly present in all things. Consequently, it is natural for him not to know or even consider anything contrary to this order, nor to have any sympathy for it. The spiritual realm is completely closed off from him. It is evident, then, that the door to conversion can open only on the condition that the order of the spiritual life is revealed in all its clarity before the sinner’s consciousness—and not only revealed, but also touched the heart—while the order of the sinful life is shamed, rejected, and destroyed—also before his consciousness and feelings. Only then can the desire arise to leave the former and enter the latter. All of this takes place in a single act of God’s grace stirring the sinner.

In the manner of its action, God’s stirring grace always takes into account not only the bonds in which the sinner is held, but also the sinner’s particular condition. In this latter respect, above all, one must take into account the difference in the action of grace as it manifests itself when acting upon those who have never been stirred and upon those who have already experienced this stirring. To one who has never once been stirred, it is given, as it were, as a gift, as a universal, preliminary, or calling grace. Nothing can be demanded of him beforehand, because his whole being is directed in the wrong direction. But to one who has already been stirred, who knew and felt what life in Christ is, and who has once again given himself over to sin, this stirring is not given as a gift. Something is required of him beforehand as well. He must, as it were, still earn and implore it; not only desire it, but also do something to overcome himself in order to attract this grace-filled stirring—such a person, recalling his former state of Christian order, often desires it again but does not gain control over himself; he would like to reform, but cannot master himself or overcome his own nature. He is in a state of hopeless powerlessness, left to his own devices because he himself had previously forsaken the gift, “having grieved the Holy Spirit of grace and not repented of the death of the Son of God” (Heb. 10:29). Now he is made to feel how great this grace-filled power is, precisely because it is not readily granted. Seek and strive, and through the difficulty of obtaining it, learn to value it. Such a person finds himself in a certain agonizing state: he thirsts but is not quenched, he hungers but is not nourished, he seeks but does not find, he strains but does not receive. Some remain in this state for a very, very long time, to the point that they feel, as it were, God’s rejection, as if God had forgotten and cast them aside, delivering them to the curse, like land that has been watered many times by the rain that fell upon it and yet remains barren (see Heb. 6:7–8). But this delay in grace touching the seeker’s heart is merely a test. When the period of testing passes, the stirring Spirit descends upon him once more—because of his toil and earnest seeking—just as it descends upon others freely (as a gift—Ed.). This mode of operation of saving grace points us to: a) the extraordinary workings of God’s grace in stirring up the sinner, and b) the ordinary order of obtaining the gift of stirring grace.

The Extraordinary Works of God’s Grace in Awakening Sinners from the Sleep of Sin

For those living a life of grace, it is essential for the salvation of their souls to know these actions, so that, seeing God’s great care for sinners, they may glorify God’s ineffable grace and be inspired by the hope of help from above for every good work. For those seeking divine goodness, it is especially necessary to know these actions, because in them the characteristics of grace-filled inspiration are expressed more clearly than anywhere else; we must be fully aware of and understand these characteristics in order to determine whether what we are experiencing is grace-filled inspiration, — and if someone is already acting, whether they are acting out of a grace-filled impulse or out of self-generated enthusiasm. A truly Christian life is a life of grace. A self-generated life, no matter how beautiful it may appear and no matter how closely it adheres to the forms of Christian life, will never be Christian. Its beginning lies in a grace-filled stirring; whoever heeds it is not subsequently deprived of grace-filled guidance and communion at all times, as long as they remain faithful to its promptings. This is why we must clearly discern for ourselves whether there is, or has ever been, a grace-filled stirring within us. To meet this requirement, one might say: judge yourself by the characteristics of the grace-filled stirring that manifest in extraordinary circumstances, for they are the same both in extraordinary circumstances and in ordinary life—only in the former do they manifest more vividly, more clearly, and more distinctly.

As has already been noted, during a grace-filled stirring, the entire established order of a self-indulgent, sinful life is instantly shattered in one’s consciousness, and a different, better Divine order—the one true and blissful order—is revealed before one. In brief, this order can be described as follows: God, worshiped in the Holy Trinity, who created the world and provides for it, saves us, the fallen, in the Lord Jesus Christ, by the grace of the Holy Spirit, under the guidance and protection of the Holy Church, through a life of trial and suffering here on earth, leading to eternal, unending bliss in the life to come. It brings together persons, events, institutions, and the very principles by which everything is governed. This entire order is vividly imprinted in the spirit of the sinful human being by the working of grace; and, by strikingly revealing the contrast between it and the person himself—with his dispositions—and everything by which he previously lived and took pleasure, whereas he ought to be in perfect harmony and like-mindedness with it, it strikes him deeply. Every aspect of it exposes and rebukes the person for his former folly and insincerity, which are all the more striking because, at the same time, the spirit perceives the contemptible insignificance of the former sinful order. Under this influence, the heart is freed from its former bonds and stands free, and is therefore free to choose a new way of life. This is the limit of the effect of grace-filled stirring. It destroys in consciousness and feeling all that is past—the worst—and vividly presents only the new—the best, leaving the person in this state, struck by it, free to choose the new or to turn back to the old. It is remarkable that grace-filled stirring is always accompanied by a sense of defeat and a certain kind of fear; is it because it suddenly, as if by surprise, seizes the sinner at the crossroads of life, like a criminal, and presents him to God’s inescapable judgment, or because the new order revealed in the mind is entirely new to him and strikingly opposed to the old, — and not only new, but also perfect in every respect and a source of bliss, whereas in the former, the worthless one, there is only heartache and a broken spirit.

Nevertheless, the starting point of all good deeds arising from a grace-filled impulse is this living awareness of the new divine order. Based on this concept, let us recall all past experiences of this grace-filled action. Awareness of the new order of being and life is brought about in two ways: a) sometimes that very order, in whole or in part, is visibly and tangibly presented to the repentant sinner through the event itself; b) at other times, a person’s spirit is drawn into it and perceives it inwardly.

A. The Merciful Lord reveals His divine world—in which our spirit is destined to dwell—to the mind of the one being converted in various ways. 1) Often, for this purpose, He appears personally, visibly, in some form, either while a person is awake or in a dream. Thus He appeared to the Apostle Paul on his way to Damascus, to Constantine the Great (May 21), to Eustathius Plakides (September 20), to Neanias, who was on his way to persecute Christians (this is Procopius the Great Martyr; July 8), to Patermufius in a dream (July 9), and to many others. 2) Sometimes She deigns to send various figures from the other world, also in person or in dreams, in Her own form or in some other guise. Thus, the Mother of God has appeared many times, either alone, or with the Eternal Infant, or accompanied by saints—one, two, or many: the Great Martyr Catherine (November 24), for example, was converted by an apparition of the Mother of God to her in a dream with the Eternal Infant, who betrothed her to Himself as His bride.

Angels have appeared many times, both individually and in whole hosts: for example, to Saint Andrew the Fool for Christ (October 2), the entire host of holy angels appeared in a dream in contrast to the hordes of dark forces; saints have appeared many times: for example, Saint Mitrofan—to a Lutheran doctor, to a sick young woman, and to many others. 3) Sometimes that very world itself—and especially its order and, as it were, its fundamental principles—is depicted before the unawares mind in some striking image, as is evident from the case already cited involving Saint Andrew the Fool-for-Christ and from many other examples in which those who were converted were shown either the blissful abodes of the righteous—as was the case with the Indian king and his brother, after the Holy Apostle Thomas (October 6) had distributed to the poor the money given to him for building a house; or the terrible torments of sinners, as in the case of Isichius the Chorevite (October 3, Prologue); or the proceedings of the Last Judgment, as in the case of Peter the baker, who threw a loaf of bread in the face of a beggar; or a profound reflection on death and the fate that follows was impressed upon them, as with Prince Joasaph (November 19), Saint Clement (November 25), and a certain dissolute young man, to whom his dying father bequeathed the command to visit every evening the room where he was dying. 4) Sometimes one is allowed to tangibly perceive a certain invisible power, active amidst visible forces and phenomena, yet strikingly distinct from them and emanating from another world. This includes all miracles in general, the number of which is impossible to count. And the Savior said that unbelievers will not believe unless they see signs. Most of these signs were manifested after Christ the Savior, in the early days of Christianity by the Apostles, and after them by the holy martyrs. The striking presence of God’s invisible power often led to the conversion of entire villages and cities, but it never remained entirely fruitless. The blood of the martyrs truly lies at the foundation of the Church… There were also instances when God’s power manifested itself directly, without the mediation of a human being, as in the conversion of Mary of Egypt (April 1), or through holy objects, icons, relics, and the like. Thus, the conversion of the Jews in Virite took place through miraculous manifestations on the icon of the Lord’s Crucifixion. In all such manifestations, the consciousness—entangled by various objects and the deceptions of the world, and hopelessly confined to the visible, sensory, and external order— — is instantly torn from its bonds by a striking, unexpected, and sudden vision of higher beings and forces from a certain invisible realm, is thrust into a different order of being and life, and, struck with awe, remains there. What happens here is the same as when electricity is induced in a body by the electricity of another body. The latter tears it from the bonds of matter and, drawing it to the surface, holds it before itself.

B. Our spirit, as we have seen, is veiled and stifled by many coverings. But by its very nature, it is a beholder of the Divine Order. Its capacity for this is immediately ready to manifest itself and indeed does reveal its power as soon as the obstacles binding it are removed. Therefore, to awaken the spirit slumbering within a person and to lead it into the contemplation of the Divine Order, God’s grace either a) acts directly upon it and, filling it with strength, enables it to break the bonds that hold it captive, or b) acts indirectly, shaking off the veils and snares from it and thereby granting it the freedom to be in its proper state.

1. The Divine, omnipresent, and all-pervading grace directly inspires the human spirit, imprinting upon it thoughts and feelings that detach it from all finite things and turn it toward another, better world—though invisible and unknown. A common feature of these stirrings is dissatisfaction with oneself and one’s entire being, along with a longing for something. A person becomes dissatisfied with everything that surrounds him—neither with his own virtues nor with what he possesses, even if these were countless treasures—and walks as if struck down by grief. Finding no solace in anything visible, they turn to the invisible and embrace it readily, sincerely making it their own and making themselves one with it. Many, wondering how all this would end and where it would lead, abandoned everything and transformed not only their feelings and behavior but also their way of life. There were instances when such discontent was expressed primarily on an intellectual level, as with Justin the Philosopher (June 1), who sought above all the light of the vision of the Divine Being; sometimes on an emotional level, as with Augustine (the Blessed; June 15—Ed.), who sought above all peace for his troubled heart; and sometimes—though more often than not—in the active sphere, in the conscience, as with the outlaws Moses (Murin; August 28—Ed.) and David (of Hermopolis; September 6—Ed.). There were many instances when the inner sanctuary of the spirit was suddenly illuminated, a longing took root, and the spirit was drawn elsewhere (to another place—Ed.). “You do not know where it comes from or where it goes,” said the Lord concerning this (John 3:8). Often the spirit is awakened by a reminder of the past. Thus were converted Mary, the niece of Abraham the Hermit (October 29), and Theophilus, a disciple of St. John the Theologian who had fallen into a life of banditry and served as a church steward. From somewhere within, a voice speaks clearly to the conscience: “Remember where you have fallen from!” (Rev. 2:5)—and it strikes the forgetful one with great force. This includes all conversions following youthful lapses. There is no doubt that such changes are prepared from afar by God’s providence through various circumstances that predispose one to receive the grace-filled influence; therefore, even here, immediacy is only relative. But, on the other hand, one must also know that every grace-filled stirring manifests itself in such stirrings and awakenings of our spirit. Grace, though acting through visible means, always—nevertheless—invisibly and directly touches the spirit and draws it out of the bonds that oppress it into the light of God, into the realm of divine life.

All the means involved here are aimed at breaking the bonds of the spirit. Set the spirit free, give it liberty, and it will flow of its own accord back to where it came from—to God. The bonds of the spirit, as we have seen, are threefold, consisting of: a) self-indulgence, b) the world, and c) the devil. The destructive actions of grace, which stirs the spirit, are directed against these.

The bonds closest to the spirit are those of all-encompassing self-indulgence, which manifests in our animal-soul nature. They are the point of contact for other bonds as well—those that stem from the world and the devil. Therefore, breaking them is very important, though it is very difficult and complex. For since the unconverted person lives entirely by animal-soul nature, the bonds on this side expand and intertwine in many and varied ways across a space as vast as the reach of that animal-soul life. To understand how these bonds are severed, one must take into account that whatever this life clings to, whatever nourishes it, and whatever it is primarily expressed through, constitutes a firm foundation for it; by resting upon this foundation, it stands firm and fears no defeat, thinks not of it, and does not anticipate it. When someone, for example, becomes devoted to art, or to everyday life, or even to scholarship, and lives entirely within one of these spheres, they rely on it and rest in it with all their strength, thoughts, and hopes. Since this is the source of the entire self-indulgent life that binds the spirit, this support of self-indulgence naturally becomes the foundation of the firmness and strength of the bonds it imposes on the spirit, as if it were the point to which these bonds are attached. Conversely, therefore, in order to free the spirit from the bonds of self-indulgence, divine, invigorating grace usually destroys the supports upon which the self-indulgent self rests. By shaking these supports at their foundation, it weakens the bonds and enables the tormented and exhausted spirit to lift up its head.

There are many pillars of our self-indulgence; they are found both within our being—that is, in body and soul—and in our external life, and indeed in the entire order of our existence. Such is carnal indulgence in its various forms: sensuality, luxury, lust, idleness, a passion for entertainment, worldly busyness, ambition, the love of power, apparent success in one’s affairs, affluence, a flattering outward lifestyle, the value of connections, peaceful external relations, and a fondness for art, scholarship, and enterprise. All of this, in its most diverse forms, constitutes a firm foundation for our selfhood, which, confident in its reliability and durability, rests peacefully upon it and, drawing sustenance from it abundantly, grows day by day—in one person predominantly in one aspect, in another in another.

This is what saving Divine grace does to awaken the sinner from slumber: it directs its power toward the destruction of that foundation upon which one establishes and rests one’s selfhood.

Whoever is bound by sensual indulgence is cast into sickness; by weakening the flesh, the grace grants the spirit the freedom and strength to come to its senses and sober up. Whoever is beguiled by their own beauty and strength is stripped of that beauty and kept in constant exhaustion. Whoever rests in their own power and strength is subjected to slavery and humiliation. Whoever relies heavily on wealth has it taken away. Whoever acts haughtily is put to shame as an ignorant person. Whoever relies on the strength of their bonds sees them broken. Whoever relies on the permanence of the order established around them sees it shattered by the death of loved ones or the loss of necessary possessions. What else can sober up those held captive by complacency in outward happiness, if not sorrows and misfortunes? And is this not why our whole life is filled with calamities—so that it may contribute to God’s purpose of keeping us sober?

All such upheavals that shatter the foundations of carefree self-indulgence constitute the twists and turns of life, which—because they are always unexpected—have a striking and salvific effect. The strongest influence in this regard is the sense of danger to one’s life. This feeling loosens all bonds and kills self-centeredness at its very root; a person does not know where to turn. Circumstances of hardship or the feeling of being universally forsaken have the same effect. Both leave a person alone with himself, and from himself—the most insignificant of beings—he is immediately sent to God, or turned toward Him.

The second bonds of the spirit are imposed by the world and lie more superficially than the first. The world, with its concepts, principles, rules—indeed, with its entire order elevated to an immutable law—lays a heavy, domineering hand upon all its children; as a result, none of them dares even to think of rebelling against it or rejecting its authority. Everyone reveres it, adheres to its rules with a certain timidity, and regards any violation of them as a criminal offense, as it were. The world has no physical form, but its spirit somehow persists in the light, influences us, and binds us as if with bonds. It is evident that his power is mental, imaginary, and not real or physical. Consequently, one need only dispel this imaginary power of the world—and the opportunity to awaken from its spell will be within our reach. This is precisely how God’s saving providence works for us. To this end, it:

Constantly holds before the world and before us two other worlds—holy and divine—and, in them and through them, presenting to our attention and even allowing us to experience what is best, it ceaselessly affirms the emptiness of worldly life and worldly hopes. These worlds of God are: visible nature and the Church of God. Experience shows how often the mind, clouded by the fumes of the world, is sobered by contemplating God’s creations or by entering the Church. One man, in the winter, looked at a tree standing before his window and came to his senses; another, after a boisterous conversation, having felt the sweetness of spiritual peace in the church, abandoned his former ways and devoted himself to the service of God. Visible nature and the church of God not only often brought to their senses and sobered up Christians who were careless and sinful, but even turned pagans toward true knowledge of God and service to Him. The word “Hosanna” touched one woman’s heart and made her a Christian. The conversion of our ancestors was ultimately solidified by the influence of the church upon them. The Great Martyr Barbara (December 6) was turned from idols to God by contemplating the beauty of God’s visible creations. Their power and influence stem from the fact that they vividly and tangibly present to the spirit—weary, exhausted, enfeebled, and tormented by the vanity of the world—a better, most blissful order of life; and, instantly pouring into that spirit the joy of this life, they make a person realize that, by surrendering to the dominion of the world, one only torments and afflicts oneself; that happiness is hidden entirely in another world; and that if fellowship with the world is so painful now, what is to be expected afterward? This gives rise to a call to God’s kingdom and a detachment from the vain world, which—sometimes in the form of a powerful impulse, and sometimes gradually—finally and completely tear the human spirit from the bonds of the world. Thus, nature and the Church are the drivers away, the dispellers, and the erasers of the allurements of this vain and alluring world. For this very reason, the Lord has placed them in such a relationship with us, so that they may act upon us more frequently and continuously, presenting the contrast between one way of life and another in the most striking manner.

The second means of a grace-filled liberation from the bonds of the world consists in the fact that, by the grace of God the All-Provident, a life completely opposite to the one in which a person is living is actually presented before his eyes. This applies especially to all conversions through martyrdom, and there have been countless examples of this. Sometimes the martyrdom of a single person converted entire villages and cities. Here, the presence of a moral force from another world—not our own—is evident. Sometimes, it seems, defeat should be inevitable, yet it does not come; the one being tortured remains undefeated and serene, without knowing why or how. The instant realization of this strikes the mind and dispels the allure of one’s former way of life. This also applies to the conversion of the robber by King Mauritius, who, instead of executing him, treated him mercifully, as a man of merit; the conversion of the harlot whom a mother begged to pray and bring her only deceased son back to life, and that of another harlot who repented merely from seeing monks humbly engaged in prayer and contemplation, while she herself was indulging in luxury and debauchery in the very same house. And all such appeals through examples of life belong here as well. The power of their effect lies in the fact that one sees, face to face, contented and peaceful faces—devoid of the pleasures and comforts that another, though possessing them in abundance, finds bring neither contentment nor peace. Hence comes disillusionment and a change of life.

The third means of turning one’s mind away from the world is to shame it through the example of its own children. Julian (the Apostate—Ed.) exalted himself above all, raged fiercely against the Christians, and threatened to crush them with his might, but then unexpectedly fell. This not only strengthened the faith of believers but also turned many non-believers to the true God. An entire village rises up against Saint Macarius (of Egypt—Ed.) on the basis of false testimony, beating him, tormenting him, and imposing punishment: the world has triumphed; but then the truth is revealed, putting everyone to shame and restoring them all to reverence and the fear of God. This includes all the lessons taught by the downfalls and untimely deaths of the world’s powerful and great. The world’s humiliation here debases it in the eyes of its adherents, exposes its powerlessness, and thereby, on the one hand, turns people away from it, and on the other, gives them the courage to oppose it.

Finally, the world often oppresses and drives people away from itself, as it were, of its own accord—precisely because it fails to satisfy or even shames expectations. We seek happiness; yet in the world there is only glory, honor, power, wealth, and pleasures—but none of these satisfy the seeker. A discerning person quickly notices the deception and comes to his senses. We see in God’s saints that many of them, having examined the vanity and rebelliousness of the world, withdrew from it and resolutely devoted themselves to God. The prodigal son in the parable said, “I am starving to death” (Luke 15:17).

The third kind of spiritual bonds come from Satan and his spirits. They are invisible and, for the most part, coincide with the bonds of self-indulgence and worldliness, which Satan strengthens through his influence and uses to keep the mind in darkness. But there is also something that emanates directly from Satan. From him comes a certain vague timidity and fear that troubles the sinner’s soul at all times, and all the more so when he resolves to do good. This is almost the same as when a master threatens his servant when the latter begins to do something contrary to his will and plans. From him come various forms of spiritual flattery, such as: in some, an excessive and unfounded hope in God’s mercy—a hope that does not bring sobriety but instead plunges them deeper and deeper into a love of sin; in others, on the contrary, despair; in this one—doubt and unbelief; in that one—self-confidence and self-justification, which stifle any sense of repentance. Yes, much, very much, depends directly on Satan, though it is difficult to determine this. But all that is sinful must be attributed to him as the source, for he is the king of the sinful world. One of his cunning tricks is to conceal himself—that is, to instill in sinners the conviction that he does not exist—whereupon he runs rampant with ferocity in the sinful soul, weaving together the sinful desires which he instills in them, onto nature and inclining them to grumble against God, who supposedly forbids what is natural and commands what they lack the strength to endure. Divine grace, which brings people to their senses, has often snatched sinners from the jaws of hell by putting Satan to shame. It has exposed him to disgrace and ridicule, laying bare his powerlessness and folly and unmasking his cunning. Thus was he put to shame in the person of Simon the Magus, in the person of Cyprian of Antioch, and in many others. All such instances were accompanied by the conversion and enlightenment of a considerable number of those who had been blinded. In the days of the Lord on earth, demons—the source of unbelief and doubt—became preachers of the faith. And the holy martyrs, by the power of the almighty God, often compelled both the father of lies and his children to speak the truth through the idols in the temples. Such an exposure of the devil’s schemes leads the sinner to the certainty that he is in malicious and hostile hands, that he is being deceived to his own harm, that he is being led by deception down some dark path to destruction, and that they wish to rejoice in his ruin. This inevitably gives rise to a sense of fear for one’s own well-being, caution, suspicion, and revulsion—toward the deceiver, his inventions (vices and passions), and one’s entire former life. From here, the transition to the source of truth, goodness, and bliss—God—is not far off.

These are the paths and means by which God’s grace acts upon the human spirit, tearing it away from the bonds of a life that is foreign to it and revealing face to face another, better life—one in which joy and peace are found. But it is evident that all of these, in and of themselves, are incomplete, as if they do not fully convey the whole truth. For example, a longing for something better has arisen: but where is this “better,” and how is it to be attained? Or the fear of death and judgment has shaken one—what, then, must be done to escape this calamity? So it is in all other cases. They are silent: to all of them, an additional and consummating means must be applied. This is the Word, or the sermon. The Word of God, in its various forms, truly accompanies all the methods described, explaining them and pointing out their ultimate goal. Without it, they still leave a person in a state of uncertainty and, consequently, do not produce the full effect they should. Thus, the Apostle Paul was instructed by a heavenly vision. But the Lord did not accomplish everything in him there; rather, He said, “Go to Ananias, and he will tell you what to do” (Acts 9:6). Justin the Philosopher, the Great Martyr Barbara, and Prince Joasaph saw the lie, but in order to know the truth, they needed special guides and interpreters. That is why the Lord, the Provider, has established as a law: to preach to all people everywhere, so that they may repent (Acts 17:30). Faith comes from hearing, and hearing comes from the word of God (Rom. 10:17). And this word, from the Apostles through their successors, is now proclaimed to all the ends of the earth. And here lies the essential need for proclamation—the proclamation of God’s universal, salvific order—and the necessity for the public to know the persons and places to which those who are stirred should turn for interpretation, so as not to lose their fervor in vain or to wander with it down the wrong paths, wasting their strength and time fruitlessly. Catechetical instruction must be heard unceasingly (and, indeed, is heard) in the Church. The faithful—those who stand firm—will thereby be built up more and more; while the fallen and the troubled will immediately have a trustworthy guide. How precious is the duty of priests to proclaim God’s saving ways in season and out of season, without relying on common knowledge, which is, for the most part, merely presumed!

But the Word of God not only complements all the methods mentioned, but also replaces them. It stirs the soul more fully and more clearly. Because of its kinship with our spirit, which also proceeds from God, it penetrates inward, down to the division of soul and spirit, enlivens the latter, and sows it so that it may bear the fruits of the spiritual life (which is why the Word is called a seed).

Its stimulating power is all the more significant because it acts simultaneously on the whole person, on his entire being—body, soul, and spirit. Sound, or the articulation of the word, strikes the ear; thought engages the soul; and the invisible, hidden energy within it touches the spirit, which—if it is attentive—after the word has safely passed through both the body and the soul—these coarse barriers—is stirred and, coming under tension, breaks the bonds that hold it.

The Word of God stirs us in the ways described: namely, either through a vivid representation of the divine order to our consciousness, or by introducing our spirit into it, through the destruction of the barriers that hold it back. For example, an elderly servant said simply to his ailing master: “No matter how much you struggle, sir, you will have to die,” — and thereby stirred him to repentance. Another, gazing upon the image of the crucified Lord, read: “This is what I have done for you; what, then, will you do for Me?” and was roused from his slumber. Saint Pelagia, having heard of death, judgment, and the bitter fate of sinners, turned away from a sinful life. Prince Vladimir, Equal to the Apostles, was moved by a description of the entire divine order, beginning with the creation of the world and extending to the end of all things, the Last Judgment, and the eternal fate of the good and the wicked. Indeed, the preaching of the Holy Apostles—and, following in their footsteps, of all preachers of the Gospel—consisted in a simple, unpretentious presentation of the truth. St. Paul the Apostle says of himself that his word and preaching were not in persuasive words of human wisdom, but in a simple proclamation of the work of salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, crucified on the cross (1 Cor. 2:24). And this, one might say, is the most natural way to work through the word—to portray the truth as it is, without obscuring it with intellectual considerations and, especially, with assumptions about probabilities. Truth is akin to the spirit. Expressed simply and sincerely, it will find the spirit; but when surrounded by imagery, embellished, and adorned, it will remain in the imagination; when cluttered with arguments and proofs, it will linger in the intellect or the soul, failing to reach the spirit and leaving it empty. One might say that all the fruitlessness of preaching stems from the intellectual speculations with which it is stuffed. But explain the truth simply, reveal what it is—and the spirit will be won over. A Jew read the Gospel—and was converted, for he beheld the truth in the simple Gospel narrative. In general, many freethinkers have been converted through a living awareness of divine things, guided by the Word of God—whether spoken or written. The truth dispels the darkness of vain thoughts, refreshes the soul, and enlightens the spirit. It would be of great benefit to frequently include, in casual conversation, a brief review of how it all began, how it will end, and why.

On the other hand, the power of the word often breaks down the barriers of the spirit and grants it freedom. Thus, Saint Anthony the Great heard the word about the insignificance of earthly goods—and left everything behind. One young man heard a sermon about the prodigal son—and repented. By illustrating the vanity of worldly life, many saints, even while in the marriage bed, guided their spouses toward a blameless, pure life. In general, the presentation of the divine order—on the one hand—and the revelation of various charms—on the other—fill the soul with the fullness of saving knowledge, or with a clear and convincing understanding of the path to salvation, against which the stubbornness of the heart can rarely stand. Very many people, if they do not act as they ought with diligence but remain in slumber and carelessness, do so because they do not know the saving truths or know them only partially. The fullness of knowledge is victorious, for then the deceitful heart has nowhere to hide.

By virtue of this all-encompassing universality aimed at the awakening of sinners, the Word of God travels across the earth and reaches our ears in many ways. It is heard ceaselessly in churches, at every divine service, and outside churches, in every ecclesiastical rite; it is found in church hymns and songs; it is found in the sermons of the Fathers and in every book beneficial to the soul; it is found in soul-saving conversations and edifying sayings passed down through the ages; it is found in schools, in paintings, and in every visible object that represents spiritual truths. Judging by this, we are surrounded by the Word of God; it resounds around us from all sides. From every direction come the trumpet blasts that bring down the strongholds of sin, like the walls of Jericho. In all these forms, the Word of God has already demonstrated—and continues to demonstrate—its victorious power over the human heart. We must only ensure that the paths along which the Word of God spreads are preserved and unobstructed—that sincere preaching does not fall silent, that worship is conducted according to the rite and for edification, that iconography is sound and holy, and that singing is sober, simple, and reverent. The fulfillment of this rests upon the ministers of the altar. They are therefore, in the hands of God’s Providence, the most necessary and most powerful instruments for the conversion of sinners. They must realize this and not remain silent—not only in churches but also in homes—taking advantage of every opportunity: at times to portray the world of God in word, at other times to expose the deceptions of our spirit through the phantoms of the soul and the body (the most beautiful examples of this kind are found in St. Tikhon. He, it seems, understood more deeply than anyone else that the best use of the gift of writing and speaking is to direct it toward instructing and awakening sinners from their slumber. Almost every one of his writings leads to this end. Every church sermon and every conversation should be the same.)

The Usual Process of Receiving the Gift of Inciting Grace

It has already been noted that, among the various modes of action of grace’s stirrings, the manner in which grace acts toward a sinner who has already experienced these stirrings but has once again fallen into sin—a decisive relapse into his usual mortal sins—is particularly worthy of note. The more frequently these relapses occur, the weaker the stirring becomes, because the heart, as it were, grows accustomed to it, and it becomes part of the routine of spiritual life. Along with this diminishing, it moves from the sense of vigor that characterizes it in its present form to something more and more akin to a thought, and finally transforms into a mere thought and memory. This thought is initially accepted with approval; later, it is merely tolerated—though not with displeasure, but coldly, without particular attention—and then it becomes a nuisance; people rush to get rid of it as quickly as possible, and finally, they feel annoyance and aversion toward it; they no longer love it, but hate it, persecute it, and drive it away. Accordingly, the conviction of the necessity of a better spiritual life wanes; at first, this necessity seems only probable; then it is obscured by doubts, in the form of questions about its various aspects; further still, its uselessness and superfluity become more than probable; finally, a decision is reached within: “Live as life goes, and that is enough; everything else is unnecessary trouble.” Here, a person sinks into the depths of evil and indifference—a state similar to that of one who has never once been stirred to action.

It is evident that the salvation of the latter is in extreme danger. Great is God’s mercy, but even it may no longer be able to do anything for him, just as it cannot for the ground that has repeatedly drunk the rain falling upon it yet remains barren—a ground that has become “unfit and close to being cursed” (Heb. 6:8). And it is precisely this consequence of failing to maintain the order of life required by the promptings of grace that must be especially engraved in the memory of those who need it. True, divine grace is not bound in its actions by such measures and definitions, but it does sometimes conform to them. Therefore, although one must not despair of the possibility of conversion and salvation, no matter how feeble the call to return to a good life may be, one must nevertheless always contemplate one’s situation with humility and fear in the face of such weakness. Have we not fallen so low that we can no longer receive these grace-filled promptings? Have we not blocked all paths for Divine Grace—which so ardently desires our salvation—to act upon us? Are these not its final attempts to reach us, with the aim of bringing us to our senses and putting an end to the disorder of our lives? Therefore, as soon as such calls grow faint, we must hasten to take advantage of them with all the firmness of purpose—albeit of a more rational sort—and strengthen them as much as human freedom allows. Evidently, such an effort will be nothing other than opening ourselves to the grace that is being called forth and sought—an opening, for in our previous falls we have become increasingly hardened and closed ourselves off to grace in one way or another. This will be accomplished by surrendering oneself to grace along the path that will now be indicated for ascending to the energy of the initially aroused, for one must assume that the latter will grow as one takes up one object or another to stimulate the dormant spiritual movements. Thus, whereas in the case of the first-stirred everything is accomplished zealously, swiftly, and fervently—in the case of the latter, the process proceeds coldly, slowly, and with great difficulty. It is as if grace leaves him to himself, so that he may feel how precious is unchanging obedience to God who calls, and so that he may cultivate a disposition to cherish God’s help. The Lord preserves this desire, but does not grant detachment immediately; rather, He keeps the person in the middle, in a state of longing, as if leaning neither this way nor that, in order to test their zeal and foster a desire and a promise of constancy. Then, having tested them, He grants detachment.

With these few points, we have sought to distinguish two modes of action of God’s grace, of which the Lord says of one: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock” (Rev. 3:20), and of the other: “…seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you” (Luke 11:9). We have described the first mode; regarding the second, the question arises: how should one seek, and where should one knock?

In extraordinary cases, God’s grace acts swiftly and decisively, as we see, for example, in the Apostle Paul, Mary of Egypt, and others; but in the ordinary course of conversion, it is usually the case that a person is merely struck by the thought of changing their life and becoming better in their deeds and inner dispositions. The thought arises—but how much effort must be put into it for it to prevail over the soul! For the most part, such good intentions remain fruitless, not through their own fault, however, but because of the improper attitude toward them on the part of those whose souls they visit.

The first and foremost mistake regarding them is that they are left unfulfilled, put off day after day. Procrastination is a common ailment and the primary cause of incorrigibility. Everyone says, “I’ll have time later,”—and remains stuck in the old ways of their habitual, unwholesome life. So, when a good thought to improve yourself comes—seize it, set about doing what it was sent to you for, and to this end, above all, drive away procrastination.

1) Drive away procrastination. Do not allow yourself to say, “Tomorrow, or sometime later, I’ll get to it”; instead, get to work right now. Take sound reasoning as your weapon, and with its help:

a) Quickly imagine the folly, ugliness, and danger of procrastination. You say, “later,” but later it will be harder to do this, because you yourself will have grown more accustomed to sin, and your sinful circumstances and entanglements will have become even more complicated. But what is the point of someone who is entangled in sin entangling himself more and more, while telling himself that it will be just as easy to untangle himself later as it is now? If you realize that you cannot remain as you are now, why are you hesitating? After all, God may eventually say, “I have had enough of you” (cf. Isa. 1:14), and you yourself may cross the line beyond which there is no turning back. And this is the kind of calamity that can be avoided with no effort that would be truly regrettable. If a conscientious thought takes care to present all this clearly and vividly, then all the principal forces of the soul will turn away from procrastination; there will be no advocate for it within. You will see that it is hostile toward you, and you yourself will look upon it with hostility.

b) We procrastinate because the good thought that has come to us remains within us merely as a thought; it has not yet aroused sympathy or stirred desire. Amid our other interests, it has appeared as a stranger, beckoning from afar but failing to make a strong impression. It is up to you to bring it deeper into your soul and reveal its value and appeal. So, bring it to the forefront; imagine its validity; show the joy and loftiness it promises; and convince yourself of how easy it is to carry out. A good thought has little effect and fails to capture the heart because there are other plans in your mind, other subjects of greater interest, as dictated by the impulses that have already taken hold of you. So bring them all into the open and compare them impartially. Compared to what the good thought represents, nothing can stand; everything will recede into the far, far background. What the good thought points to will remain alone, and, as the only thing of value and beauty, it will draw you in.

c) We suffer from procrastination most of all because at such times we allow our energy to wane; we indulge in laziness, lethargy, drowsiness, and indecision—both in thought and in action; so one can approach this from this angle as well, by vividly imagining how humiliating it is to allow this in ordinary matters, let alone in the most essential matter of salvation—that in everything one must show oneself to be lively and quick to act; it is shameful to allow the opposite, and it is shameful to put off until tomorrow what can and must be done today.

Use these and similar methods to drive out procrastination. However you are able to do this, just do it. When a good thought comes to mind—persuade yourself not to put off carrying it out; prepare yourself and force yourself to begin acting on it immediately. For those who have put off the task until later days, there is nothing further to advise them today.

But we believe that this noble idea has been accepted and has captured our attention. Now we must hasten to bring it to such a degree of arousal that it will become a powerful lever, easily and powerfully setting our entire inner being in motion. To this end, we must give it room to penetrate inward, and for this we must perform, so to speak, certain operations upon ourselves as the most necessary and effective preparation for arousal.

These operations must be the opposite of those subtle snares—or that pattern of dispositions—by which a person is held captive in sin. Sin entangles the soul with many snares or hides itself from it behind many veils, because it is inherently hideous and might repel one at first glance. The deepest veil, closest to the heart, is composed of self-deception, insensitivity, and carelessness; above it, closer to the surface, lie distraction and preoccupation—the principal agents that conceal and nourish sin, as well as sinful habits and practices; the uppermost veil is the dominance of the flesh, a veil more visible than the others, yet no less powerful or significant than they are.

The first veil is the essential veil. It causes a person not to see the danger of his situation and not to desire to change it. The latter two are merely instruments; they merely reveal and sustain that sinful state. When Divine grace comes, it penetrates to the division between soul and spirit, strikes directly at the first covering, and tears it apart. Under its influence, the sinful person is immediately laid bare and stands before his own consciousness in all his ugliness. But when a person is still seeking this grace-filled awakening on his own, he must begin by acting from the outside and reaching inward.

So, if you wish to properly address the thought that has seized you—the thought of changing your wicked life—begin to strip away your sinful veils, just as one removes layers of earth to reveal what lies hidden beneath.

a) First of all, take on the body. Deny it pleasures and delights; restrict the satisfaction of even the most natural needs; extend your hours of vigil; reduce your usual intake of food; add new labor to your existing labors. Above all, as you wish and as you are able, lighten the flesh and refine its coarseness. In this way, the soul will be freed from its bondage to matter, becoming more agile, lighter, and more receptive to good impressions. The material body, by prevailing over the soul, imparts its immobility and coldness. Physical exertion weakens these bonds and eliminates their consequences. True, not every sinner lives without restraint and indulges the body, but there is hardly a person among those living an ordinary life who would not have to deny the body something when the desire for salvation takes hold of the heart. And the goal matters greatly: it completely transforms one’s actions. What you once did out of habit or for the sake of your pursuits, begin to do now—with certain changes, of course, and an added measure of rigor, for the sake of salvation—and you will tangibly feel the difference.

b) The body burdens the soul completely; worries and the distraction of thoughts wear it down from within. Let us suppose that the flesh has already been subdued—this is the first step; but two obstacles separate the soul from itself.

Worries leave no time to attend to oneself. With them, one has one task in hand but dozens in one’s head. That is why they drive a person ever forward, without giving him the opportunity to pause and look at himself. So, set aside your worries for a while—all of them, without exception—set them aside only for a while; later you will return to your usual tasks, but for now, stop them, let them go, and cast them out of your mind as well.

But even then, once your busy tasks have ceased, confusion lingers in your mind for a long time: one thought follows another, sometimes in harmony, sometimes at odds with one another; your soul is scattered, your mind wanders in all directions, and thus does not allow anything constant and firm to take root within you. Gather, then, your scattered children together, just as a shepherd gathers his flock or as a lens gathers scattered rays, and turn them toward yourself.

The desire to delve into oneself and attend to one’s inner self, to put an end to the scattering of thoughts and to be mindful, will, of course, require—as an indispensable means—on the one hand, solitude, and on the other, a cessation of one’s usual activities, both daily and professional; but the aforementioned mortification of the flesh will require a change in the way one satisfies one’s natural needs. Judging by this, the most opportune time to bring about a change in one’s life must be considered to be a period of fasting, especially Great Lent. Everything is predisposed toward this—at home, in church, and even in society. Everyone regards this time as a preparation for repentance. However, it does not follow from this that, when a good thought about changing one’s life arises, its implementation must be postponed until the onset of Lent. Everything required for this can be accomplished at any other time besides Lent. But, of course, when the holy season of Lent arrives, it would be a sin to let it pass without caring for the salvation of one’s soul, just as one might let other times pass. For those who are struck by a saving thought to change their lives outside of Lent, and who find obstacles in their daily lives preventing them from carrying it out, it is best to withdraw for a time to some monastery. There, it is easier to gain control over oneself.

c) Here you now stand before your own heart. Before you is your inner self, immersed in a deep sleep of carelessness, insensitivity, and blindness. Begin to awaken it. The good thought that has come has already stirred it a little. Proceed, then, with greater confidence and the strongest concentration of thought; gathering all your attention, begin to bring to mind various kinds of images—more or less powerful and striking—while applying them, however, to your inner state.

First of all, remove from the eyes of your mind the veils that keep it in blindness. If a person does not turn away from sin and does not flee from it, it is chiefly because he does not know himself or the danger in which he finds himself because of sin. If his eyes were opened, he would flee from sin just as one flees from a house engulfed in flames. Such blindness also stems from a lack of self-reflection: a person does not know himself because he has never looked within or reflected on himself and his moral condition; but for the most part, this blindness is sustained by certain specific preconceptions about himself. A person, in and of themselves , weaves a certain web of thoughts that systematically shield them from their own self. Let these thoughts be a gossamer web, mere faint possibilities—yet the mind has no time to discern them with clarity; and yet the heart speaks so loudly of their reality and truth. These are, in fact, our moral delusions or prejudices, arising from the heart’s interference in the affairs of the mind. That is why, from this moment on, we must combine deep attention with a certain sobriety that wards off all flattery from the deceitful heart. From this moment on, if the heart needs to feel anything, let it feel under the influence of the mind’s ideas, and not on its own, as if jumping the gun; otherwise, it will once again force the mind to perceive things in its own way, once again subjugate it to itself, once again bring disorder to concepts, and, instead of enlightenment, plunge one into even greater blindness.

Having now placed yourself in this position, begin to bring to the forefront various thoughts that keep you in darkness, and subject them to a strict and impartial judgment.

a) “I am a Christian,” you say, and take comfort in that. Here is the first form of self-deception—attributing to yourself the privileges and promises of Christianity, without concern for rooting true Christianity within yourself, or for embracing a name that can rest and stand only on strength and inner worth. Explain to yourself, then, that hope in a name alone is deceptive; that God can raise up children for Abraham even from stones, and will revoke His promises at any time if the conditions for partaking in them are not fulfilled. Above all, make clear to yourself what it means to be a Christian; measure yourself against this ideal—and you will see just how well-founded this pillar of your blindness is.

b) “But we are not among the last; we know a thing or two, and if we set out to discuss something, we will be able to do so, and we conduct our affairs neither haphazardly nor without tact, as others do.” Thus, some are beguiled by their spiritual virtues. Others, on the contrary, are dazzled by physical virtues—strength, beauty, and lineage. Both groups are all the more blinded the higher we stand above everyone in our surroundings. Convince yourself, then:

1) That natural perfections have no moral value at all, because they are not our own achievement but are gifts from God; all the more so in Christianity, where everything natural is of no value due to the corruption of nature caused by the Fall. Sanctify your gifts through faith in Christ the Savior and by living according to that faith; only then should you regard them as a blessing.

2) Again—have you done everything you can and ought to do according to your gifts? You are held to a greater account because more has been given to you. It is not a matter of abilities, but of their use. Show what you have gained through them. Does the gain correspond to the effort expended?

3) There is no need to speak of physical or any other incidental advantages. In one passage, St. Chrysostom describes a man who praises another for being handsome, stately, wealthy, owning a fine house, riding beautifully groomed horses, and so on, and then addresses him with these words: “Why haven’t you told me anything about him himself? Everything you’ve said is not him.”

4) As for others, there’s no point in looking at them; let them be to themselves. Everyone will give an account for themselves. Look at yourself, and, setting yourself apart from others, judge yourself alone without comparing yourself to others. Or if you really want to compare yourself to someone, then compare yourself to the holy saints. They are the living Christian law, or the living example of those who are being saved. If you judge yourself by them, you will not go wrong.

c) “We are not that bad yet: it seems we do not behave disgracefully, and others do not view us as bad people; they do not withhold their respect and attention—and moreover, these are not just ordinary people, but important figures as well.” What a veil of the thickest darkness—the blindness caused by the outward appearance of proper behavior and outward relations! Make it clear to yourself more vividly that the external has no value without the internal. Proper external conduct is like leaves; good inner dispositions are the fruit. The fig tree promised fruit with its leaves, but the Savior, finding none on it, cursed it. So too, in His sight, is anyone who is outwardly upright but lacks a sincerely good and God-fearing heart. “My son, give me your heart,” says the Lord through the Wise One (Proverbs 23:26). From the heart come both all that is good and all that is evil. As you are in your heart, so you are before the Lord. If you are proud in your heart, no matter how humble you may appear on the outside, the Lord sees you as proud. So it is in everything else. And the judgment of others is deceptive flattery. Others do not know us, yet they treat us well—either assuming we are good or conforming to the rules of propriety. Is it not the case that those around us see what is wrong in us but do not point it out to us for their own reasons? Are there not also instances where others, seeing what is wrong in others, praise them for it and thereby stir up a certain spirit of recklessness in doing evil; and their unwary follower plunges deeper and deeper into evil and vice without pause, for when a person sees a smile of satisfaction on the faces of those around him regarding his own deeds, he remains in evil with a certain self-satisfaction. Let us not suffer anything like this ourselves, if we are so keen to listen only to the judgments others pass on us!

d) “But even if there is wickedness in me—am I the only one like this? So-and-so is the same, and so-and-so, and even that person over there. And how many more can be found who are wicked, even worse than I am…” We blind ourselves to the commonality of sin around us. Realize, then, that the multitude of sinners does not alter the law of righteousness nor does it relieve anyone of responsibility. God does not look at numbers. Although all have sinned, He will punish them all. How many people were born before the Flood, and yet all perished except for eight souls; and with Sodom and Gomorrah, five cities were consumed by fire from heaven, and no one was saved except Lot and his daughters. And in hell, the torments will not be any less severe simply because there will be many suffering there; on the contrary, will not the suffering of each individual be intensified by their collective presence? With such and similar arguments, hasten to dispel the darkness of prejudiced thoughts that keep you in blindness and prevent you from seeing yourself as you truly are. Set as the goal of this first work on yourself the task of casting doubt and uncertainty upon the security of your condition. You will arrive at this naturally when, one by one, you begin to remove the supports on which our blindness is falsely based; when, little by little, you begin to dismantle empty hopes in yourself and in anything of your own; when, little by little, you begin to shatter the fabrications of excuses for sins, (Ps. 140:4)—that is, the tendency to always and in everything justify yourself. Convince yourself that your Christianity is worth nothing if you are wicked, that your “perfection” condemns you more than it justifies you, that your outward righteousness is a God-hating pretense while your heart remains corrupt, and that neither the praise of others nor the broad circle of companions in wickedness will shield you from God’s judgment and wrath. Little by little, you will become isolated in your thoughts and stand alone—alone before the gaze of your mind and conscience, which will raise a strong voice against you, especially after you compare yourself to how you ought to be in Christ and find that you have fallen far short of your ideal. Consequently, if your conscience does not deceive you, you will naturally grow fearful for yourself. Cut off, as it were, from everyone and deprived of all support, you will be struck by a sense of hopelessness and fear for yourself. In every way, you must carry this work on your blindness to this very limit. The revival of this feeling is always the prelude to a flight from sin, just as in war, the wavering of the enemy’s ranks is a sign of their imminent rout.

1. As soon as even the slightest stirrings of the awareness of your sinfulness and the danger of remaining in it arise in this way, delve even deeper into yourself and, with even greater mental intensity, strike yourself with some terrifying and sobering images; shake and soften your insensitive heart with them, just as a heavy hammer softens a hard stone.

a) Recall your own mortality. Say to yourself: “Alas, death is near.” One person after another is dying around you; your hour is about to strike. Without putting off the hour of your death, convince yourself that the Angel of Death has already been sent, is coming, and is drawing near. Or imagine yourself as a man with a sword hanging over his head, ready to strike him. Then vividly picture what will happen to you in death and after death. Judgment awaits at the gates. Your secrets will be exposed before the angels and all the saints. There, before everyone, you will stand alone with your deeds. Depending on them, you will either be condemned or justified. And what is heaven, and what is hell? In heaven—bliss that cannot be described; in hell—torment without solace or end; upon it is the seal of God’s definitive rejection. Take all this to heart and force yourself to dwell upon it until fear and dread fill you.

b) Then turn to God and place yourself—defiled and burdened by many sins—before His face, the Omnipresent, Omniscient, All-Merciful, and Long-Suffering One! Will you continue to offend God’s sight with your vile, sinful appearance? Will you continue to turn your back in ingratitude upon Him who spares you in every way? Will you continue to shut your ears to the fatherly voice that graciously calls you? Will you continue to turn away the hand extended to receive you? Take this incongruity to heart and hasten to stir up and strengthen within yourself compassion and sorrow for God.

c) Remember, moreover, that you are a Christian, redeemed by the Blood of Christ, washed by the water of baptism, having received the Holy Spirit, partaking of the Lord’s Supper, and nourished by His Body and Blood. And all this you have trampled underfoot because of sin, which is destroying you! Climb in your mind to Golgotha and understand what your sins are worth… Will you still wound the Lord’s head with the thorns of your sins? Will you still nail Him to the cross, pierce His side, and mock His long-suffering? Or do you not know that, by sinning, you share in the Savior’s suffering and will therefore share the fate of His tormentors, but if you renounce sin and repent, you will partake of the power of His death? Choose one of two things: either to crucify Him and perish eternally, or to be crucified with Him and inherit eternal life with Him.

d) Consider further what this sin is to which you cling so tightly. It is evil, the most disastrous of all evils; it distances us from God, disrupts the soul and body, subjects us to the torments of conscience, exposes us to God’s punishments in life, in death, and after death, and casts us into hell, shutting us out of paradise for all eternity. What a monster we love! Take to heart all the evil that comes from sin, and strive to loathe it and turn away from it.

d) Finally, look at sin from the perspective of the devil, its first creator and propagator, and consider for whom you are working through sin. God has done and continues to do everything for you, yet you refuse to please Him; the devil does nothing for you and only tyrannizes you through sin, yet you willingly and tirelessly work for him. You befriend him through sin, while he harbors malice toward you through it. He lures you into sin with the promise of its pleasures; yet he torments and afflicts those who fall into sin. Here he suggests that sins are nothing, but there he will hold them up as evidence against us, as serious charges. He trembles with malicious joy when someone falls into the snares of sin and remains caught in them. Consider all this and stir up within yourself an aversion to this misanthrope and his deeds.

When you thus fill your heart, one after another, with feelings that both crush and soften—now horror and fear, now sorrow and pity, now revulsion and hatred—it will gradually warm up and come to life, and with it, your relaxed will will begin to stir and tense up. Just as electric currents impart a certain tension and excitement to the body, or as the clear, cool morning air imparts a certain freshness and vitality, so too will these feelings, filling the soul, awaken its dormant energy and rekindle the urge and readiness to act in order to escape from its perilous situation. These will be the first steps toward actively seeking your own salvation. So act even more decisively from this moment on.

2) Drive away the slumber of carelessness. Your will to do good has grown lax from a long sojourn in sin—now gather around it such thoughts as usually stir up energy: on the side of good, envision salvation, nobility, universality, the ease of fulfillment and the removal of obstacles, the joy that is ready at hand, and above all—necessity; on the side of sin, however, lies everything opposite to this; explain this to yourself at length and with sincerity until you rouse yourself and bring yourself into an alert state of readiness, prepared to set to work immediately. Say to your soul:

a) After all, it is one of two things: either you will perish eternally if you remain as you are, or, if you do not want that, then repent and turn to the Lord and His commandments. Why delay? The longer you wait, the worse it will be. Be on your guard, for death is at the door.

b) Is it really that hard? Just get started; just make the effort. The Lord is near, and all His help is ready for you.

c) And what a blessing it is! You will cast off this burden and these bonds, and enter into the freedom of God’s children.

d) Why are you tormenting yourself as if you were an enemy? You find no peace, day or night. Everywhere there is confusion and anxiety. Just make a single inner turn, and all this will vanish; you will see the joy of life.

e) Look, everyone has already gone to the Lord… one has turned, then another, then a third. Why are you standing there? Go! Are you any worse than the others?

f) Everything around you is alive and everything calls you to life. God is not the God of the dead, but the God of the living. Join those who live His life. Go, drink from the springs of living water.

The energy of a sluggish will is always stirred when a person places himself between two extremes—either perishing or changing his life. The instinct for self-preservation will immediately spur him to action. Point out thereafter how great a blessing is to be expected from changing your life for the better, how easy it is to do so, and how you are capable of it and called to it, and have all the means at your disposal; how all the good, both on earth and in heaven, will rejoice, enter into fellowship with you, take you in their arms, and joy will flow in communal life with all who live in Christ Jesus our Lord—point out all this, and your weakened will will be revived, and your slackened knees will be strengthened.

By laboring in this way upon yourself, you will increasingly drive away your blindness, insensitivity, and carelessness. But labor, and labor without growing weary. There is a cunning in the sinful soul, for it shirks the labor of salvation in every way. Come, take it upon yourself and bear it; it will not resist—it simply does not want to labor itself. Within your inner self, no one can be master except yourself. Enter into yourself and break, strike, and admonish yourself; conduct your own case before God; persuade and convince yourself. That is why, in the work of conversion, reasoning with oneself is, so to speak, the only door to it. If you do not reason with yourself and consider what to do, who will do it for you? That is why it is said to you: “Consider this, imagine that, and delve into this and that.”

From this, one can judge what a great blessing it is for a sinner if his corruption has not yet completely extinguished within him the light of the knowledge of the truth. Let his character be corrupted, let his feelings be impure, but if sound concepts remain in his soul—there is still something to hold onto for one who has begun to think about salvation. But when even these are gone, when the mind itself becomes corrupted—whether it falls into doubt, loses its conviction, or embraces entirely perverse teachings—then a person has nothing left with which to act upon himself; then one must acknowledge that there is no integrity in him from head to toe. Few, however, reach such a state. And those who do reach it, if there is a possibility of their conversion, are converted through extraordinary and astonishing acts of God’s grace. The majority of sinners, however, do not lose their faith or, as the Apostle says, “sound doctrine,” but merely become morally corrupt. For such people, it is enough to reawaken the concepts that have grown dim through neglect and to strengthen their weakened conviction in them—which has arisen from inattention and indifference toward all that is good in general. Sit down and examine for yourself what you ought to believe, how to live, and what to hope for, according to the Creed and the Lord’s commandments. If you find this difficult, consult the catechism; if you cannot do even that, speak with someone—most of all with your spiritual father. When you do this, the royal truth will triumphantly arise within you—and will begin to powerfully drive out the falsehood of deeds, dispositions, and feelings that has taken hold of you. It will then be easy for your reason to expose your blindness, strike down your insensitivity, and dispel your carelessness.

When so many topics are mentioned that one must reflect on with oneself, one should not think that only scholars can accomplish this. Anyone can engage in self-reflection on salvation, even a child. This is not the same as scholarly reasoning. Every truth brought to mind immediately inspires what it requires. Just be sincere and rekindle a genuine desire for your own good, with a willingness to follow the guidance of truth. (That said, it is by no means superfluous to have at hand books on the salvation of the soul, in which all the topics that should be considered are clearly and powerfully explained.) In this regard, the articles in the writings of St. Tikhon on sin, on spiritual blindness, on forgiving the unrepentant, and his monastic letters are invaluable. As an aid to this very self-reflection, a collection of the writings of the Holy Fathers is being published under the title: “Arise, O Sleeper...”

But in every way, one must conduct one’s self-reflection in such a way that it is suited to the goal—to influence the soul and inspire it. To this end:

a) When you reflect, do not engage in intellectual speculation by asking yourself various questions, but, having clarified the subject for yourself, take it to heart from the angle that you expect will be most impactful, and contemplate it in that way.

b) Do not jump too quickly from one thought to another—this is more likely to scatter the mind than to gather it and have any effect on the soul. Nor would the sun warm a single creature on earth if it were to pass over its surface in an instant. Let empathy be the measure of your reasoning on any given subject. Bring every thought to the level of feeling, and do not let it go until it has penetrated your heart.

c) If possible, do not leave a thought bare, in a purely rational form, so to speak, but clothe it in some image and then carry that image in your mind as a constant stimulus. It is best, if possible, to concentrate several striking images into a single one. Thus, Saint Tikhon, in order to impress upon the sinner’s mind the danger of his situation, says the following: “Above you is the sword of justice; beneath you is hell, ready to devour you; ahead is death; behind you are a multitude of sins; to your right and left are crowds of malicious enemies: can you afford to be careless?” An image is easier to recall and hold in the mind; it has a stronger and more powerful effect.

d) Choose brief but powerful sayings that apply to your situation, and then repeat them to yourself more often—either mentally or aloud. For example: “The ox knows its owner, and the donkey its master’s manger” (Isa. 1:3)—but what about you? Or do you disregard the riches of God’s kindness, gentleness, and patience? But because of your stubbornness and unrepentant heart, you are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath and revelation of God’s righteous judgment (Rom. 2:5–6). Therefore, stay alert, for you do not know at what hour your Lord will come (Matt. 24:42). Here lies my grave; here awaits my death. Where can I go from Your Spirit, and where can I flee from Your presence? (Ps. 138:7). Sin, when it is fully grown, brings forth death (James 1:15). Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion (1 Pet. 5:8). “Give an account of your stewardship” (Luke 16:2). “To whom much is given, much will be required” (Luke 12:48). “But that servant who knew his master’s will and did not prepare himself or do his will will be beaten with many blows” (Luke 12:47). Remember where you have fallen from (Rev. 2:5), “ ” and so on. Gather and memorize such sayings and strike your heart with them. Perhaps one of them will become a fiery arrow that strikes and sets you ablaze.

Do not dwell on a single line of reasoning, however; alternate it with prayer. After all, we are doing now exactly what we do when we want to uproot a tree that has taken deep root in the ground. We approach it and shake it, straining our powers of reasoning with ourselves, of self-persuasion, and of self-conviction. We shake it, but we cannot pull it out—the roots have grown too deep. We therefore lack the strength; we lack the strength even to cut these roots. So seek help!

a) If, during your reflection, a certain feeling touches your heart or a sense of tenderness stirs within you—stand up and pray. Pray that God may sanctify your labor on your hardened heart, that He may grant some of your thoughts the power to destroy and to build, or that He Himself may come and soften, awaken, and pierce it.

b) In this prayer, pray on your own; speak what is in your heart, and reveal your deepest need with confidence using simple, childlike, brief words—or better yet, without words—and thus cling to God in a heartfelt appeal to Him.

c) Do not overthink it; do not compose prayers. Approach Him in simplicity, with your single need, like a sick person to a doctor, like one bound to a liberator, like one weakened to a restorer—with a sincere confession of your weakness and powerlessness to overcome yourself, and with a surrender of yourself to God’s all-powerful action.

d) Fall prostrate, bow down—many, many times—and strike your chest. And do not depart from prayer while the prayer is still flowing. If the prayer grows cold, return to meditation, and from there return again to prayer.

e) And for prayer, just as for reflection, prepare brief invocations to God and repeat them often: “Have mercy on Your creation, O Lord!”—“O God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”—“O Lord, save me!”—“O Lord, grant me success!” Recall the stirring hymns of the Church and sing them: “Behold, the Bridegroom is coming…” “Thinking of the many evil deeds I have committed, I, the wretched one, tremble at the dreadful Day of Judgment. My soul, my soul, arise—why do you sleep?”—and similar ones…

Thus, striving in this way, knock ceaselessly at the door of God’s mercy.

What are we seeking through this effort? The stirring grace of God. God’s grace is accustomed to choosing certain means to influence us, as is stated in the description of the extraordinary workings of grace. Therefore, apply these means to yourself and walk under their shelter and influence. Might not a ray of grace fall upon you as well, just as it has fallen upon other sinners like yourself?

a) God’s grace has chosen the churches of God and the order of worship as the means of its work. Go to church yourself and patiently, attentively, and reverently participate in the sacred services. The sight of the church and its layout, the order of the services, and the singing and readings—all of these can have an effect. And it is no wonder that, having entered the church with a carefree heart, you will leave it having conceived the spirit of salvation.

b) Grace worked through the Word of God. Take it up yourself and read it. Perhaps you will come across a passage that will strike you just as it struck Augustine—the very passage his eyes fell upon when the New Testament was opened to him.

c) The hearts of other sinners were softened through conversations with pious people. Go and converse yourself. Word by word in conversation—might there not be one that penetrates you to the point of dividing soul and spirit, judging the thoughts and intentions of the heart? Perhaps a living word, warmed by love, will penetrate to the depths of your heart and shake the strongholds of sin that have formed there.

d) The prayer of the poor was powerful. Go and increase your almsgiving; wipe away the tears of the unfortunate; help, if you can, those who have fallen into ruin. The prayerful cry of a beggar reaches heaven and passes through the heavens of heavens. Might it not send a Guardian Angel to you, just as it did to Cornelius the centurion?

As you go about these and similar deeds, you will come into contact with the vessels and bearers of grace. Perhaps its life-giving dew will fall upon you from somewhere and revive the frozen sprouts of spiritual life within you.

So, now that the thought of reforming your life and your character has come to you—having cast aside procrastination, subdue and lighten your flesh through physical asceticism; set aside your cares and distractions by temporarily ceasing your usual activities and withdrawing into solitude; and then, having focused your attention inward, strive with various saving thoughts to dispel blindness, insensitivity, and carelessness through self-reflection or dialogue with your soul, alternating this with prayer and placing yourself under the influence of those circumstances which Divine Grace has already chosen as a means to influence the souls of sinners.

Strive, exert yourself, seek—and you will find; knock—and it will be opened to you. Do not grow weak or lose heart. But with all that, remember that these efforts are merely attempts on our part to attract grace, and not the very thing we are still seeking. What is lacking is the main thing—the grace-filled stirring. It is very noticeable that, whether we are reasoning, praying, or doing something else, we are, as it were, forcing something foreign into our hearts, as if from the outside. It happens that, depending on the intensity of our effort, a certain effect from these efforts may sink to a certain depth in the heart, but then it is immediately expelled from there again, due to some resilience of a heart that is unyielding and unaccustomed to this, just as a stick vertically submerged in water is expelled from the water. Immediately afterward, coldness and heaviness return to the soul—a clear sign that there was no grace-filled influence here, but only our own labor and effort. Therefore, do not be content with these deeds alone, and do not rest on them as if they were what you ought to seek. A dangerous delusion! It is equally dangerous to think that these labors constitute a merit for which grace must necessarily be bestowed. Not at all! This is merely preparation for receiving it; the gift itself depends entirely on the will of the Giver. Therefore, even after diligently employing all the means mentioned above, the seeker must continue to walk, awaiting God’s visitation—which, however, does not come at will, and no one knows from where it comes.

Only when this inspiring grace comes will the true inner work of transforming one’s life and character begin. Without it, success cannot be expected—there will be nothing but failed attempts. Blessed Augustine is a witness to this; he struggled with himself for a long time, but overcame himself only when grace dawned upon him. Work hard while you wait, with steadfast hope. It will come—and it will set everything right.

The natural question that follows is: What exactly is this grace-filled stirring? Into what state does it bring the sinful person? And how does this state differ from other similar states? One must know the characteristic features of this stirring so as not to let it pass in vain and so as not to mistake some natural state for it. The state of a soul stirred by grace is defined by its opposition to the state of a soul lulled by sin:

Sin separates God from man. A person, turning away from God toward sin, does not feel his dependence on Him; he lives as if he were not God’s and God were not his—like a wayward slave who has fled from his master. Now this barrier is torn down.

The sense of dependence on God returns. A person vividly realizes his complete submission to God and his full accountability before Him. Before, heaven seemed leaden to him and stretched over his head like a thick veil, but now a ray of light pierces through this gloomy veil and points him to God, the Lord and, at the same time, the Judge. A powerful sense of the Divinity, with all His perfections, is stirred within him and stands irresistibly in the soul, filling it entirely. Herein lies the foundation and the possibility of a future life of spiritual grace.

Sin once enveloped man in blindness, insensitivity, and carelessness. At the moment grace takes effect, this three-layered, petrified shell falls away from the soul it had bound. Man now clearly sees all his inner ugliness—and not only sees it, but also feels it. At the same time, he becomes aware of the danger of his situation, begins to fear for himself, and to worry about his fate. And not only does timidity take root in his soul, but—with a sense of his responsibility before God—fear, anguish, vexation, and shame begin to strike his heart deeply. His conscience gnaws at him.

But at the same time, he is given a certain sense of the sweetness of a life lived according to God. Feeling the utter worthlessness of a sinful life and harboring revulsion toward it as a sea of evil, he simultaneously senses that joy and comfort are hidden in the realm of goodness now revealed to his inner eye. He beholds it as the Promised Land, as the most blissful and safest place, free from all turmoil. This very foretaste is, above all, a phenomenon in the sinful soul that a person cannot produce on his own. These are the blessings of God, and they lie within His power. To think about them is not the same as to experience them. God Himself leads a person’s spirit into His treasury and allows him to taste its blessings.

Note how essential this act of God’s goodness is on the path to the soul’s liberation from the realm of sin. The purpose of this grace-filled stirring and its power lie in the fact that it draws a person out of the bonds of sin and places them at a point of indifference between good and evil. The scales of our will, which previously tilted first one way and then the other, must now be balanced. But this will not happen unless the sinner is allowed to taste, even in anticipation, the sweetness of goodness. If this is not granted, then the sweetness of sin, already experienced, would draw him to itself more strongly than goodness, and his choice would always fall on the side of the latter, just as happens in resolutions to change one’s life without a grace-filled stirring. For this is a general law: *ignoti nulla cupido*—that is, what you do not know, you do not desire. But when, in a moment of grace-filled inspiration, he is given a taste of the sweetness of goodness, then it too begins to draw him to itself, as something already experienced, known, and felt. The scales are balanced. Man has complete freedom of action.

Thus, like a flash of lightning, everything within a person and around him is illuminated by this divine inspiration. For a single moment, his heart is restored to the order from which he was cast out by sin; he is reinserted into the chain of creation, into the bond from which he had willfully torn himself away through sin. That is why this action of grace is almost always marked by a start and an instantaneous shock, just as a person walking hurriedly in deep thought is startled by a sudden “Stop!” If we view this state from a psychological perspective, it is nothing other than the awakening of the spirit. In fact, it is inherent in our spirit to perceive the Divine and a certain higher world or order of things, to elevate man above all that is sensory, and to carry him into a purely spiritual realm. But in a state of sin, our spirit loses its power and becomes mingled with the soul, and through it with the senses, to the point that it seems to vanish into them. Now, by grace, it is drawn out from there, placed—as on a candlestick—in our inner sanctuary, and shines upon all that exists there and is visible from there.

The state into which the soul is placed during a grace-filled awakening is similar to many natural states, with which, however, it should not be confused.

In a state of grace, a person finds themselves in a certain agonizing, sorrowful state of dissatisfaction with themselves and their situation; yet this is not the same as boredom. In boredom, there is no specific object: here, a person is crushed and saddened, without knowing why or about what; on the contrary, in a state of grace there is a specific object of sorrow, namely: the offense against God and the defilement of oneself. The former is emotional, while the latter is spiritual; the former is agonizing, gloomy, and crushing—which is why they say, “Melancholy suffocates”—while the latter revives and stirs the soul. In our ordinary daily life, there are many such vague longings, each with its own nuances. Among them, the longing for our heavenly homeland, the feeling of dissatisfaction with all created things, and the sense of spiritual hunger are particularly noteworthy. And this is one of the natural movements of our spirit. When the passions gradually fall silent, the spirit raises its own cry—one that resounds clearly in the heart—against the oppressive and humiliating state in which it is held, asking why it is not nourished as it should be, but is instead tormented by hunger. This is a longing for the homeland, a sigh that the Apostle heard even in all creation (Rom. 8:22). However, this, too, is not the same as a grace-filled stirring. It is one of the natural movements or functions of our spirit and, in and of itself, is feeble and fruitless. The stirring of grace descends upon him and imparts to him brightness and vitality.

With the stirring of grace, there is a breaking of the spirit, an awakening of the pangs of conscience; yet this is not at all the same as the ordinary self-reproach for mistakes in our daily life, whether minor or major. We torment ourselves when we say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing, and in general in all cases where, as they say, we have brought shame upon ourselves; we even say at such times: “Oh, how ashamed I am!” But this is not at all the same as the voice of conscience in the spirit, which is now heard. There, a person has in mind only himself and his temporal circumstances; here, on the contrary, he completely forgets himself and all that is temporal and sees only God, who has been offended, and his own eternal relationship with Him, which has been disrupted. There, he stands up for himself and human rules, but here—for God’s will and His glory. There, he grieves over having disgraced himself before people, but here, over having shamed himself before God; as for people and even the whole world, he cares not a whit. Furthermore, there the grief is hopeless, but here it is tempered by some consolation. For there, his entire support rests on himself and others, and when this foundation crumbles, he has nowhere left to turn; but here, everything comes from God, by Whom he does not expect to be rejected, but in Whom he trusts. And our ordinary pangs of conscience imitate the workings of the true conscience: one might say that they, too, are acts of conscience, only distorted and reduced from their proper rank. Together with the spirit, it too has fallen from its proper height, from the spiritual realm, and has fallen into the hands and power of the soul and the body; it has come to serve solely earthly goals, becoming, so to speak, a worldly conscience that feels the offenses against man more keenly than those against God.

When stirred by grace, the heart is granted a glimpse of a different, better, more perfect, and more joyful life; yet this is not at all the same as what happens to those who experience the awakening of luminous impulses and the noblest aspirations (one might call it the movement of ideas). These phenomena are similar in that they elevate one above the ordinary order of things and strive toward the realization of what is inspired; but they differ greatly in their directions and goals. The latter lead into some vague realm, while the former turns one toward God, points to peace in Him, and gives a foretaste of it. The goal of the former is life in God with eternal bliss, while the latter have in mind something that is, of course, always great and special, but about which nothing more can be said except “something.” The most striking difference between them, however, is that the latter are intermittent and operate individually: the spirit is awakened here in one person by one aspect, in another by another; the former, however, embraces the entire spirit comprehensively and, by setting it toward its goal, satisfies it or gives a foretaste of complete satisfaction in this order. The surges of the spirit’s highest aspirations are the remnants of the image of God in man—an image that is broken—and therefore manifest themselves like rays that are fragmented and scattered. These rays must be gathered into one, as if concentrated, and then a radiant beam is formed at the focal point. It is this, so to speak, concentration of the rays of the spirit—which is one in itself but has become fragmented in the multifaceted soul—that produces the grace which stirs it and kindles the fire of spiritual life, placing man not in cold contemplation but in a kind of life-giving fervor. Such a gathering of the spirit converges in the sense of the Divine: here lies the seed of life. So it is in nature: life does not appear as long as its forces act in a fragmented manner, but as soon as the highest power gathers them together, a living being—such as a plant—immediately comes into being. So it is in the spirit. As long as its aspirations burst forth in a fragmented manner—one thing here, another there, one in one direction, another in another—there is no life within it. But when the highest, Divine power of grace, while simultaneously animating the spirit, brings all its aspirations together and holds them in this unity—then the fire of spiritual life arises.

Based on these signs, it is easy to distinguish a state of grace-filled excitement from the ordinary phenomena of a person’s spiritual life, so as not to confuse the two and, most importantly, not to miss the opportunity to use it for one’s own salvation. This is especially important for those upon whom God’s grace acts without any prior effort on their part and not with particular intensity. One must not ignore this state of spiritual stirring, but it is possible to fail to give it due attention and, having experienced it, to slip back into the usual cycle of the soul’s and body’s movements. This stirring does not complete the work of a sinner’s conversion; it merely begins it, and after it lies the task of working on oneself—a very difficult task indeed. Everything related to this, however, takes place in two turns of freedom: first, in a movement toward oneself, and then from oneself toward God. In the first, a person regains the authority over himself that he had lost; in the second, he offers himself as a sacrifice to God—a burnt offering of freedom. In the first, he reaches the resolve to renounce sin, and in the second, drawing near to God, he vows to belong to Him alone for all the days of his life.

The Ascent to the Resolution to Renounce Sin and Devote Oneself to the Pleasure of God

The Ascent to the Resolution to Renounce Sin

Whether grace visits someone of its own accord or whether someone seeks it and finds it—the state into which it places a person in its first action upon him is the same in both cases. The person who has been stirred is placed by grace in a state midway between sin and virtue. It frees him from the bonds of sin, depriving the latter of the power to compel him to act, as it were, against his will; yet it does not transfer him to the side of good, but merely allows him to perceive its superiority and delight, along with a sense of obligation to stand on its side. Man now stands precisely between two crossroads, and a decisive choice lies before him. St. Macarius of Egypt says that even the grace that comes to him (man) in no way “binds his will by coercive force nor makes him immutable in goodness, whether he wishes it or not. On the contrary, the power of God inherent in man leaves room for freedom, so that man’s will may be revealed, whether it agrees with grace or not” (Homily 1: On the Guarding of the Heart, ch. 12). From this moment on, the union of freedom with grace begins. Grace has acted entirely of its own accord—and continues to do so entirely of its own accord. It enters within and begins to take possession of the parts of the spirit only when a person, by his own desire, opens the way for it into himself, or opens his mouth to receive it. If a person desires it—it is ready with the help of . A person cannot create or establish goodness within himself, but he desires it and strives for it; and for the sake of this striving, grace strengthens the desired goodness within him. Everything will continue in this way until a person finally gains mastery over himself for the sake of goodness and pleasing God.

All that a person must do in this work on oneself—or in order to reach a resolution—is the same as what usually happens when we resolve to undertake any task or endeavor. Usually, after the thought of doing something arises, we incline toward that thought with desire, remove obstacles, and make up our minds. The same applies to the resolve to live a Christian life: one must a) be drawn to it by desire, b) remove the internal obstacles to forming that resolve, and c) make the decision. Although the action of grace stirs the spirit into an excited state, its prompting to change one’s life is still only a thought—albeit a more or less vivid one: “Should I not give up sin?” or: “I must give it up.” One who has awakened from sleep sees that it is time and necessary to get up, but in order to do so, must exert special effort and make specific movements with various parts of the body. He tenses his muscles, throws off whatever is covering him, and stands up.

Therefore, having sensed this grace-filled stirring within yourself, hasten to submit your will to its demands; agree to its prompting that you—who are accountable before God and impure—must absolutely reform yourself and begin doing so immediately.

For one who has sought grace-filled help and now feels its presence, such a desire must be inherent—it has already guided him in all the aforementioned labors; but here, something is added to its composition, or to its perfection. There is a mental desire: the mind demands, and the person compels himself; such a desire governs the preparatory labors.

There is an empathetic desire; it arises under the influence of a grace-filled stirring. Finally, there is an active desire—the will’s consent to begin the work of rising from one’s falls right now; it must take shape now, following the grace-filled stirring. And this is the first task of one who has been stirred by this stirring.

It is well known that not everyone who is stirred sets about changing their life for the better, just as not everyone who wakes up gets up immediately, but sometimes falls back asleep several times.

Divine inspiration, on the one hand, places a person in a state of ease and vitality, while on the other hand, it imposes rather demanding requirements. Whoever now leans more toward the former may allow their thoughts to wander and prematurely surrender to the joys of life, as if they already possessed everything they ought to have. This self-indulgent ease prevents one from giving due attention to what has happened, and the accompanying inner distraction will soon cool—and both the favorable time and the state of mind will be missed. Once again, the usual heaviness sets in, making it impossible to control oneself. On the other hand, those who lean more toward the second side can allow themselves to free themselves somewhat from this constraint, just as a child removes a bandage with a healing plaster from a wound simply because it is too tight. In doing so, one person, to dispel what seem to him to be gloomy thoughts, turns to seemingly innocent diversions—conversation, reading—while another examines the oppressive feeling that has arisen, seeking to determine why and how it might have come about. There, external impressions, and here, the corrosive effect of scrutiny, obscure the salutary change that has taken place within. Consequently, this person ultimately slips back into his usual, unchanging lethargy.

It seems this should not be the case, yet it happens, because even blessed stirrings exist in varying degrees, and the circumstances in which they arise may be such that they obscure the importance and value of their manifestation within. Wisdom allows this to happen, testing man’s free will. That is why we say: as soon as you sense the grace of this stirring and realize that this is it—and nothing else—hurry to yield your will to its promptings. And to do this:

a) Believe with a simple heart that this comes from God, that God Himself is calling you to Himself, that He Himself has drawn near to you to bring about a saving change within you.

b) Having believed, do not allow this act of God’s grace to pass you by in vain. Only this stirring gives you the strength to overcome yourself. Once it passes, you will not be able to overcome yourself on your own. And whether it will come again—you cannot say. Perhaps this act of mercy is appearing to you for the last time. After it, you will fall into a state of hardening of the heart, and from there—into despair and hopelessness.

c) Exert as much diligence and effort as possible to maintain yourself in that salvific state in which you have been placed. Just as a combustible substance, if held before a fire for a long time, not only becomes warm— —but may also catch fire, so too can the desire for a life of grace naturally be kindled if you remain under the influence of grace for a little longer.

d) Therefore, set aside everything that might extinguish this spark that is just beginning to glow, and surround yourself with everything that can nourish it and turn it into a flame. Withdraw into solitude, pray, and reflect within yourself on how to proceed. The order of life, activities, and labors that has already been outlined—and which you compelled yourself to follow in seeking grace—is the most conducive to sustaining its nascent effect within you. The best of these, in this case, are solitude, prayer, and reflection. In solitude, your mind will be more focused; in prayer, your devotion will be deeper; and in reflection, your insight will be more effective. Reason with yourself; go over all the thoughts you have gathered before, trying to dispel blindness, insensitivity, and indifference. Let these three now be gone, but you must kindle the desire to begin the work right now. Direct all your efforts toward this. Now your self-reflection will not be what it was before. Without stimulation, it usually drifts into generalities; now, on the contrary, imitating grace and under its guidance, it will relate everything directly to you yourself, without any excuses or digressions; it will present matters to you from the angles most likely to affect you. Therefore, in this case, you will not so much be reflecting as moving from one sensation to another.

It is precisely in this labor of self-improvement, with the help of grace, that the word, audible to both the one God and to you, will finally be spoken in your heart: “It is necessary, after all; therefore, I will begin now.” It is evident that this is a conclusion; but by what laws and from what premises it is derived, no science can determine. All the subjects of the preceding arguments may be clearly understood, yet the conclusion itself may not be reached. It even happens that someone expounds all these subjects so powerfully in speech that, through their influence, tens and hundreds of people reach that conclusion, while for him personally it is not uttered in his heart. Nor can anyone say which is at work here—grace or freedom—for it happens that the action of grace passes by unnoticed, and all the efforts of freedom remain fruitless. Both are combined in a way that is incomprehensible to us, yet each retains its own nature. One might put it this way: freedom surrenders (hands over, gives—Ed.) itself, and grace receives and permeates it. Hence the power of desire: “So, let’s get to work.”

At last, a person has turned toward the good, ready to embark on this holy path, ready to walk in good deeds pleasing to God; but at that very moment, the entire abyss of evil lurking in the heart is stirred up like dust and strives once more to cover the whole soul. In the moment of excitement and inclination, sin remains silent, as if what is happening within a person does not concern it; but now, when they seek to trample it underfoot, it—thousand-headed, as St. John Climacus calls it—emits thousands of cries against the person who intends to do so. Just as when a person who has awakened is still only thinking of getting up, everything in his body is calm. But as soon as he actually sets out to get up and strains his muscles even slightly—all the pains in his body, which until then had not bothered him, now make themselves known and raise their complaints. So too, for one who has yielded to the gracious call, the pains of sin remain silent until he reaches this point of yielding; but as soon as he sets out to act, all these infirmities raise an alarm—one that is intense and disconcerting. Thought after thought, movement after movement, they overwhelm the poor man and drag him back, attacking without any order, enveloping his soul from all sides and plunging it into their turmoil. Everything good in a person hangs, as it were, by a thread, and he himself is ready at any moment to break free from what holds him and plunge once more into the very environment from which he longed to escape. One thing saves him—the sweetness, relief, and joy he was privileged to taste in that moment of inspiration, and the strength he felt when he said in his heart, “So, now I will begin.” Anyone who has seen a tiny spark darting back and forth in the smoke, yet still seeming to hold its own, or a small particle of wood being tossed by a surging current—now up, now down, now to the right, now to the left—will recognize in this a likeness of what happens at this very moment to a person’s good desire. Not only is the soul in turmoil, but the very blood stirs; there is even a ringing in the ears and a mist before the eyes. It is not difficult to understand that such an uprising comes not only from the sin dwelling in the heart, but rather from the father of all sins—the devil—who cannot remain at peace when such a troublemaker appears in his kingdom. Saint Tikhon says: “When a sinner, moved by God’s grace, begins to repent, he encounters various temptations. As a person begins to draw near to Christ, Satan pursues him (chases, hounds—Ed.) and distracts him from Christ, trips him up, and spreads various snares.” Here in our country, people tell stories about ghosts—both terrifying and alluring—that those seeking a certain flower to find buried treasure encounter; this psychological myth best illustrates all the devil’s efforts to distract a person from the good intention of purchasing precious beads or uncovering a treasure hidden in the countryside.

It is here that a person faces a fierce struggle within himself—as if a decisive battle against sin. Here he must resolutely capture and defeat his enemy, trample upon this serpent, bind him, and exhaust all his strength. The hope and reality of all his subsequent victories in his individual struggles against sin rest upon the successful overcoming of sin here. It is impossible to define everything that takes place here, given the diversity of the characters involved. The main points, or phases, of this battle, however, are not difficult to identify, though this is done more to assist those who are struggling than for the sake of knowledge.

It is evident that the soul has no firm footing: it wavers (fluctuates, is in turmoil—Ed.), though it remains intact, unbroken in its good intention, sustained by God’s grace. And who else will support it, who will steady it? That is why it is now more urgent than ever for it to cry out to God with all its might, just as a drowning person cries out. The enemy has seized her and seeks to devour her—cry out like Jonah in the belly of the whale or like Peter as he was drowning. The Lord sees your need and your struggle—and He will extend a helping hand, support you, and establish you as a warrior should be when going into battle.

Therein lies your support! It is most dangerous if the soul attempts to find it within itself; then it will lose everything. Evil will overcome it once more, overshadow that light still faint within it, and extinguish that flame that has barely begun to burn. The soul knows how powerless it is on its own; therefore, expecting nothing from itself, let it fall in humility before God, let it reduce itself to nothing in its own heart. Then the all-powerful grace will create everything within it out of this nothingness. Whoever, in utter self-abasement, places himself in God’s hands draws Him—the Compassionate One—to himself and becomes strong through His strength.

Nevertheless, one must not let self-humiliation lead to spiritual laxity, nor, having surrendered oneself to God, fall into inactivity. No, while expecting everything from God and nothing from oneself, one must also strive toward action and act to the best of one’s ability, so that there may be a place for Divine help to come, and something for Divine power to overshadow. Grace is already present, but it will act in response to one’s own efforts, supplementing their weakness with its own strength. Therefore, having firmly planted your feet in humble, prayerful surrender to God’s will, act yourself without slacking off.

Fight against sin in general, but especially against its root causes. When everything is in turmoil within the soul, and thoughts, like some kind of phantoms, stand and envelop it, hurling arrows from all sides straight into the very heart—it is not difficult to discern the main instigators of evil, so to speak. Behind the multitude of minor warriors stand, right at the very rear, the chief commanders, issuing orders, overseeing all arrangements, and directing the entire course of the war. These are the very root causes of sin. It is upon them that all attention must be focused; against them one must arm oneself directly, overcome them, and destroy them. Once they are defeated, the lesser warriors will disperse of their own accord.

The Savior pointed out what the main instigators of sin and its chief defenders are when He called people to follow Him (Mark 8:34–38). “Whoever wants to follow Me,” He said, “must deny himself”—turn away from himself, regard himself as a stranger to himself, unworthy of attention or sympathy, not worth standing up for. This implies that in a sin-loving heart, the exact opposite disposition—self-pity—constantly dwells and prevails, just as it does in reality. A sinful person treats himself as a mother treats her dearly beloved child: he feels sorry to deny himself anything, to go against his own desires in any way; he cannot bring himself to take a firm stand against himself in any matter. Furthermore, the Savior commands us to renounce everything in the world for the salvation of the soul: “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?” (Mark 8:36). The world is the totality of things outside of us—the visible, the tangible, the sensory. Consequently, this command implies a tendency in the human heart toward the material, a fondness for the tangible, and a certain passion to nourish oneself and find pleasure only in what is visible and sensory. And indeed, sensuality characterizes the sin-lover: he has no taste for the invisible and the spiritual, while everything sensual is so familiar and so thoroughly experienced. Then the Lord exhorts us not to be ashamed of Him in this adulterous and sinful world. This suggests that in the sin-loving heart, shame of others takes precedence over goodness and truth. And so it is. A person usually lives by this inviolability of the established order or established relationships around them; therefore, they are afraid to shake them up and, in order to maintain them, are more willing to compromise their conscience than to go against anyone, show disrespect, or get into trouble. This is the desire to please others: “What will people say, and what will become of me if I have to sever these ties?” This must be the most sensitive bond of sin, for in order to break it, one is threatened with shame at the universal judgment: “For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of Man also be ashamed when He comes in the glory of His Father with the holy angels” (Mark 8:38). This final appeal to the age to come reveals the absence of any sense of the life to come in the sin-loving heart; it leads one to suppose that, as far as that person is concerned, that life does not exist, and that he is entirely immersed in the present life. And so it is. People usually live on earth as if they were to live here forever, forgetting about the future; they know only earthly happiness, and all their goals converge on one thing—how to live well here—while they have no thought whatsoever of what will come next. Thus, self-pity, sensuality, the desire to please others, and worldliness (the belief that life consists solely of what is on earth) are the defining characteristics of a sin-loving heart—and consequently, the root causes of sin and its chief advocates. We ourselves, being sinners, could not have discovered them on our own; and if the Savior had not pointed them out, we certainly would not have known them. Now, however, that they have been revealed, it is clear that this is, it seems, how it must be. Man, having fallen away from God, turned inward—and is punished with self-pity: this stems from the primary nature of the Fall. The fallen being has become disordered within himself, having fallen from the spirit into the flesh—and now languishes in sensuality. The primary arena in which sin manifests and rages is the community of sinful people, with such orders and relationships among them that nourish and sustain sin. When everything goes smoothly within all these structures of sin—that is happiness. But since such a course of events can exist only in this age, while the age to come demands something entirely different, there is no thought of it—it does not fit into the mind and, all the more so, finds no sympathy in the heart.

So it is these very roots of sin that are the instigators of all the thoughts that assail a person when he is ready to make the move from the realm of sin to the side of good—they stir up a whole swarm of tempting thoughts that confuse, terrify, and thwart. Self-pity cries out: “What kind of life is this? Ahead lies nothing but toil, hardships, sorrows, and deprivations with no end in sight; it’s like walking barefoot through thorns—wounds at every moment!” Sensuality speaks up: “Give up this thing, and that one; stop doing this, and that—in short, everything I once found pleasure in—and devote yourself solely to the spiritual! It’s abstract, dry, unfulfilling, lifeless.” “What will people say? They’ll think it strange and start to shun me; meanwhile, I must sever both of those ties—but what then? And from this side, expect even more hostility.” This is the cry of people-pleasing. But here is the cry of worldliness: “The future, of course, will come—who would argue against that?—but it’s still far off, and how am I supposed to live in the meantime? Others have lived this way… We know the earthly life, but what about the other? This is within our grasp, but where is that?”

Yes, when a person sets out to work for the Lord, all of this will cry out against him. And it would be one thing if these were merely fleeting thoughts, but they are not: they penetrate to the depths of the soul, striking and drawing one to their side as if someone had hooked a hook into a living body and were pulling it toward themselves. What is a person to do here?

Help is at hand… You need only exert yourself—and you will overcome, but exert yourself wisely. Having established yourself in prayer, as has been said, in humble surrender to God’s will and the all-powerful working of grace: a) Hurry to drive all these thoughts from your soul; displace them from your consciousness through a special effort of self-mastery; push them back into that hidden place from which they came, and restore peace to your heart, for until your heart is at peace, you will not be able to do anything further. To this end, at first, do not pay them any attention whatsoever and do not engage in conversation with them, even if it is not hostile. A crowd of the uneducated will quickly scatter if you deal with them sternly from the very beginning; but if you say a lenient word to one, then another, then a third—they will gain boldness and become more persistent in their demands. Likewise, the crowd of tempting thoughts becomes more persistent if you allow them to linger in your soul even for a moment, and all the more so if you enter into negotiations with them. But if you repel them from the very beginning with a strong effort of will, rejection, and turning to God, they will immediately depart and leave the atmosphere of your soul pure.

b) But even if this dark horde of evil thoughts has been driven away, even if the heart is calm again and the soul has become light—one must remember that, in reality, nothing has yet been accomplished for the cause. These enemies are still alive. They have merely been pushed out of your attention and may have deliberately gone into hiding so that, in a surprise attack at an opportune moment, they might all the more surely regain victory. No, you must not stop here under any circumstances; otherwise, there will be neither peace nor success. They must be put to death, lured out, and slain on the altar of self-sacrifice.

Therefore, having once again established yourself in prayerful surrender to God and His grace, summon each of the instigators of sin and strive to turn your heart away from them and toward their opposites—thus they will be cut off from your heart and will be forced to wither away. To this end, give free rein to sound reasoning, and let your heart follow in its footsteps. Enlightened by the truth and aided by grace working in secret, let your reasoning: a) first present all the ugliness of these—one might say—spawn of hell; and you, in turn, urge your heart to feel revulsion toward them; b) then let it vividly depict the danger into which they plunge you, and let it point out in them the most wicked of enemies; and you, in turn, stir your heart to harbor hatred toward them; c) then let it fully portray before you all the beauty and sweetness of the life they prevent you from entering, all the charm of freedom from these tyrants; and you, whose heart has already conceived revulsion and hatred toward them, strain to turn from them toward that life, like a deer toward a spring. Thus the desired result will be achieved. The plan is brief, but the task may not be accomplished so quickly. Here, only the points to which one’s reasoning should turn are indicated; the thread of the reasoning itself—how to guide it and bring it to its goal—must be managed by each person individually; to the discerning mind, an effective and powerful thought will become apparent in one aspect or another. One must realize, however, that reasoning is merely a lever; the real work lies in the changes of the heart. It can be said that as soon as the changes described take place in the heart, we will have reached our goal.

This effort is the most essential in the process of breaking the will. One must carry it out vigorously and not give up until the heart, in these twists and turns, reaches its ultimate limits; and these ultimate limits are a resistance to sinful impulses—dispositions that are contrary to the fundamental demands of sin. Thus, one must labor upon oneself until, in place of self-pity, a ruthlessness and mercilessness toward oneself are reborn, and a thirst for suffering is felt—a desire to torment oneself, to wear down both body and soul; until, in place of the desire to please others, there arises, on the one hand, a revulsion toward all unwholesome customs and associations—a certain hostile, irritated resistance to them—and, on the other hand, a willingness to subject oneself to all injustices and all human reproaches; until, instead of a taste for only the material, the sensual, and the visible, there arises a distaste for and loathing of these things, and the search for and longing for the spiritual, the pure, and the Divine begins; until, instead of worldliness—the limitation of life and happiness to the earth alone—a sense of being a stranger on earth fills the heart, with the sole aspiration toward the heavenly homeland.

When such dispositions are formed, then all the foundations of sin will be undermined. Sin will lose its steadfastness and its determining power, which now passes to the person himself. Sin will be cast out and become external. From that moment on, it will be merely a temptation, not a determining force. And whenever necessary, one need only set in motion the counter-feelings now acquired toward it to drive it away. From this it is clear how great the importance is of the work now being described: through it, a new self is formed within us from within us, with a resolute aversion to evil and a turning toward good—a turning point in the will takes place, as a result of which everything within us must assume a new order.

Here is a person already standing on the very edge of the realm of sin—nothing separates him from the land of light, freedom, and bliss. The bonds have been broken; his soul feels light and joyful; it is ready to soar toward God. But the enemy’s cunning has not yet run out. He still has an arrow that he has saved for the very last moment. Just as the soul is about to muster its strength to take the final step out of the realm of self-indulgent sin, a plaintive cry seizes its attention: “Just one more day and that’s enough; tomorrow you’ll cross this boundary.” Whether it is because the soul is weary from the previous struggle and craves rest, or because such is the nature of sin, only this voice is heard. There is no opposition to goodness here, but only a plea—to ease the tension that has been built up, if only slightly. This cry is the most seductive of all: the enemy seems to stand on our side, begging us to take pity on ourselves; but if you yield even slightly to this cry, to this suggestion, you will lose everything you have gained. By some secret means, those banished instigators of sin will creep into the heart, commit adultery with it without our knowledge—and they will undermine and disrupt everything that was planned, so that, upon coming to his senses, a person finds himself back on the old path, as if he had never even attempted to improve himself. Coldness, sluggishness, and immobility once again overcome him, and he must start all over again with everything that seemed to have already been accomplished. Therefore, do not despise this seemingly minor requirement: it is small and insignificant in appearance, but in reality it is the very essence of all evil—a charming illusion of slavery disguised as freedom, a flattering friendship concealing an irreconcilable enemy. Hate it with all your hatred, and as soon as you notice it—for it flashes by as quickly as lightning—hurry to erase its trace so that not even a sign of it remains. Return yourself to the same state you were in before, and resolve to maintain that same inner and outer tension forever. Having defeated this enemy as well, you will remain a resolute victor, having taken control of yourself; you will become your own complete master.

Thus, following the stirring of grace, the first task facing human freedom is the movement toward oneself, which it accomplishes through three acts: a) it inclines toward the good—it chooses it; b) it removes obstacles and severs the bonds that held a person in sin, banishing from the heart self-pity, the desire to please others, the inclination toward the sensual, and worldliness, and replacing them with self-discipline, indifference to the sensual, a willingness to subject oneself to any disgrace, and a transfer of the heart to the age to come with a sense of being a stranger here; c) finally, he is inspired to set out on the path of goodness at once, without indulging himself in the slightest, but keeping himself in a constant state of moderate tension. In this way, all turmoil subsides in the soul. Thus stirred, having freed himself from all bonds, he says to himself with complete readiness: “Arising, I go.”

From this moment on, another movement of the soul begins—toward God. Having conquered himself, having taken control of all the manifestations of his impulses, and having regained his freedom, he must now offer his whole self as a sacrifice to God. This means the work is only half done.

The Dawn of the Vow to Dedicate Oneself to God

It would seem that everything has already been done if the resolution to abandon sin has been made and all that remains is to act. And indeed, one can act; but what kind of activity will this be, and what spirit will it possess? The person has stopped only at himself. If he begins to act from this starting point, he will act from himself and for himself, even if in a moral sense. This will be a selfish, pagan morality. There are people who say they do good for the sake of good—they do so because human dignity demands it, or because to act otherwise would be ignoble or unwise. All such doers reveal that the formation of the inner, moral person within them has not been brought to completion: they have returned to themselves, but have not moved from themselves toward God nor offered themselves as a sacrifice to Him—they have, therefore, stopped halfway. The goal of human freedom lies not in freedom itself nor in man, but in God. In freedom, God has ceded to man a certain portion of His divine authority, but with the intention that man himself might freely offer it up to God as the most perfect sacrifice. And therefore, if you have triumphed over yourself, go and now offer yourself to God. When you sinned, you did not merely lose yourself, but, in losing yourself, you also distanced yourself from God. Now, returning from the captivity of sin, after you have conquered yourself, return yourself to God as well. It would also seem that turning from oneself to God should be a task that is neither difficult nor complicated, like, for example, turning from west to east. But is not the sinner who approaches God a person dependent on Him, and does he not draw near to Him as one who has something behind him? No, he is like a runaway slave returning to his master, or like a guilty person appearing before the face of the king who is the judge. One must therefore approach in such a way as to be accepted. In human affairs, a master accepts a slave, and a king restores favor to the guilty, when, in approaching them, each acknowledges his guilt, repents of it, and makes a sincere promise to be completely upright from then on.

The same applies to the sinner’s return to God. He will be accepted by God if he a) acknowledges his sins, b) repents of them, and c) vows not to sin. These are the necessary acts for a heartfelt reunion with God, upon which depend steadfastness in the new life, perfection in it, and the assurance of unwavering adherence to its requirements. The prodigal son, returning to his father, said: “I will say: I have sinned”—acknowledgment of sin; “I am not worthy”—self-condemnation; “accept me as one of your hired servants”—a vow to work (Luke 15:18–19). Therefore, when returning to God:

a) Recognize your sins. And in resolving to abandon sin, you knew that you were a sinner; for otherwise, what need would there be to plan a change of life? But this sinfulness appeared to you then in a vague form. Now you must definitively ascertain exactly what is sinful and to what degree—clearly, distinctly, as if counting your sins one by one, along with all the circumstances that mitigate or aggravate the sinfulness of your actions: critically review your entire life with a strict and impartial judgment.

To do this, set God’s law on one side and your own life on the other, and see where they agree and where they differ. Take your own conduct and measure it against the law to see if it is lawful; or take the law and see if it has been fulfilled in your life. To ensure that nothing is overlooked in this important matter, follow a certain order. Sit down and recall all your duties toward God, your neighbor, and yourself, and then examine your life in light of all these relationships. Or—examine the Ten Commandments and the Beatitudes, one by one, with all their implications, and see —whether your life is like that. Or—read the chapters of the Holy Gospel according to Matthew where the Savior sets forth the specifically Christian law, as well as the Epistle of St. James, the final chapters of the Epistles of St. Paul, in which the duties binding upon a Christian are briefly outlined, for example: from chapter 12 of the Epistle to the Romans, from chapter 4 of the Epistle to the Ephesians, and so on. The latter are especially important in that they elucidate the spirit of the Christian life. This spirit is also clearly and powerfully expressed in the First Epistle of Saint John the Theologian. Read all of this and examine your life to see if it is in accordance with it. Or, finally, take the order of the confession and use it to examine your conduct. Consider your life and deeds not merely as the deeds of a human being, but as the deeds of a Christian—and, moreover, one in a specific rank and station.

As a result of such a review of your life, a countless multitude of deeds, words, thoughts, feelings, and unlawful desires will be revealed—things that should not have been done but were permitted—as well as many things that should have been done but were not; and even a considerable number of those done in accordance with the law will turn out to be defiled by impure motives. When all this is gathered together—perhaps even one’s entire life—it may turn out to consist entirely of evil deeds. The main thing to keep in mind at this first stage of recognizing one’s sinfulness is the precise definition of one’s deeds. Just as a service record is written with numerical precision, so too must each person envision the list of their own deeds in their mind with the same precision—including all the circumstances of time, place, people, obstacles, and so on. If our self-examination remains fruitless, it is because we merely make general surveys.

Nevertheless, we must not dwell on these minutiae, but must proceed further along the path of sin, or delve deeper into the sinful heart. Beneath our deeds, words, private thoughts, desires, and feelings lie the constant dispositions of the heart that constitute our defining characteristics. Some of our actions occurred by chance, while others sprang from the heart with such force that we were powerless to stop them; still others were performed ceaselessly, becoming, as it were, a law. Such an examination will reveal to us what kinds of actions are hidden in the heart and give rise to a constant, inner urge toward them. This is the very essence of sinful inclinations. By uncovering them, we will reveal the structure of our heart, the number and interplay of its inclinations.

Once this is done, even the chief passion, which governs them all, cannot remain hidden. It is well known that the root of all sins is self-love. From self-love spring pride, greed, and sensuality, and from these—all other passions, of which eight are considered the principal ones, while the rest, being derivative, are innumerable. Every sinner possesses all these passions—some in action, others in their nascent stages—because in everyone who sins, self-love, the seed of all passions or sinful inclinations, governs their actions. But not all of them manifest to the same degree in everyone: in one, pride predominates; in another, sensuality; in a third, self-interest. And the proud person is not averse to sensual pleasures—but it does not matter if he does not happen to have them. And the self-interested person thinks highly of himself—but it does not matter if, for the sake of profit, he must sometimes act in a lowly manner. And the hedonist is amorous—but it is no great loss if pleasures are bought with them. Thus, everyone has one dominant passion. All others stand in its shadow, subordinate to it, and are governed by it, not daring to act authoritatively against the dominant passion. All inclinations and vicious habits that a person has already discovered within themselves are set off by some particular passion and are inspired by it. It is in this passion that the root of all evil—self-love—is most fully manifested and embodied in the person. The recognition of this passion must be the culmination of one’s awareness of one’s own sinfulness.

Thus, you will finally come to know both the root of your sinfulness and its immediate offshoots—your inclinations—as well as its further offshoots, your numerous deeds; you will envision the entire history of your sinfulness and depict it as if in a painting.

b) Having recognized your sinfulness, do not remain a cold spectator of it, but strive to stir up the corresponding salvific feelings of heartfelt repentance. It might seem that these feelings would arise within you the moment you recognize sin, but in reality, this is not always the case. The heart grows callous through sin. Just as a manual laborer becomes calloused from his work, so too does the sinful person, who sells himself into the drudgery of sin—digging up thistles and feeding on them. That is why you must work on yourself here as well, to stir up feelings of repentance.

One arrives at these feelings through a sense of guilt over sins and a sense of being unaccountable for them. The sense of guilt stands midway between the recognition of sins and feelings of repentance, and is itself brought about by self-reproach.

So begin, first of all, to convict yourself—and do so. Set everything else aside and leave yourself alone with your conscience before the face of God—the all-seeing Judge. Reveal that you knew it was wrong, and yet desired it; that you could have refrained from doing it—and yet failed to use your self-control for your own good: both your reason and your conscience were against it, and there were certainly obstacles, but you disregarded all these warnings. Do this with regard to every sin. You will see that every sin was committed willingly, with full awareness of its sinfulness and even with an effort to overcome obstacles—and your conscience will compel you to confess your guilt without reservation. The deceitfulness of the sinful heart may begin to invent excuses—whether in the weakness of nature, the strength of temperament, a combination of circumstances, or the pressures of daily life—do not listen to them. All of this may have intensified the inclination toward sin, but no one can ever force you to consent to sin—it is always a matter of free will. If you were to say, “I do not want to,” all temptation would come to an end! In defiance of these attempts to mitigate guilt over sins, examine your personal circumstances more thoroughly: who you are, where, when, and how you sinned, so as to reveal just how sinful your sin is—specifically yours, in your person and in your circumstances—and in all of this you will see not grounds for excuses, but moments that increase your guilt. The limit to which the process of self-accusation must be taken is a sense of inescapable guilt—a state in which the heart confesses: “I have no excuse—I am guilty.”

In this act of self-accusation before one’s conscience, a person will acknowledge one sin after another and say: “I am guilty of this, and of that, and of the third—of everything, of everything I am guilty”—he will take on his sins and begin to feel that they weigh upon him with their full heaviness. In recognizing sins, one can still imagine them as existing outside oneself; but in the process of condemnation, they are seen within us very specifically and weigh us down—and they weigh us down all the more because we are without excuse for them. Having reached this point, what else is there for the sinner to say but: “I am wretched! This is not good, and that is evil; I myself am to blame for the fact that this is not good and that it exists within me.”

As soon as a person says in his heart, “I am lost,” painful feelings of repentance for his sins will immediately begin to well up within him, one after another. He feels ashamed that he has engaged in such base deeds; he is distressed that he has indulged himself and succumbed to his own wicked whims; he is pained that he has brought himself to such moral ruin; and he is terrified that he has offended God and placed himself in such a dangerous position, both in time and in eternity. These feelings follow one after another, and a person burns in them as if in a fire. He sees himself hanging over an abyss and, in his feelings, descends to the state of the outcasts. Hopeless anguish gives way to a sense of despair. And this is the point at which the demon of despair sometimes seizes the sinful person, whispering: “Your guilt is all the greater for having been left to yourself.”

Every sinner experiences these feelings to a greater or lesser degree. There is no need to regret that they exist; rather, one should desire that they exist and be even stronger. The more a person burns with them and the stronger the burning, the more salvific it is. In the strength of this burning lies the foundation of future repentance. Here the heart comes to realize how sweet the fruit of sin is, and from this it draws the strength to turn away from its allure.

c) Feelings of repentance clearly have a corrosive effect. A certain word penetrates even to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and judges the thoughts and intentions of the heart. But the purpose for which this is brought about in a person by God’s grace is not merely to destroy, but to create something new through the destruction of the old. This newness is sown by a breath of hope in the possibility of setting everything right. It is possible to correct what is flawed and restore what is lost—one need only set to work. It would seem that feelings of repentance lead directly to a vow: “Therefore, I renounce sin and promise to serve the one true God by keeping His commandments.” But the one making such a vow must be certain, on the one hand, that his past failings can be forgiven, and on the other, that he can receive the strength to help him stand firm in his vow. That is why the act of vowing to serve the Lord is mediated by confidence in mercy and in receiving help from above; and this confidence is produced by faith in the Lord and Savior, by Whom the record of our sins was torn up on the cross and, after His ascension, “all that is necessary for life and godliness” was given to us “through His divine power” (2 Pet. 1:3). Without this faith and the hope it engenders, one tormented by crushing feelings of repentance follows the path of Judas. It is then that the Savior’s Cross truly becomes an anchor for a person! Hovering, as if over an abyss, in painful contrition for his sins, he beholds the Cross as his sole savior; he clings to it with all the strength of his faith and hope, and from it draws the strength of inspiration to fulfill his vow. Just as a drowning man clings tightly to a tree, so the penitent clings to the Cross of Christ and feels that he will no longer perish. We generally know of the power of the Lord’s death on the Cross, but one who has undergone this painful repentance for sins feels it, because it becomes an element of his very life.

So, tormented by feelings of repentance and already wavering in despair, as you move toward the desired vow:

a) First, hasten to revive a living faith in the power of the crucifixion of Christ the Savior. All the sins of all people are nailed to the cross, and consequently, so are yours. Revive this certainty, and joy will breathe upon your heart, and it will rise to hope as soon as it is warmed by this faith.

b) Add to this a firm conviction that you will be given the strength to fulfill your vow as soon as you partake of the Sacraments. No one is denied them. For this very reason, the Lord has provided them—to bestow them upon us. This conviction will mobilize your own strength and give rise to a readiness to work diligently with such help. Can a vow be made without confidence in help from above? But, on the other hand, will this confidence come if one does not even consider making a vow? Here, there is a mutual relationship.

c) And when this combination of confidence and readiness arises within you, make a vow—to serve the one true God all the days of your life. This heartfelt vow, made in faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and uttered sincerely, will dispel all the darkness that has enveloped your soul and illuminate every aspect of your inner life and every order of your outer life. Herein lies the covenant of the heart with God in Christ Jesus. Therefore, through this act, your former resolve takes on a truly Christian character.

The ascent to the vow completes the repentant sinner’s journey toward the Lord. Now he has only a few steps left to take to receive the Lord who comes to meet him. The father met the prodigal son by throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him as a sign of complete forgiveness; then he clothed him properly and prepared a feast for him. a) God grants complete forgiveness to the repentant in the Sacrament of Penance; b) He clothes him with strength and offers him a supper—in the Sacrament of Holy Communion.

Complete forgiveness is granted to the repentant in the Sacrament of Penance

Once a sinner has resolved to serve the one true God from this point forward, he must hasten to the Sacrament of Penance. The necessity of this is so great that, without it, everything done thus far will not only remain incomplete but will also be lost without value. It derives all its weight, significance, and power solely from this Sacrament. That is why, where there is no Sacrament of Penance, there are no people living in a truly Christian manner.

a) The first thing that makes this Sacrament necessary is a certain instability in the inner life in general, a certain vagueness and fragility. Our thoughts, while still in our minds, are changeable in their course, disordered in their sequence, and unstable in their movement—and this is true not only when the subject is not yet clear, but also when we have discussed it thoroughly. But as soon as we put them down on paper, they not only fall into order but are also definitively clarified and established. In exactly the same way, a change of life—when merely conceived within—remains indecisive and unsteady on its own, and the forms of life envisioned at that time are unstable and indefinite. They attain a firm foundation in the Sacrament of Penance, when the sinner confesses his failings in church and affirms his vow to be righteous. Melted wax flows without form; but when it is poured into a mold or stamped with a seal, it takes on a specific shape. And our inner self must be stamped with a seal so that it may take on a definite form. This is accomplished in the Sacrament of Penance: there, the divine grace of the Spirit seals it.

b) A person receives spiritual life from the Spirit of God. The grace of the Spirit dwells within us, begins to live and act in us, and produces life according to the Spirit. In the penitent, it has been acting from the outside until now: it has stirred him from the outside, observed all his corrective movements from the outside, and assisted them; but it has not yet penetrated inward, nor has it taken up residence within him. This is accomplished by the Spirit in the Sacrament of Penance (and, for one turning to the Lord for the first time, in Baptism). Just as one tormented by thirst feels refreshment and strength upon drinking cool water, so too does one burning in the fire of repentance receive in the Sacrament of Penance a definitive —a power that both soothes his sorrow and strengthens him.

c) What makes the Sacrament of Penance particularly necessary is, on the one hand, the nature of sin, and on the other, the nature of our conscience. When we sin, we think that no traces of sin remain, not only outside of us but also within ourselves. Meanwhile, sin leaves deep traces both within us and outside us—on everything that surrounds us, and especially in heaven, in the decrees of divine justice. At the moment of sin, it is decided there what the sinner has become: in the Book of Life, he is entered into the list of the condemned—and is thus bound in heaven. Divine grace will not descend upon him until he is struck from the list of the condemned in heaven, until he receives absolution there. But it pleased God to make heavenly absolution—heavenly removal from the list of the condemned—dependent upon the absolution of those bound by sin on earth. Therefore, receive the Sacrament of Penance so that you may be deemed worthy of complete absolution and open the way within yourself for the Spirit of grace to enter. The conscience, now purified and having regained its sensitivity and intuition for the moral order, will not give us peace until we are firmly convinced of forgiveness. Such is its nature in the ordinary course of our lives: it does not even allow us to look in the eye the one we have offended until we are certain that he has forgiven us. But when it comes to God, it is even more discerning. Although at the moment when a person rises to make a resolute vow, a certain assurance descends upon them that they are no longer at odds with God, this assurance—being their own—cannot be lasting; it will soon be shaken by doubt: “Is this really so, or is it merely self-deception?” And doubt will bring anxiety into the heart, and from anxiety comes laxity. As a result, life will lack both firmness and order. Therefore, a person must hear the promise of universal forgiveness from God Himself so that, having been finally reassured by the certainty of God’s mercy, he may then act more resolutely and steadfastly in that certainty. Go, then, and confess—and you will receive from God the declaration of forgiveness.

One must prepare properly for a salvific confession. Whoever has gone through all that has been said so far is ready. Proceed, then, with reverent faith!

a) Having become firmly convinced of the necessity of this Sacrament, approach it—not as some mere appendage to a change in your life or a simple custom, but with complete faith that for you, as a sinner, this is the only possible path to salvation; that, if you bypass it, you will remain among the condemned and, consequently, outside the reach of all mercy; that, without entering this healing place, you will not restore health to your spirit and will remain, as before, sick and troubled; that you will not see the Kingdom unless you enter it through the door of repentance.

b) With these convictions, rekindle within yourself the desire for this Sacrament. Approach it not as a place of sacrifice, but as a source of blessings. Whoever vividly imagines the fruit that is born within us through confession cannot help but strive toward it. A person goes there covered in wounds, with not a single intact part from head to toe, but returns from there healthy in every part, alive, strong, and with a sense of security against future afflictions. He goes there bearing a heavy burden—the full weight of his past sins upon him, tormenting him and robbing him of all peace—and returns from there relieved, rejoicing, and in a joyful frame of mind, having received the charter of universal forgiveness.

c) Let shame and fear arise—so be it! This Sacrament should be desired precisely because it inspires shame and fear; and the greater the shame and fear, the more salvific it is. In desiring this Sacrament, desire greater shame and greater trepidation. Does anyone who decides to seek treatment not know that the treatment will be painful? They know, but in deciding to undergo treatment, they also resolve to endure the suffering associated with it in the hope of recovery. And you, when you were tormented by the feelings of repentance that came upon you and longed to draw near to God, did you not say: “I am ready to endure anything, only have mercy and forgive me!” And so it has come to pass according to your desire. Let not the shame and fear you now feel trouble you—they are associated with this Sacrament for your own good. Having been refined by them, you will grow stronger in character. You have already been refined more than once by the fire of repentance—be refined once more. Then you were refined alone before God and your conscience, but now be refined in the presence of a witness appointed by God, as a testimony to the sincerity of that solitary refinement, and perhaps to make up for its incompleteness. There will be a judgment, and with it, desperate shame and fear. The shame and fear experienced during confession atone for the shame and fear of that time. If you do not want those, endure these. Moreover, it is always the case that the greater the anxiety the penitent undergoes, the more abundant the consolation he receives after confession. This is where the Savior truly reveals Himself as the Comforter of the weary and the burdened! One who has sincerely repented and confessed knows this truth from personal experience, not merely by faith.

d) Then, recalling once more all the sins you have committed and renewing the vow that has already taken root within you— —never to repeat them again, stir up a living faith that you stand before the Lord Himself, who accepts your confession, and recount everything, concealing nothing of what weighs upon your conscience. If you have come with the desire to shame yourself, then do not conceal anything, but portray as fully as possible your shame in your inclination toward sin. This will serve to satisfy your contrite heart. One must be certain that every sin confessed is cast out of the heart, while every sin concealed remains within it, bringing all the greater condemnation because, with that wound, the sinner was close to the All-Healing Physician. By concealing a sin, he has covered the wound, without regretting that it torments and disturbs his soul. In the story of Blessed Theodora, who endured trials, it is said that her evil accusers could not find in their records the sins she had confessed. The angels later explained to her that confession erases sin from every place where it is recorded. Neither in the book of conscience, nor in the book of life, nor with these evil destroyers is it any longer recorded against that person—confession has erased those entries. So pour out without reservation everything that weighs you down. The extent to which you must reveal your sins is such that your spiritual father may form an accurate understanding of you, so that he may see you as you truly are, and, in granting absolution, may absolve you specifically—and not someone else—so that when he says, “Forgive and absolve the penitent of the sins they have committed,” —there would be nothing left in you that did not fit these words. Those who, preparing for confession for the first time after a long period of living in sin, take the opportunity to speak with their spiritual father beforehand and tell him the entire story of their sinful life are doing well. In this way, there is no danger of forgetting or omitting anything in the confusion during confession. Every effort should be made to ensure the complete disclosure of one’s sins. The Lord has granted the authority to grant absolution not unconditionally, but on the condition of repentance and confession. If this is not fulfilled, it may happen that when the spiritual father says, “I forgive and absolve you,” the Lord will say, “But I condemn you.”

d) Now the confession is over. The spiritual father lifts the epitrachelion, covers the penitent’s head with it, and, placing his hand upon it, pronounces absolution for all sins, sealing it with the sign of the cross upon the head. What takes place in the soul at that moment is known to everyone who has sincerely repented. Streams of grace flow from the head into the heart and fill it with joy. This does not come from human beings—neither from the penitent nor from the one granting absolution: it is the mystery of the Lord, the Healer and Comforter of souls… It sometimes happens that some people clearly hear a divine word in their hearts, intended to strengthen and inspire them for future deeds. It is, as it were, a spiritual weapon handed down by Christ the Savior to a person who now joins the ranks of those fighting under His banner. Whoever has been deemed worthy to hear such a word should keep it thereafter as a source of comfort and inspiration; a source of comfort, for it is clear that confession has been accepted when it pleased the Lord to enter, as it were, into a conversation with the penitent; a source of inspiration, because in the hour of temptation one need only recall it, and from where will strength come! How do soldiers in battle inspire themselves?—With that word from the commander’s speech that had the strongest effect. So it is here.

e) That is how it all concludes… All that remains is to fall prostrate before God in gratitude for His ineffable mercies and to kiss the cross and the Gospel as a sign of a vow—to walk steadfastly along the path indicated in the Gospel, through self-crucifixion, to follow Christ the Savior, as described in the Gospel, under His gentle yoke, which you have now just taken upon yourself. Having done this, go in peace with the intention of certainly acting as you have promised, remembering that from this moment on, judgment upon you will be based on your own words. Having made a vow—keep it; having sealed it with the Sacrament—be all the more faithful to it, so as not to fall again into the category of those who trample upon grace.

g) If your spiritual father imposes penance upon you, accept it with joy. And if your spiritual father does not impose it, ask him to do so. This will serve not only as guidance for you on the good path you are embarking upon, but also as protection and a shield against hostile actions from outsiders directed at you in your new way of life. Here is what His Holiness the Patriarch of Constantinople (Jeremiah—Ed.) writes about this in “A Reply to the Lutherans”: “We accompany the remission of sins with penances for many valid reasons. First, so that through voluntary suffering here the sinner may be freed from severe involuntary punishment there, in the life to come, for nothing appeases the Lord as much as suffering, and all the more so voluntary suffering. That is why St. Gregory says that tears are rewarded with love for humanity. Second, to eradicate from the sinner those passionate desires of the flesh that give rise to sin, for we know that like cures like. Third, so that penance may serve, as it were, as bonds or a bridle for the soul and prevent it from returning to the very same vices from which it is still in the process of being cleansed. Fourth, to accustom us to toil and patience, for virtue is the fruit of toil. Fifth, so that we may see and know whether the penitent has truly come to hate sin.”

Whoever undergoes this entire course of spiritual healing as they should, and—most importantly—confesses their sins without holding anything back, returns from the house of God just as the guilty return from the courtroom—those who, instead of a death sentence, heard there a proclamation of pardon and the forgiveness of their crimes— — they return with the deepest sense of gratitude toward the Savior of our souls, with a firm resolve to devote the rest of their lives to Him and to the fulfillment of His commandments, with an extreme aversion to all their former sins, and with an irrepressible desire to erase all traces of their former wicked life. The one who has received absolution feels within himself that he is not idle, that a certain special power has come upon him. Divine grace, which until now had only acted upon him from without to help him triumph over himself, has now—with the words, “I forgive and grant permission”—entered within, merged with his spirit, and filled him with a fervor and zeal with which he now sets out to carry out his work and mission until the evening of his life.

The penitent approaches the Sacrament of Holy Communion

In the parable of the Prodigal Son, the father, having welcomed his son who returned to him in repentance, after falling on his neck and kissing him as a sign of complete forgiveness, commanded that he be clothed and that a joyful and festive supper be prepared. The father’s heart was not satisfied with forgiveness alone; he was determined to assure his son of their reconciliation and to express even more strongly the joy of seeing him again after such a sorrowful separation. A father’s love gives what the son’s hope did not even expect. What sinner could have expected anything greater after receiving complete forgiveness? And yet, he is also invited to the Lord’s Supper, where the Lord Himself gives him His Flesh to eat and His Blood to drink. This is the crowning glory of generosity toward the repentant sinner; yet it is not an excess, but an essential necessity for reunion with the Lord.

The Christian life is life in the Lord Jesus Christ. The believer is clothed in Christ and lives by Him. One who has fallen after baptism loses this grace; rising from the fall and returning to the Lord, he must once again be made worthy of it—and is made worthy through Holy Communion. “Whoever eats My Flesh and drinks My Blood abides in Me, and I in him,” says the Lord (John 6:56). Here, in the repentant person, lies the beginning of life in Christ Jesus. The Lord said that He is the vine, and those who believe in Him are the branches (see John 15:46). A branch does not live unless it is on the vine; likewise, believers do not live unless they are in the Lord. Nowhere is there true life except in this vine. Whatever is not on it is dead. Therefore, whoever wishes to live truly must be grafted into it, receive its life-giving sap, and live by nourishing themselves with it. This grafting takes place in Holy Communion: here the Christian becomes one with the Lord. When the Lord was merely guiding a sinner toward complete repentance, He was merely knocking at the door of the heart; but when that door is opened through contrition and repentance, He enters and shares the Lord’s Supper with the communicant.

Now a person is born anew. A life of an entirely new kind begins for him. Life cannot continue without food—and, moreover, food that is suited to it. And this very kind of food is the Body and Blood of the Lord. He Himself said: “My flesh is true food, and My blood is true drink” (John 6:55). Those who have begun a new life must nourish that life with these. It is all the more necessary to partake of this food in the very beginning, at the very first, so to speak, stirrings of one’s new life. It is said that the first food influences the character of one’s physical life and subsequently becomes a constant need of the body. What, then, should be the character of the life of the repentant? A life centered on Christ Jesus, our Lord. What should constitute his constant need? The need for communion with the Lord. Let him therefore hasten, at the very beginning of this life, to partake of the Body and Blood of Christ, so as to lay, so to speak, the foundation of a life in harmony with Christ, and to kindle a living desire for constant communion with Him through this partaking. Once one has tasted this heavenly manna and experienced its sweetness, he can no longer help but yearn and thirst more and more for this communion.

Therefore, having received mercy and complete forgiveness through repentance, proceed to Holy Communion for the full revitalization of your inner self.

There is no need to prescribe special rules for preparing for this. The repentant person already possesses everything necessary for it and naturally proceeds to Holy Communion. Whoever has mourned their sins and confessed them is ready to partake of this great Sacrament. And the Apostle prescribes nothing more; he says only: “Let a person examine himself, and so let him eat of this bread and drink from this cup” (1 Cor. 11:28). One might say: have what you have, or do not lose what you have—and that is enough.

According to our established order, not much time passes between confession and Communion: for the most part, only the evening, the morning, and the Liturgy. During these moments, one must take care to preserve the peaceful state of mind brought from the church after confession and apply it to communion with the Lord in Holy Communion.

a) Keep your attention undistracted and your heart serene. Guard against distraction and troubled cares; setting everything aside, turn inward and remain alone with a single thought of the Lord who is about to come to you. Set aside every wandering thought, and, contemplating the one Lord, pray to Him with undistracted, heartfelt prayer.

b) If your mind cannot remain focused on this one thing, occupy it with reflection on the Communion itself; and so that it does not wander too much, anchor it with the words of the Lord and the holy Apostles concerning this Sacrament.

c) As you meditate on any saying of the Lord or the holy Apostles, draw edification from them and prepare yourself for contrite prayer. When prayer comes, fall down before the Lord and do not withdraw from prayer as long as prayer continues.

d) Spend the evening in these practices until sleep closes your eyes. Morning will come. As soon as you come to your senses upon waking, first of all, rekindle your awareness of the greatness of the day that has dawned for you. But do not be restless; do not be distracted by many things, keeping in mind only what is to be with you and within you. Be on guard! The enemy will tempt you in every way to put your soul in a bad state, trying either to scatter your thoughts, or to stir up concern about something, or dissatisfaction with something, or resentment toward someone. Pay attention to yourself as you pray to the Lord, and you will avoid these stumbling blocks.

d) Upon entering the church, feel as if you were in the Upper Room in Zion, where the Lord gave the Holy Communion to the holy Apostles, and pay even closer attention than when the hymns are sung and the readings are recited, directing all your thoughts to the fact that the Lord Himself is preparing this saving supper for you.

e) At the same time, strengthen your faith in the real presence of the Lord and Savior Himself in the Holy Mysteries. Drawing on this faith and contemplating the Lord Himself, as if He were already coming to you, humbly cry out: “Lord, I am not worthy that You should enter under my roof” (Matt. 8:8). From humility, move on to filial fear—not a fear that deters, but one that brings reverent sobriety. Since the Lord Himself both invites and commands you to draw near, be ready to approach with confidence, with desire and longing, like a deer for flowing waters, and expect with certainty to receive the Lord Himself, and with Him all the treasures of life hidden in Him. From this hope, which will not put you to shame, turn once more to yourself, ready to meet the Lord; kindle the contrition of your heart even more strongly, and renew your promise to turn away from sin, even if it means dying for it.

g) Make an effort to stand throughout the entire Liturgy, moving from one of these sentiments to another, and in this spirit of devotion, finally approach the Lord’s Chalice; upon seeing it, pay homage to the Lord who is coming to you, and, opening your mouth and heart, receive Him, humbly and reverently crying out with the Apostle Thomas: “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28). Glory to You, O God! Glory to You, O God! Glory to You, O God!

Approaching the Lord’s Cup with such a disposition and departing from it, you will feel in your heart: truly the word… partaking of the divine graces, for I am not alone, but with You, my Christ, the Three-Sun Light that enlightens the world. From this moment on, you begin to carry Christ within you. Take great care, then, to comfort Him in every way and to keep Him within you. If Christ is in you, who can be against you? And all else you will be able to do through the Lord who strengthens you.

This completes the formation of the spiritual life in the Christian, who, after the Fall, is once again turning toward the service of God.

This is the entire process of conversion! It is presented here as a lengthy narrative so that one may more clearly see all the stages that the convert must desire, through the interplay of freedom and grace. Everything described here happens to every convert, but how and to what extent depends on each person’s individual character and circumstances. For some, the entire conversion takes place in a few minutes; during that time, they are stirred, repent, and rise to a state of resolve. Spiritual phenomena are instantaneous. However, examples of conversion of this kind are very rare; for the most part, conversion does not occur all at once, but gradually. Although the inner changes themselves are instantaneous, they are not always reached immediately, but sometimes only after quite a long period of self-discipline. For some, therefore, complete conversion takes years. The main points at which stagnation occurs are those where self-love must suffer—for example, when overcoming obstacles or temptations to sin, during confession, and so on. The final state one must reach is complete detachment from everything and surrender to the Lord. From that moment on, a truly Christian life begins, because then a person has reached the goal—being hidden in God. Everything depends on the zeal with which one takes up the task and the conviction that whatever is necessary must be done—whether now or later, but it must be done: better now—and so one begins to work and soon becomes established. And becoming established is the main goal of conversion.

On how the Christian life is formed, matures, and grows stronger within us

or, in other words, on the order of a godly life

How does the Christian life take shape, mature, and grow stronger within us?

Let us focus our attention on the fact that a person has just turned from darkness to light, from Satan’s realm to God, has just set out on a new path on which he has not yet taken a single step, but is burning with zeal to do whatever is necessary to persevere in the work they have begun and not succumb again to their former masters, who distanced them from God and the Savior and led them into ruin.

The question now is: Where should he go, and what must he do in order to arrive where he ought to, and to arrive faithfully, directly, quickly, and successfully? The goal toward which the seeker must direct all his attention and all his efforts is the ultimate goal of humanity and the building of salvation—namely, communion with God, a living union with God, and being deemed worthy of His indwelling. Only then will the seeking and zealous spirit find rest, when it has attained God, tasted Him, and been satisfied. Therefore, the first law for him is: “Seek the Lord and His strength; seek His face always” (Ps. 104:4). What this blessing consists of is incomprehensible to man. He himself would not even have thought of such a height. But since it pleased God to assign him this rank, it would be presumptuous for man to reject it through unbelief, inattention, or neglecting it in thought—even in the midst of his labors. “I will dwell in them,” says God, “and this—with all the Persons of the Most Holy Trinity” (2 Cor. 6:16). Speaking of God the Father and Himself, the Lord says: “We will come to him (the believer and lover) and make our home with him” (John 14:23). Concerning Himself alone: “I will come in to him and dine with him” (Rev. 3:20); and even more clearly: “I am in My Father, and you are in Me, and I am in you” (John 14:20). Concerning the Holy Spirit, the Apostle says: “The Spirit of God dwells in you” (Rom. 8:9).

It should be noted that this indwelling of God is not merely a mental one, as occurs in the contemplation of God on the part of man and in God’s favor, but is a living, vital union, to which the former must be regarded merely as a means. The intellectual and heartfelt striving toward God, under God’s favor, prepares man to receive God in truth; this is a union in which, without absorbing human strength or personhood, God produces in him both the will and the action according to His good pleasure (Phil. 2:13); and man, according to the Apostle, no longer lives, but Christ lives in him (cf. Gal. 2:20). This is the goal not only of man but also of God Himself. All that is created stands in God and through God. Free creatures are left to themselves, but not definitively or forever, rather so that they too may surrender themselves to the all-powerful God, without constituting within the Kingdom of God a separate kingdom independent of God. It may seem strange that communion with God must still be attained, when it already exists or is given in the sacrament of baptism or repentance, for it is said: “All of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ” (Gal. 3:27); or: “You have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3). And indeed, by simple understanding, God is everywhere, not far from any of us—so that we may find Him (cf. Acts 17:27)—and He is ready to dwell in anyone who is ready to receive Him. Only unwillingness, neglect, and sinfulness separate us from Him. Now, when a repentant person has renounced everything and surrenders himself to God—what prevents God from dwelling within him?

To dispel such confusion, we must distinguish between different kinds of communion with God. It begins at the moment of awakening and manifests, on the part of the person, as a search for and a longing for God, and on the part of God—as favor, assistance, and protection. But God is still outside the person, and the person is outside God; they do not yet interpenetrate or mutually enter one another. In the Sacrament of Baptism or Penance, the Lord, through His grace, enters into the person, communicates vividly with him, and allows him to taste the full sweetness of the Godhead, so abundantly and tangibly as befits the perfect, but then again conceals this manifestation of His communion, renewing it only from time to time—and even then lightly, as in a mere reflection rather than the original—leaving man in ignorance of Himself and of His indwelling within him until a certain measure of maturity or upbringing is reached, according to His wise guidance. After this, the Lord tangibly reveals His indwelling in the spirit of man, who then becomes a temple of the Triune Godhead that fills him.

Thus, there are three kinds of communion with God: one is mental, occurring during the period of conversion, while the other two are actual; yet one of them is hidden, invisible to others and unknown even to the person himself, while the other is manifest even to others. The first type of communion, the most understandable and common, does not cease in the second stage or even in the third, because spiritual life is intellectual life; however, in these stages it differs from the first in its essential nature, which, moreover, cannot be expressed in words. The entire spiritual life consists in the transition from mental communion with God to actual, living, perceptible, and manifest communion.

We look at a repentant person—that is, one who has truly entered into communion with God, though it is still hidden, secret, and not yet revealed—and whose goal is to attain full, perceptible, and tangible communion. We must define all this more precisely for ourselves and be certain of it, because the repentant person’s entire activity toward salvation must be built upon these concepts; namely: that in the Sacrament of Penance (or Baptism), grace descends in a way perceptible to the spirit, but then withdraws from conscious awareness, though it does not depart in reality—and this continues until the purification of the heart, when it is instilled visibly and definitively. It is evident that only the holy fathers can serve as our guides in this matter. Among them, none have described this as well as Saint Diadochus, Bishop of Photiki, and Saint Macarius of Egypt. Let us cite their testimonies in support of our propositions.

Grace is instilled in a person and remains with him from the moment he receives the Sacrament. “Grace,” says Saint Diadochus, “from the very moment we receive baptism (or repentance), takes up residence in the very depths of the soul…” Furthermore: “Divine grace, through holy baptism, unites itself with a certain incomprehensible love, with the features of the image of God, as a pledge of likeness.” Saint Macarius: “Grace is constantly present with a person, having united with and taken root in him from an early age, as if it were something natural and inseparable in his heart, becoming, as it were, one being with him.”

Through its first indwelling via the Sacraments, this grace enables a person to fully partake of the bliss of communion with God. “The All-Holy Spirit,” says Saint Diadochus, “at the beginning of our spiritual perfection, if we zealously love God’s virtue, grants the soul a full and satisfying taste of God’s sweetness with all its senses, so that the mind may have a precise knowledge of the ultimate reward for works pleasing to God.” Furthermore: “Grace usually first illuminates the soul with its light so that it may perceive it abundantly.” This tangible descent of grace is initially symbolized by the white garment worn by those being baptized for seven days. That this is not merely a ritual is evident from the examples of the holy converts, for some were visibly clothed in light, upon others a dove descended, and the faces of still others were illuminated. In general, however, all who truly drew near to the Lord experienced this as a certain leaping of their spirit, similar to the way the Lord’s Forerunner leaped in Elizabeth’s womb at the approach of the Mother of God and, in her, the Lord. The lives of Simeon and John (July 21) recount that they saw a light surrounding a brother who had been baptized and had taken the monastic vows—and this lasted for seven days. Having sensed, upon taking the monastic vows, a special work of God within themselves, they sought to preserve it forever, for which purpose they immediately withdrew into solitude—the most suitable form of asceticism for this end.

Then grace conceals itself from the one being saved, and although it remains within him and is at work, it does so in such a way that he does not notice it—and indeed, he is so unaware that he often considers himself forsaken by God and doomed, which leads him into sorrow, lamentation, and even a slight despair. Thus, Saint Diadochus, following the passages cited above, continues: “However, He conceals the preciousness of this life-giving gift for a long time afterward, so that we, even though we fulfill all virtues, may consider ourselves utterly nothing, because we have not yet made the holy love a habit within ourselves,” “but, as we continue our spiritual struggles, He performs His secret works in the soul that seeks God in a way unknown to it, so that, first, He may incline us—called from ignorance to knowledge—to joyfully enter the path of divine contemplation, and second, in the midst of our struggles, He may protect our knowledge from pride.” Elsewhere, he explains how grace generally operates: “Grace at first conceals its presence, awaiting the soul’s free will; and as soon as a person turns completely to the Lord, it reveals its presence to the heart through some inexpressible sensation and again awaits the soul’s response, allowing, in the meantime, the devil’s arrows to reach the depths of the soul, so that it may seek God with the most ardent will and the most humble disposition… However, one must know that, although grace conceals its presence from the soul, it nevertheless offers it help in a hidden way, in order to show the enemies that victory belongs solely to the soul. That is why the soul then finds itself in despondency, sorrow, humiliation, and even moderate despair.” And Saint Macarius of Egypt says that “the power of God’s grace present in a person (which already exists, having been bestowed), and the gift of the Holy Spirit, which a faithful soul is deemed worthy to receive through great labor—through much waiting, long-suffering, temptations, and trials—is acquired,” meaning not its initial receipt, but its full indwelling and operation, as is evident from his words, where he says that grace, with great long-suffering, wisdom, and a mysterious testing of the mind, begins to act in a person who has long labored in various circumstances. He explains this with the examples of Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, and David, who, having received great promises, then had to suffer for a long time in obscurity until they finally saw the fulfillment of those promises. It should be noted that this hiddenness and imperceptibility are not constant, but are at times dispelled by consolations, although these consolations are entirely different from those that come later, upon the indwelling of the Spirit.

Finally, when this period of hidden communion with God and of God’s working in the soul comes to an end—the continuation of which is not in human hands but in the guiding wisdom of the grace that saves humanity— God dwells within man in a special way, visibly fills him, unites with him, and communes with him—which constitutes the goal of all asceticism and all human effort, and of the entire work of salvation on God’s part, and of everything that happens to every person in this life from birth to the grave. St. Macarius states that the work of grace, after long trials, is finally fully revealed, and the soul receives full adoption as a child of the Spirit. God entrusts Himself to the heart, and man is deemed worthy to be of one spirit with the Lord. According to Diadochus, the one who has been tested becomes fully the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit. Grace illuminates his entire being with a sense of profound depth. This action manifests itself or is accompanied in different ways for different people.

These two modes of true communion with God were beautifully depicted and described by the wise Sirach, speaking of Wisdom, which is none other than God’s grace that saves us: For at first she will walk with him along winding paths, instilling fear and dread in him, and tormenting him with her guidance, until she is assured of his heart and tests him with her precepts; but then she will meet him on the straight path, gladden him, and reveal her mysteries to him. (Sir. 4:18–21).

For at first she will walk with him along winding paths—that is, harshly, strictly, unmercifully, with a certain seeming lack of love.

She will instill fear and dread in him—the fear of being forsaken by God and of the ever-lurking attacks of fierce enemies; and, according to Diadochus, grace acts like a mother who hides from her child, who then, out of fear, begins to cry out and seek his mother, especially when he sees strangers around him.

And it will torment him with its guidance—it will keep him for a long time in this secret and rigorous training. According to Saint Macarius, “Grace, in many and varied ways, according to its own will and in accordance with man’s benefit, arranges everything, subjecting him to many temptations and mysterious trials of the mind, and so on.

Until He is convinced in his soul and tests him with His precepts—that is, until He brings him to the point where he can be fully relied upon, as one who is tried and true. St. Macarius says: “When the will, after many trials, proves pleasing to the Holy Spirit and, over a long period of time, shows itself to be patient and unshakable in this regard; when the soul offends the Spirit in nothing, but agrees with grace in all the commandments,” then the Spirit will return directly to him—that is, will appear to him openly, face to face, as if anew after separation and absence. Then, according to Saint Macarius, the work of grace is fully manifested in him—he receives full adoption; or, according to Diadochus, grace illuminates his entire being with a profound sense of something, and he becomes entirely the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit: the light of God’s face shines upon him (Ps. 4:7); the Lord and God comes and makes His dwelling within him (see John 14:23).

And it will gladden him. “Your hearts will rejoice,” says the Lord, “and no one will take your joy away from you” (John 16:22). The kingdom of God is joy in the Holy Spirit (Rom. 14:17). The light shining within a person, says Saint Macarius, so thoroughly permeates his inner being that, immersed in this sweetness and pleasant sensation, he is beside himself with overflowing love and the hidden Mysteries he contemplates within himself. “The soul then burns,” says Saint Diadochus, “and with some inexpressible joy and love, it strives to leave the body and go to the Lord, as if unaware of this temporal life.”

And He will reveal to it His mysteries—the mysteries of Divine wisdom, the Most Holy Trinity, the building of salvation, its attainment, the mysteries of sin and virtue, the providence over rational and material creatures, and, in general, the entire divine order of things, as this is described in detail by Saint Isaac the Syrian in his Epistle to Simeon. “When the mind is renewed and the heart is sanctified… then one experiences spiritual knowledge of creation; the contemplation of the mysteries of the Holy Trinity shines within him, together with the mysteries of the Trinity’s worshipful regard for us; and then he receives the most perfect knowledge of the hope of the future. Such a person does not study or investigate, but contemplates the glory of Christ and delights in the joy of contemplating the mysteries of the new world. Such perfection of knowledge comes with the reception of the Spirit, Who introduces our spirit into that world, order, or realm of contemplation.” The Holy Spirit removes the veil from the soul, carries it away into that age, and reveals all that is wondrous to it.

Thus, it is now evident that the grace coming to the converted through the Sacraments unites with him and first allows him to taste the full sweetness of life in God, and then conceals its presence from him, leaving him to act, as it were, alone, amid toil, sweat, perplexity, and even failure; finally, after this period of trial has passed, it dwells within him openly, actively, powerfully, and tangibly.

The question arises: what is the reason that God’s grace is not instilled all at once in its fullness, or, in other words, why is the triumph of the soul’s full communion with God not revealed all at once? It is necessary to know this reason in order to counteract it and act more successfully, for only by removing it can the full indwelling of grace be attained.

To understand why this happens, let us turn to the inner constitution of the convert. Sin takes hold of a person and draws to itself his attention, all his aspirations, and all his powers. Acting under the influence of sin, a person permeates his entire being with it; he accustoms every part of his being and all his powers to act according to its promptings. This foreign activity, imposed from without, becomes so ingrained in us through prolonged exposure that it turns into something natural, taking on the appearance of something inherent—and therefore unchangeable and necessary. Thus, for example, vanity becomes intertwined with the mind, self-interest with desires, lust with the heart, and self-centeredness—along with a certain hostility toward others—with all one’s endeavors. Thus, in his consciousness and free will, in the faculties of the soul—intellect, will, and emotion—in all bodily functions, in all his external actions, in his behavior, in his relationships, rules, and customs—a person is entirely permeated by sin, that is, by self-centeredness, passion, and self-indulgence. St. Macarius describes this as follows: sin, having entered us after the Fall, takes on, as it were, the entire form of a human being, which is why he is called a carnal, soulish, or external man; and therefore, sin has clothed the corresponding parts of our nature with its own parts: mind with mind, the will with the will, and so on; and, having suppressed the natural activity of our powers, it passes off its own unnatural activity as theirs, while keeping man in the conviction that this very activity is natural. In this darkness, under the yoke of sin, in the realm of Satan, dwells every person who has not been converted, who has not repented, and who has not come to the resolve to serve God in spirit and in truth.

God’s grace—first through a stirring of the heart, and then through a period of conversion—divides a person into two, brings them to an awareness of this duality—the vision of what is unnatural and what ought to be natural—and leads them to the resolve to reject or purify all that is unnatural, so that their God-like nature may be revealed in full light. But it is evident that such a resolve is only the beginning of the process. Through it, a person has merely, by consciousness and volition, stepped out of the realm of the past unnaturalness that characterizes him, renounced it, and turned toward the naturalness that is expected and desired; but in reality, in his entire being, he remains just as he was, that is, steeped in sin, and in the soul with all its powers, and in the body through all its functions, passion manifests itself just as before, with the sole difference that previously all this was desired, chosen, and acted upon by the person, with desire and delight, whereas now it is not desired, not chosen, but hated, trampled upon, and driven out. At the same time, a person has stepped outside of himself, as if from a putrid corpse, and observes which part of him exudes the stench of passion; and against his will, he sometimes smells—to the point of clouding his mind—the entire stench emitted by himself.

Thus, the true, grace-filled life within a person is at first only a seed, a spark; but a seed sown among thorns, a spark covered on all sides by ashes… It is still a faint candle, shining in the thickest fog. Through consciousness and free will, a person has clung to God, and God has received him, uniting with him in this self-aware and free-willed power—or mind and spirit, as Saints Anthony and Macarius the Great speak of it. And this is all that is good, saved, and pleasing to God within a person. All other parts are still in bondage and are neither willing nor yet able to submit to the demands of the new life: the mind cannot think in a new way, but thinks as before; the will cannot desire in a new way, but desires as before; the heart cannot feel in a new way, but feels as before. The same is true of the body, in all its functions. Consequently, the whole person is still impure, except for a single point, which is constituted by the conscious and free power—the mind or spirit. God is most pure and unites with this one part; yet all the other parts, being impure, remain outside of Him, alien to Him, even though He is ready to fill the whole person, but does not do so because the person is impure… Then, as soon as the person is purified, God immediately manifests His full indwelling. Saint Gregory of Sinai writes: “If our nature is not preserved from defilement through the Spirit and does not become pure as it once was, then neither in this life nor in the life to come will it be able to unite with Christ into one body and spirit; for the all-encompassing and unifying power of the Spirit is not accustomed to sewing the rags of old passions onto the new garment of grace.” The Lord cannot dwell fully within us—the dwelling place is not yet prepared; grace cannot be poured out fully into it—the vessel is still flawed. To do so would mean squandering and destroying spiritual treasures in vain. What does light have in common with darkness? What harmony is there between Christ and Belial? (2 Cor. 6:14–15). And the Lord, having promised to come with the Father and to establish a dwelling place, makes the fulfillment of the commandments an indispensable condition for this—understandably, all the commandments; otherwise, it means righteous conduct in all things, which is impossible without the righteousness of the powers, and the righteousness of the powers is impossible without rejecting the unrighteousness that has come upon them, or casting off sinfulness and passion. To this, in a certain sense, the following passage may be applied: “If we say that we have fellowship with Him, yet walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth; but if we walk in the light, just as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another” (1 John 1:6–7). This darkness is the darkness of the passions, because later on, St. John uses “lack of love” and “the threefold lust” in place of it in similar passages (1 John 2:10–11, 16). The light, by contrast, is the light of the virtues; and again, this is because later on, he replaces “light” with “virtues.” From this it is evident that one can truly abide in the perfection of communion with God only when the darkness of the passions has been banished and the light of the virtues has shone forth, when they have become imprinted upon us, as it were fused with our very being, having clothed and permeated our powers, driving out and displacing the passions from them so that they are no longer merely reflected, but rather as self-luminous. Until that time, communion with God is so hidden, so obscure, that it may seem nonexistent and, to some extent, must be regarded as unreliable, uncertain, incomplete, or inconsistent with itself.

Thus, the fact that the Lord, having entered into union with the human spirit, does not immediately fill it completely or dwell within it does not depend on Him—who is ready to fill all things—but on us, specifically on the passions that have become intertwined with the forces of our nature, which have not yet been cast aside nor replaced by their opposite virtues. “Sinful passions,” says St. Anthony the Great, “do not allow God to shine within us” (The Love of Goodness, Vol. 1: Instructions on Good Morality and the Holy Life, ch. 150). If, then, the chief goal toward which the penitent must strive is full communion with God—a communion that is luminous and blissful— and the greatest obstacle to this is the presence within him of passions that still exist and act, the lack of ingrained virtues, and the misalignment of his faculties—then it is evident that his foremost task, immediately upon conversion and repentance, must be the eradication of passions and the ingraining of virtues—in a word, the reformation of himself… The removal of all that is wrong and the acceptance or establishment of what is right; the banishment of sinful passions, habits, and shortcomings—even those that seem natural—and other wrongs, even those that seem excusable; and the cultivation of virtues, good character, rules, and, in general, all-around rectitude—without neglecting, however, losing sight of one’s ultimate goal, but acting with all zeal against the passions, while keeping the eyes of the mind turned toward God—in this lies the fundamental principle that must be upheld in the construction of the entire order of a God-pleasing life, by which the rectitude and deviation of the rules devised and the deeds undertaken must be measured. One must be as fully convinced of this as possible, for it seems that all active errors stem from ignorance of this principle (This intention is described in all its breadth by Saint Isaac the Syrian in his epistle to Saint Simeon the Stylite. See also the 1st and 2nd Discourses of Saint Macarius the Great). Not understanding the power of this, some stop at the mere outward appearance of practice and asceticism; others focus solely on good deeds and the habit of performing them, without reaching higher; while still others proceed directly to contemplation. All of this is necessary, but everything has its proper sequence. At first, everything is in the seed; then it develops—not exclusively, but predominantly—in one aspect or another; nevertheless, gradualness is inevitable—an ascent from external deeds to internal ones, and from both to contemplation, and not the other way around.

Having become convinced of this, we can now easily derive guiding principles for a life pleasing to God, or the spirit and structure of asceticism.

Let us go back a little and turn our attention once more to the person who has dedicated himself to God and vowed to act always and in all things according to His will, for His glory, and to grow rich in truly good deeds. Having resolved to do this, how else can he act in this manner when, as we have seen, neither one part of us nor the other is capable of it? Sin is abhorred in the spirit, but the body and soul sympathize with it and cling to it, because they are clothed in passions. Goodness or the will of God is loved in the spirit, but the body and soul do not sympathize with it, turn away from it, or, if not, are unable to practice it. Therefore, one who has resolved, out of zeal, to remain faithful to the vow made and, out of a conscious necessity, to abide in goodness, must inevitably, in every good deed (and he ought not to have any evil deeds), resist the demands of his body and soul and, by refusing them, compel them to do the opposite. And since the body and soul do not depart from him but constitute his very being, this is the same as resisting oneself in evil and compelling oneself toward good. Self-resistance and self-compulsion are two manifestations of zeal reborn in the spirit, forming, as it were, the very foundations of asceticism. Both constitute a person’s struggle with oneself—or, in other words, a feat of virtue.

Hence, from the very first moments of his new life, the repentant convert inevitably enters into a feat, a struggle, and toil, and begins to bear a burden, a yoke. And this is so essential that all the saints recognize its pain and difficulty as the only true path to virtue, while the ease that contradicts this is a sign of a false path: The Kingdom of Heaven is taken by force, and those who exert themselves seize it (Matt. 11:12). Whoever is not in struggle, not in a feat of self-discipline, is in delusion. The Apostle says: whoever is not disciplined is not a son (Heb. 12:78).

Thus, the zealous person strives for acts of self-discipline and self-resistance with the aim of self-correction, or of restoring oneself to original purity, so as to be more quickly deemed worthy of communion with God. It is evident that the more zealous, diligent, and earnest he is in doing this, the more successfully he attains his goal. It is the same as this: the more intensely and hostilely one opposes oneself, and the more rigorously and resolutely one acts, the sooner one attains purity. Therefore, we see that all the saints who ascended to the heights of Christian perfection, following their conversion, undertook the most rigorous acts of self-mortification—fasting, vigils, lying prostrate on the ground, seclusion, and so on. This was a consciously chosen measure, inspired by grace, adopted to hasten spiritual maturity, and it was indeed soon attained. On the contrary, indulgences, pauses, and self-pity—even if not constant—have always slowed and continue to slow the progress of spiritual growth (maturity—Ed.).

So, the matter is settled: be zealous; undertake feats with greater resolve—feats that are themselves the most resolute and most suitable—for even among them, some contribute more, and others less, to the mortification of the passions and the instillation of virtues. If this state of suffering is inevitable, even if only temporary, what is the point of prolonging it through a single lapse? Indecision, carelessness, and sluggishness are great obstacles.

Once you’ve made up your mind, don’t just stand by—strive; this is from a human perspective. But you must constantly bear in mind that, although relentless self-discipline is salvific for the convert, the success and fruits of his labors and deeds—that is, their effect and influence on the purification of the passions and the formation of true virtue—do not come from him. The fruit of these feats is sown and ripens under them, but not by them alone, nor through them alone, but by grace. “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth” (1 Cor. 3:6). Just as the spiritual life began by God’s grace, so it can be preserved and brought to maturity only by that same grace. “ ” says the Apostle, “who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion” (cf. Phil. 1:6). The first seed of new life consists of a combination of freedom and grace, and its ripening will be the development of these very same elements. Just as the penitent, having vowed to live according to God’s will and for His glory, said, “Only You strengthen and establish me”—so too, in all the time that follows, he must moment by moment, so to speak, place himself in God’s hands with the prayer: “You Yourself accomplish what is pleasing to Your will,” so that in this way—both in mind and will, and in reality—God may be the one acting in us, both to will and to act according to His good pleasure (Phil. 2:13). The moment a person himself intends to bring about something in himself and within himself is the moment when true, spiritual, and grace-filled life is extinguished. In this state, despite immense efforts, there is no true fruit. There are consequences that cannot be called bad when viewed in isolation; but in the course of the work, they constitute a hindrance and a deviation—and not infrequently, evil—for they lead to conceit and self-importance, which are the devil’s seed, sown by him and akin to him. At the same time, what is not of God is mixed into God’s work within us and corrupts it, so that instead of lifting up the person who has come to their senses, grace must first purify and sift out (discard the chaff, the unnecessary—Ed.) what has been corrupted by self-reliance. “Or do you not know that Christ is in you?” the Apostle teaches, “unless perhaps you are unskilled in any way” (cf. 2 Cor. 13:5). Having united ourselves with the Lord in the Sacrament of Penance or Baptism, we must surrender ourselves to Him, so that, having entered into us Himself as the Lord of all, He—who knows all things—may arrange our salvation. The Lord said: “Without Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5)—we must believe and ask that He work within us, that He purify us from passions, imprint virtues upon us, and do all that is healing. This is the essential attitude of the penitent: “By Your sovereign will, save me, O Lord, and I will labor and, without hypocrisy, without deviation or misinterpretation, and with a clear conscience, do all that I understand and am able to do!” Whoever sets his heart in this way is truly accepted by the Lord, and He acts within him as a king. His teacher is God, his intercessor is God, his willer and doer is God, his bearer of fruit is God, his ruler is God. This is the seed and the heart of the heavenly tree of life within him. But he must certainly have a material-spiritual fence. This fence consists of a guide and rules.

The repentant person, having surrendered himself to God, immediately comes under His direct guidance and is accepted by Him. Whoever manages to do this properly from the very beginning is swiftly, steadily, and reliably led by God’s grace toward perfection. But in reality, there are very few such people. These are God’s chosen ones, who, with an incredibly swift impulse from within themselves, entrusted themselves into God’s hands, were accepted by Him, and were guided by Him. Such were, for example, Mary of Egypt, Paul of Thebes, Mark of Frasia, and others. They were saved by a single resolute act of surrendering themselves to God. In all her fierce struggles with her passions, Mary of Egypt made it a rule to cast herself into God’s hands, and her passions would subside, as is well known, through this act of devotion. She undoubtedly did the same in other instances: she would turn to Him, for example, seeking guidance, and receive it.

But such a path was not and could not be universal. It belonged and belongs to God’s special elect. All others mature under the visible guidance of experienced men. Holding fast to the belief that only God grants renewal, the penitent, in order to succeed, must unquestionably entrust himself to a spiritual father. The necessity of this arises because there is no complete surrender to God—a shortcoming common to the majority. One must mature toward it through many trials, and until this maturity is achieved, there is no point at which the Lord’s guiding hand would touch—there is, as it were, no handle by which to grasp the message. Consequently, without this condition, a beginner who sets out to work for his own salvation will inevitably follow a path about which one cannot say with certainty that it is the right one, and this is both dangerous and exhausting for the spirit. When Saint Anthony the Great began to wonder whether his rules were correct, he immediately cried out: “Tell me, Lord, the way,” — and, having received assurance, he was put at ease. One who enters the spiritual life is like one who has set out on an ordinary path. Since this path is unknown to us, we need someone to guide us. It would be presumptuous to assume that I can manage on my own… No, neither rank nor learning—nothing helps here. It is no less presumptuous when someone, without extreme necessity and having the opportunity to find a spiritual guide, chooses not to do so, thinking that God will guide him directly. Indeed, the guidance toward perfection belongs to God, who has accepted us, but under the guidance of a spiritual father. The father does not elevate us to higher levels, but helps us to be elevated by God. However, in the ordinary course of things, God guides us through others, instructs us, purifies us, and reveals His will. One who is left alone, by himself, is in extreme danger, not to mention that he will struggle and flounder in one place with almost no fruit. Knowing neither spiritual struggles nor exercises, nor the proper order in which to perform them, he will do nothing but “ ” and redo things, like someone who has taken on a task without knowing how to do it. Not infrequently, for this reason, many stagnate, grow cold, and lose their zeal. But the main danger to him comes from inner disorder and Satan’s flattery. For the beginner, there is a fog within—like that caused by foul vapors, by passions, and by wrongful outbursts from within, stemming from corrupted powers. Everyone has this fog, more or less dense, depending on their prior corruption. But how can one clearly and accurately distinguish objects in this fog? To one wandering in the fog, even a small row of grasses often appears to be a forest or a village—and so, for one just beginning spiritual practice, it is inevitable to see many things where, in reality, there is nothing. Only an experienced eye can make sense of this and explain what is really going on. Moreover, he is the patient: how can he be his own doctor? He will wear himself out and suffocate himself out of sheer self-love: after all, even doctors do not treat their own bodies. But the greatest danger here comes from Satan. Since he himself is primarily a self-willed being, he favors among people those who are guided by their own reason—it is through this that he primarily confuses and destroys them. And one might say that this alone gives him access to us, or the opportunity to lead us to ruin. Whoever does not trust his own reason and heart, but instead submits everything in his feelings and thoughts to the judgment of another, will not suffer harm—even if the devil were to instill something dangerous or ruinous—because the other person’s experience and reason will see through the deception and warn him. That is why it is said: whoever has a guide and trusts in him, Satan does not approach, lest he be constantly put to shame and reveal all his schemes. On the contrary, he is ever-present with those who trust only in themselves or rely solely on their own reason. Such people he leads down various paths of error through various deceptions imprinted by the imagination or the power of fantasy, until he finally destroys them completely.

Judging by these reasons, which are highly compelling, the beginner must agree to have a guide, choose him, and entrust himself to him. Under his guidance, he is safe, as under a roof and a fence—the guide will be the one held accountable before God and before people for any failings. But it is remarkable that a true guide is always provided to those who seek him sincerely. And the guide, whoever he may be, always provides precise and faithful guidance as soon as the one being guided surrenders to him with all his soul and faith. The Lord Himself already watches over such a devoted follower… Pray—and the Lord will point out a guide; surrender to the guide—and the Lord will teach him how to guide you.

Another thing that is absolutely necessary for a repentant person who has made up their mind is rules. A rule is a definition or method, a pattern, and an established procedure for some activity—whether internal or external. It provides direction and determines the entire course of action—the beginning, time, place, steps, and end of the activity. For example, reading is one of the ascetic practices. The rules must specify: which books to read, at what time, for how long, how to prepare, how to begin, continue, and finish, and what to do with what has been read. The same applies to prayer, reflection, and other practices. It is evident that the rules encompass every activity, forming its outer shell, as it were, its body. They must be applied to all our faculties and to all the outcomes of our activities, so that no action is performed without a corresponding rule being applied to it.

The necessity of this is self-evident. A completely new and unusual life is beginning—one we have not yet practiced, and to which our faculties are unaccustomed. To train ourselves in a particular activity and become proficient in it, we must establish specific rules for how and what to do, just as a new recruit is shown how to stand at attention, hold a rifle, and so on. Without these rules, strength cannot be developed, nor will there be proper action. One who has no rules for prayer will not know how to pray, nor will one who has no rules for fasting know how to fast; in general, one who lives without rules will not know how to do anything properly, and consequently, his life will not be a life at all, despite his labors and efforts, for life is composed of our actions. Moreover, a life without rules cannot be even, steady, and orderly in its development. Just as a child is swaddled so that it does not become deformed or hunchbacked, so too must all spiritual activity be bound by rules, so that the whole of life may develop under them in a steady and orderly manner, and no single activity, out of ignorance, takes a direction that deviates from the others and harms the overall structure, or strays onto a false path of its own accord—as, for example, fasting might. A young plant is propped up or tied to a sturdy one so that it stands and grows straight. One who develops without rules, on his own, is untrained, unskilled—unable to do some things, doing others incorrectly, and doing still others correctly but out of place or inappropriate. Finally, there is a considerable danger: without rules, just as without support, one inevitably falls and makes mistakes. For such a person, all activity will depend on presence of mind, judgment, and desire. But can one rely on such principles? One cannot always maintain presence of mind; judgment must be trained, and, moreover, it is not always agile or sharp—it can become dull; and who can master their will constantly? Therefore, when there are no rules, omissions, mistakes, and setbacks are inevitable. With rules, however, it is simple: whether you want to or not, do as you are supposed to, and it will be done; there will be no setbacks, and you will move forward. And furthermore: how else can one rein in waywardness and self-will—this most dangerous disposition?

Thus, with rules and under the guidance of a father, the zealous person—striving through self-discipline and self-restraint, or engaged in unrelenting struggle—will grow in perfection day by day, drawing closer to purity by rooting out his passions and acquiring virtues. But one must know that this ascent toward perfection is invisible to him: he toils in the sweat of his brow, yet seemingly without fruit—for grace works its work in secret. Human vision, the eye, devours what is good. The person himself is left with but one thing—the vision of his own depravity. The path to perfection is the path to the realization that I am blind, naked, and destitute; inseparable from this realization is the brokenness of spirit—or the sorrow and grief over one’s own impurity, poured out before God—or, which amounts to the same thing, unceasing repentance. Repentant feelings are the distinguishing marks of true asceticism. Whoever turns away from them and avoids them has strayed from the path. Repentance was the starting point of a new life; it must also be present as one matures and grow along with that growth. The one who matures grows in the knowledge of his own corruption and sinfulness and delves deeper into the contrite feelings of repentance. Tears are a measure of progress, and unceasing tears are a sign of imminent purification. That this is indeed how it must be is evident from the fact that we are in a state of fall, in exile, away from the hearth of our home—and moreover, through our own fault. Just as an exile weeps and longs for his homeland, so too must those who have begun the journey toward self-purification grieve and lament, seeking in tears a return to the paradise of purity. Moreover, the ascetic is constantly engaged in a struggle—at one moment against reluctance, at another against resistance; whether a thought, a desire, a passion, or a sin—even if unintentional—at every moment these things cloud the purity of his mind and remind him that he contains within himself nothing but impurity, sinfulness, and that which is contrary to God. He sees himself as a stinking corpse, lying before his eyes and tormenting his sense of smell until his mind is clouded. “Place your sins before you,” says Anthony the Great, “and look through them toward God” (The Skete Paterikon). Finally, the frequent falls and missteps of the novice—due to inexperience, ignorance, lack of skill, and sometimes weakness—weigh heavily on his conscience, perhaps even more heavily than before: in carelessness, sins are greater. He is like a child learning to walk and falling. And these falls require purification—and therefore contrition, repentance, and tears; that is why daily, even moment-by-moment, repentance is commanded of all. “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”—this must be the ascetic’s unceasing prayer.

Thus, the beginner, with ardent and impetuous zeal, devotes himself to the most resolute ascetic feats, expecting everything, however, from God’s strength and help and entrusting himself to Him, in the hope of success but not in the vision of it, and therefore in ceaseless endeavor, under the guidance of his spiritual father, amid the rules, always maintaining the most humble attitude.

In this spirit and with this structure, the ascetic can confidently begin his work—the work of eradicating the passions, or purifying his nature from the admixture of unnatural passion. In his spirit there is a zeal as firm as death; but even the strongest zeal requires a plan in order to proceed faithfully toward the intended goal. His explanation will comprise all the rules for one embarking on this spiritual struggle. This will be nothing other than an exposition of those rules, the necessity of which has been demonstrated above. The guide of the general theory must know this above all else and, applying them to the person being guided, may also adapt them to changing circumstances.

To formulate such rules, let us once again focus on the state of the penitent ascetic. The spirit within him has been resurrected and enlivened by the action of grace received in the Sacraments. But he alone is the healed part, hidden in the very depths of our being. This is akin to a healing medicine taken by a part of a body that is entirely decaying. On the other hand, outwardly, his soul, in all its faculties, and his body, in all its functions, and the person himself, in all his external relations, are overflowing with and permeated by passion—not a dead passion, but one that is active within them, a living one. The main task of these works is to put to death passion in all its nuances and to restore nature to its proper purity, so that in this way grace from within, as purification progresses, may emerge, as it were, permeating one part of the person after another, with wise gradualness and purposefulness. From this, the entire order of the rules to be established becomes immediately apparent, or the guiding thread for their formulation and delineation becomes clear. Thus:

1) The seed of life has been sown: guard it with all your might; otherwise, there will be no purpose for your labors, and nothing to sustain them. If you have received the Spirit—do not quench the Spirit; if you are zealous—be zealous for what is greater. Guard what has been given and what has been acquired—for what has been acquired is the currency with which to purchase treasures. If it is lost, the entire endeavor will be lost. Just as in wartime one takes great care to hold one’s position by every means, so it is here.

2) We must sever the passion that has fused and become intertwined with the forces of our nature. Since this fusion is similar to the combination of chemical compounds, the methods for detaching it must be analogous to those of chemical decomposition. Specifically, to liberate an element from its constrained state in relation to another, it is brought into contact with a third, external element with which it would have a stronger affinity than with the former. When this actually occurs, the element that bound it falls away, and it unites with this new element, taking on a new form along with it. Applying this principle, we must apply to all the powers of the soul and body and to all our activities—which are enslaved by passion and held in a constrained, unnatural state—something with which they would be in the closest affinity and harmony, so that by attaching themselves to it and, as it were, growing into it, they may, in proportion to this, be freed from the bonds of passion and assume a new, natural form of being. This will be the rule governing the actions or activities imposed upon these powers. By engaging in them, while preserving that inner treasure of the Spirit of grace—which is akin to them and to the powers of our nature—a person will be increasingly filled with this Spirit, whose fire, gaining greater freedom to flow inward in this way, will consume impurity all the more rapidly as it encounters a greater expansion of naturalness.

3) These two points exhaust the structure of the ascetic’s positive actions, or, in other words, the exercises of self-discipline. One could limit oneself to them alone if the passion that is despised and set aside in favor of the good were to remain at rest or peacefully dissipate from our nature; but since it—partly due to the natural obstinacy of sin, partly due to its strong reinforcement, whether from its own corrupt source—the devil—or from the realm of the world’s elements akin to it—does not tolerate peaceful, yielding submission; even after falling away and seemingly separating itself, it rises up again and seeks to reclaim its former position, one of authority and compulsion—it is by no means possible to be content with that activity alone; rather, it is necessary, alongside it, to act directly against the passions, to oppose them head-on, to struggle against them and overcome them, both within ourselves and at their very sources and in those who sustain them. Defining the rules pertaining to this will provide a picture of the inner, or spiritual, struggle, both in its general outline and in its details. These are acts of self-resistance.

Thus, all rules must be reduced to the following single, fundamental principle: preserve the inner spirit of life, zeal, and fervor; engage in activities or exercises that, on the one hand, help revive exhausted forces and, on the other, subdue or stifle the passions. Consequently, everything pertaining to this subject must be summarized in these three points:

rules for preserving the inner spirit of zeal,
the rules for exercising one’s powers in doing good, or self-discipline, and
the rules for battling passions, or the practice of self-restraint.

On Preserving the Spirit of Zeal for God

We must keep the commandments—and keep them all—but we lack the natural desire, zeal, and fervor to do so. In repentance, for the sake of a contrite spirit and a vow to do God’s will, this fire is kindled in our spirit by God’s grace; it is this very fire that is the power to fulfill the commandments, and it alone is capable of bearing this entire burden. If the fulfillment of the commandments is the foundation of salvation, then the spirit of zeal is the only saving power for us. Where it is, there is diligence, zeal, readiness, and liveliness in works pleasing to God. Where it is not, everything ceases and falls away: without the life of the spirit, it grows cold and dies. Even if good deeds are performed there, they will be good only in form, not in power or spirit. This is the fire that our Lord Jesus Christ came to set ablaze on earth and that is kindled by the Holy Spirit in the hearts of believers, having descended in the form of tongues of fire.

Of this spirit of zeal, the Lord says: “I have come to bring fire on the earth” (Luke 12:49). The Apostle commands us not to quench the Spirit (1 Thess. 5:19) and testifies of himself: “I press on toward the goal” (Phil. 3:14). And among the Holy Fathers , it is referred to by various names: seeking, striving, zeal, diligence, warmth of spirit, fervor, and simply zeal.

Given the great importance and significance of zeal, the first task of a Christian ascetic must be to preserve this zeal and diligence as the source of strength for a God-pleasing life. To preserve it, therefore, one must employ specific methods and practices that contribute to this end. What exactly are they? Zeal must be preserved in the same way it was born, and it was born through an inner transformation of the heart, under the invisible working of God’s grace.

The inner, invisible ascent of our spirit toward zeal began with a grace-filled awakening and ended with a resolute vow to walk steadfastly in God’s will. This ascent was marked by the strictest gradualness. The sinful man, who lives entirely on the outside and is therefore called “external,” is drawn inward by the grace that has come upon him; and there, as if awakened from sleep, he beholds a completely new world, hitherto unknown to him. This is the first impetus, after which, with God’s help, through various thoughts and feelings, he is gradually freed from the first world, passes into another, and prostrates himself before his King and Lord, offering Him a solemn covenant to be His servant forever. Therefore, one who desires to keep his zeal unquenchable must: a) remain within, b) behold the new world, and c) abide in those feelings and thoughts through which he has, as it were, ascended the steps of a ladder to the foot of the Lord’s Throne.

This is what must be the constant practice, feat, and work of the Christian ascetic!

Remaining Within

When a hen, having found grain, signals this to her chicks, they all—wherever they may be—fly to her and gather with their beaks at the spot where her beak is. In the same way, when Divine grace acts upon a person in the heart, then his spirit penetrates there with its consciousness, and following it, all the powers of soul and body. Hence the law of inner abiding: keep your consciousness in your heart and gather all the powers of your soul and body there with concentrated effort. Inward abiding, in essence, is the confinement of consciousness within the heart, while the concentrated gathering of the powers of the soul and body there is the essential means, or the act, the feat. However, they mutually give rise to and presuppose one another, so that one cannot exist without the other. Whoever is confined within the heart is gathered; and whoever is gathered is within the heart.

One must gather all one’s powers—mind, will, and emotion—around one’s consciousness in the heart. The gathering of the mind in the heart is attention; the gathering of the will is alertness; the gathering of emotion is sobriety. Attention, alertness, and sobriety—these are the three inner activities through which self-collection is achieved and inner abiding takes effect. Whoever possesses them—and all of them at that—is within; whoever lacks them—even just one—is without. Following these mental activities, the corresponding bodily organs must also be directed there: thus, for attention—turning the eyes inward; for alertness—tensing the muscles throughout the body, directing them toward the chest; for sobriety—repressing, as Nikifor puts it, certain relaxing movements arising from the lower parts of the body and approaching the heart, and suppressing the pleasure and repose of the flesh. Such bodily practices, acting inseparably with the spiritual ones, are the most powerful aids to those spiritual means, without which they cannot exist.

Thus, the entire practice of inner abiding through self-collection consists of the following. In the very first moment after waking from sleep, as soon as you become aware of yourself, descend inward toward the heart, into these physical chambers: then summon, draw, and direct all your mental and physical powers there—through the attention of the mind, by turning your eyes there, with the alertness of the will, with the tension of the muscles and the sobering of the senses, with the suppression of the flesh’s pleasure and repose, and do this until consciousness settles there as if in its proper place—its seat—and clings to it, attaches itself to it, like something sticky to a sturdy wall; and then remain there unceasingly as long as you are using your consciousness, frequently repeating the same act of self-collection both to renew it and to strengthen it, because it alternates moment by moment between slackening and being disrupted.

It is important to know that this inner abiding and concentration is not the same as deepening one’s thought through reflection, or “thought” (from the word “to ponder”), although it closely resembles it. The latter resides only at the source of the mind, leaving other faculties unengaged, and remains in the head, whereas the former resides in the heart, at the source of all movements, lower and deeper than anything else that exists or occurs within us; or it happens in such a way that all of this takes place on top of it, before its eyes, and is either permitted or forbidden. From this it is self-evident that inner abiding is, in its true form, the condition for a person’s true mastery over themselves, and consequently, for true freedom and rationality, and therefore for a truly spiritual life. This is similar to how, in the external world, the one who occupies the fortress is considered the ruler of the city. Therefore, every spiritual act and every feat in general must be performed from this place; otherwise, it is not spiritual, falls short of asceticism, and must be rejected. “The kingdom of God is within you,” says the Lord (Luke 17:21), and then, regarding a single spiritual practice, He commanded: “Go into your room, and having shut your door…” (Matthew 6:6). This is the innermost chamber of the heart, according to the understanding of all the holy fathers. For this very reason, a spiritual person—one who is being saved and who strives in asceticism—is called “inner.”

That turning inward is the most effective means of preserving zeal is now evident:

1) The gathered soul must burn, for it brings all its powers together, just as scattered rays, when gathered at a single point, produce intense heat and ignite. Indeed, warmth is always associated with gathering: here the spirit is seen with itself, as Nikiforos says, and rejoices.

2) The collected person is strong, like a well-organized army or a bundle of weak reeds tied together. It, like girding the loins, signifies readiness and the strength to act. The uncollected person is always weak and either falls or fails to act.

3) The one who is collected sees everything within himself. Whoever is at the center sees in all directions; he sees everything within the circle evenly and, as it were, all at once, while one who has moved away from the center sees only in the direction of a single radius; in exactly the same way, the one who is collected inwardly sees all the movements of his powers—he sees them and is able to control them. The burning of the spirit—strength and discernment—constitute the true spirit of zeal, which is composed of them. Therefore, it must be said: just be inward, and you will never cease to be zealous.

Such is the significance of abiding within! Therefore, one must strive to attain it, for it does not come about suddenly, but only in time and through much seeking. It is placed first because it is a prerequisite for the spiritual life. Its perfection depends on the perfection of the three mental and three physical activities that produce it, namely: the attention of the mind with the turning of the eyes inward, the alertness of the will with the tension of the body, and the sobriety of the heart with the rejection of the flesh’s pleasures and repose. It will appear in its full light when the mind is purified of thoughts, the will of desires, and the heart of attachments and passions. But even before that time, it is still an inward abiding, albeit imperfect, immature, and not continuous.

From this, it is self-evident what the means are for unceasing inner abiding—or, rather, there is but one means: remove everything that might disrupt the three activities mentioned, in their dual combination, or everything that might divert the soul’s powers outward, along with the corresponding bodily functions: the mind and the senses, the will and the muscles, the heart and the flesh. The senses are distracted by external impressions; the mind, by thoughts; the muscles, by the slackening of the limbs; the will, by desires; the flesh, by rest; and the heart, by captivity or attachment to something. Consequently, keep the mind free of thoughts, the senses free of distractions, the will free of desires, the muscles free of slackness, the heart free of captivity, and the flesh free of indulgence and rest. Thus, the condition and, at the same time, the means for abiding within: in the soul—the struggle against thoughts, desires, and the captivity of the heart; in the body—its restraint; and following these—a change in the external order. Judging by this, all subsequent ascetic endeavors, which are directed toward the mortification of the self, are also means for inner abiding.

This is why, in the teachings of the Holy Fathers (the doctrine of sobriety, the guarding of the mind), the inner life is always presented as inseparably linked to the ascetic struggle. However, contemplation is not the same as struggle. It is a special spiritual activity, the most fundamental one. It is the place where all spiritual activity takes place—the struggle, reading, contemplation of God, and prayer. Whatever the ascetic may do, he must always first enter within and act from there.

A Vision of the Other World

“Strive to enter the temple within you, and you will see the heavenly temple,” says Saint Isaac the Syrian. And indeed, one who has entered within himself sees a certain other world, like an immense temple—invisible and unimaginable, yet imprinted upon the consciousness—in which, however, a person does not see himself or what is happening within him, for all of this must fall silent—and does fall silent. At the first call of grace, along with this turning inward, this world is revealed, independently of the person— —whether he wills it or not. Thereafter, however, his vision, just as his inner abiding, is entrusted to human freedom and must be actively pursued. Such pursuit, as the reenactment of the second transformation during a person’s ascent toward resolve and zeal, is the second means of preserving and rekindling zeal.

It consists in holding the entire structure of the spiritual world in one’s consciousness and feeling. Just as one who enters a room is said to perceive it when he holds the entire room, with all its layout, in his consciousness, so too will one who enters within himself, as if crossing a threshold, perceive another world when he imprints its entire structure in his consciousness. Consequently, everything pertaining to this will be fulfilled when the mind comprehends the structure of the spiritual world, when it imprints it in its consciousness—or encloses itself within it through consciousness—and remains there permanently.

The entire structure of the spiritual, invisible, mental, yet nonetheless real world can be briefly expressed as follows: God, the One worshiped in the Trinity, who created all things and sustains all things, restores—or, as the Apostle says, presides over (see Eph. 1:10)—all things in our Lord Jesus Christ, through the Holy Spirit, who acts within the Holy Church, and who, having perfected the faithful, transfers them to another world—a process that will continue until the fulfillment of all things, or the end of the age, when, after the resurrection and the judgment, each will be rewarded according to their deeds: some will fall into hell, others will enter paradise, and God will be all in all (1 Cor. 15:28).

This is the all-encompassing framework of all that truly exists, has existed, and is to come into being. Here, in condensed form, lies the entire content of Divine revelation. Everything that is possible and real is included here and exists here. This is also the content of the Creed. The principal subjects here are: God’s omnipotence, the economy of salvation, and the four last things—death, judgment, paradise, and hell. It is precisely these subjects that Saint Tikhon of Christ commands all Christians to remember unceasingly from infancy to the grave.

A Christian who strives in the faith must imprint this structure upon his mind—that is, bring it to the bright clarity of consciousness—or enter into it so deeply, or absorb it into himself, that it becomes, as it were, ingrained in him, — to become so fused with it that consciousness cannot even begin to move without sensing it within or upon oneself, just as one cannot move one’s hand without disturbing the air, or open one’s eyes without being subject to the impression of light. The best means to this end is to establish oneself within this structure, just as one who casts a glance upon oneself sees oneself established in a certain measured relationship with all things surrounding him—that is, to establish oneself, consequently, in God’s omnipotence, in His right hand, feeling oneself held by Him, penetrated and seen by Him, or, as Basil the Great says, the remembrance that you are being watched; establishing oneself in participation in the building of salvation, as a member of the Church—the feeling, according to Chrysostom, that you are a soldier of Christ and enrolled in that city; establishment in the judgment of death, with the gaze turning now to paradise, now to hell.

This establishment is not granted all at once… It is a goal. The pursuit of it, the effort to attain it, is a mental endeavor—arduous and prolonged, though not overly complex. It consists entirely of simply focusing one’s mind intently on these subjects. Behold yourself as held in God’s right hand and seen by God’s eye, saved in the Lord, standing in death, under judgment, so that as a result you may either enter paradise or be swallowed up by hell. At first, all effort is directed solely toward perceiving all of this. Once someone has attained this vision, they will thereafter begin to see more easily and more frequently; and the more continuously, intently, and earnestly one practices this, the sooner they will attain unceasing vision—or, which is the same thing, standing in the spiritual world, before God, in the Church, at the hour of death and judgment, on the threshold of hell or paradise.

The ultimate goal of this endeavor is to dwell in the spiritual world, or, as it were, to feel oneself within it. Specifically: in relation to God’s omnipotence, to exist in a state of awareness akin to that of a child in its mother’s arms; in relation to God’s omniscience, as a subject stands before a king; in relation to the building of salvation, as a soldier in formation, or a son in his father’s house, or an artisan at work, or as a companion among friends, or as a member of one’s own family; in relation to death and judgment, as a criminal awaiting a verdict at any moment; toward paradise and hell, like one standing on the narrowest plank, on one side of which lies an abyss seething with fire, and on the other, the most beautiful garden. Of the one whom the Lord deems worthy to perceive all this with his senses, it must be said that he has departed from this world and dwells in another with his consciousness and heart, that he has entered the Kingdom of God or has received it within himself. The Kingdom of God is within you. This departure from the present world and entry into another must be set as a goal and constitutes the object of intense seeking.

The condition for this is, of course, inner abiding; it is in inseparable connection with this that “ ” begins, matures, and is fulfilled, so that when an unceasing inner abiding is established, then standing in the world of God is also established; and conversely: inner abiding is secure only when standing in the other world is strengthened.

The practice itself consists, as stated, in compelling oneself to gaze upon these objects as often as possible, with the desire for uninterrupted vision of them. From the very first moment of awakening to consciousness, enter within and, with every possible effort, place yourself within this structure and order. At first, it is best to fix your gaze on a single object and contemplate it until it is imprinted in your mind, and then move on to others. Once you have gone through them all, the entire order can be perceived in a single moment. Some divide this practice by days, others by parts of the day: for example, contemplating death after lunch, as each person finds convenient or according to what stirs their spirit most. Only one rule must be followed—do not change it frequently, for this robs the practice of all its fruit. Nor should one lose sight of the fact that this shifting focus is merely a means; the goal is an unchanging abiding within that entire structure. Whoever, having become accustomed to focusing on one thing, does not move on to another, has stopped on the path and deceives himself, imagining that he already possesses that toward which he has only just begun to move or toward which he has begun to strive. Once you have become accustomed to one thing, always move on from it to another—both so as not to lose what you have gained through effort, and so as to prepare yourself for the swiftest possible grasp of the other. One must remember that this is not mere reflection, but the unmoving vision of the mind, or faith in that subject; while the mind’s tendency toward mere reflection, as an involuntary occurrence, may happen, it is not advised, nor is it favored, but must be nipped in the bud as soon as it is recognized.

To aid in the most successful completion of this practice and in attaining perfection in it, one may take a passage from Holy Scripture relating to a particular subject and repeat it ceaselessly throughout the day or longer; for example: “Where shall I go?” (Ps. 138:7); “It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment…” (Heb. 9:27); “You are storing up wrath for the day of wrath…” (Rom. 2:5); “There is no other name under heaven by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12), and so on; keep a picture of death, the cross, or the Last Judgment and place it where it will catch your eye as often as possible and involuntarily; select books and articles that vividly depict these subjects, and, if the opportunity arises, engage in conversations with like-minded people on the same topic; more frequently reflect on God’s invisible and unexpected judgments, instances of death, deceased relatives and their condition, visualize oneself on one’s deathbed, and observe funerals. All of this has a more profound effect on a person’s spirit if they dwell on these subjects during prayer. With God’s help, this process of imprinting takes place very quickly. One need only ensure that the subject imprinted during prayer is not abandoned afterward, but carried with them as long as possible—even if only for a few days—striving to sustain the impression through writing, reading, conversation, or other means. It is good, for the sake of imprinting all of them together, to concentrate mentally, to perceive them all at once or, at the very least, one after another at the same time. Best of all, however, is to recite the Creed as often as possible, striving to take in all its truths at a single glance. The labor, concentration, and effort will soon lead to the desired goal; just do not slacken, do not stop, but keep doing and doing, even if the fruit and the skill are not yet visible. Years may pass without fruit, but a single minute will give everything to the tireless worker in the garden of Christ’s Kingdom, because of his constancy in labor and patient diligence.

Such a vision of the other world is capable of sustaining and warming the spirit of zeal, for it provides a true field of action for the zealous spirit. “You are not of this world,” says Chrysostom, “but of the other world; therefore, you must act, as it were, in that world, and for that reason you must behold it.” On the other hand, whoever beholds it will constantly have before their eyes, as it were, a standard and a model, reminding them not to stray or do anything wrong. This is good even when one merely contemplates these things with the mind. But if anyone is fortunate enough to perceive them with the senses even slightly, they instantly stir up zeal to a great degree within that person. All the holy fathers call them “thorns (stings, needles—Ed.) of the future.” And whatever of this is received by the senses will prevent the one who receives it from sinning. “Remember,” Sirach teaches, “this last thing, and you will never sin” (Sir. 7:39). “I have always set the Lord before me,” testifies the prophet David, “so that I may not be moved” (Ps. 15:8). Macarius the Great was, as he himself says, consumed by the memory of the fire of Gehenna, while others wept unceasingly at the memory of death. And there are many sayings of the holy fathers concerning these matters and concerning how greatly they strain the human spirit and kindle zeal. Those who come to realize this find themselves in great distress, and it is well known how intense the strain is in such extremes.

A state of mind that leads to resolve

But all this is merely preparation, a condition, and a means for rekindling zeal. The restoration of the most resolute zeal and steadfast diligence is accomplished through the revival of those feelings and thoughts through which one originally, following awakening from sinful slumber, attained it.

Upon awakening, you saw yourself in extreme danger, perishing; you were in great distress and anguish; and now rekindle that same sense of danger and extremity, for they are indeed real. Remain in fear and do not allow yourself to think or be lulled into complacency by the notion that everything has supposedly passed.

Then, renouncing everything, you spurned and despised all things, choosing other goods—those that are imperceptible, invisible, and spiritual: renounce them now as well, cast everything aside, and turn toward the invisible and spiritual; behold it and strive to love it.

You renounced the desire to please others back then: now, too, consider yourself lower than everyone else; be prepared for all kinds of contempt and abuse.

You counted everything as nothing back then: value nothing now either; be prepared, having cast aside everything, to remain naked.

You trampled self-pity underfoot back then: now exalt yourself to the point of readiness for the harshest crosses, and continue to be hard on yourself.

Back then, you examined your life: continue now to grow in self-knowledge; delve into the Gospel commandments and see what is lacking in you; the seed has been sown there—now let it grow.

Back then, upon recognizing your sinful life, you saw yourself as unworthy and were crushed by remorse: do not cease now to stand unworthy before the face of God’s truth; condemn yourself always and in everything without any excuse or flattering evasion; hate your will, your desires, and your understanding; strike yourself with shame and the fear of hopelessness; see yourself hanging over the abyss and unworthy of mercy. Then you rose spiritually and, through faith in the Lord and hope in His help, vowed to serve Him diligently all the days of your life, even to the point of mercilessly tormenting yourself; and now cry out: “I am worthy of every condemnation and torment, but, for the sake of God’s boundless desire for our salvation—for which even His Only-Begotten Son was not spared—I do not despair of my salvation. I do not know when or how, but I believe that I will be saved. Only, O Lord, grant that I may strive throughout my life, seeking salvation from You—in the hope that You will not forsake me, for the sake of Your mercy and the intercession of Your saints

. By them, who hold the scales of destiny, save me!”

What feelings! It is fitting to call them all spiritual vitality. And indeed, when they are present, it means that the spiritual life is active; and when it is necessary to rekindle a waning spiritual life, one must enter into one of these feelings. The Holy Fathers all speak of them—sometimes of all of them together, sometimes individually. And this is the general counsel and commandment—to remain steadfast in one of these feelings. Whoever has strayed from them, does not seek them, and does not lament their absence, is one who has grown cold and is therefore in danger—he has stagnated and may remain so forever, that is, in death.

Therefore, having entered within, establish yourself in the vision of the spiritual world and begin to rekindle the activity of the spiritual life, or proceed first to contemplation, so that you may later attain the states described in the feelings—all of this constitutes the salvific ordering of the mind and heart. The essential and indispensable preparation for this is turning inward and perceiving the spiritual world. The former introduces one to it, while the latter places a person in a certain spiritual atmosphere conducive to the burning of life. Therefore, one might say, simply perform these two preparatory acts—and the rest will follow naturally. People often complain: “My heart has grown hard…” This is not surprising. If one does not turn inward, has not cultivated the habit of doing so, does not settle where one ought to, and does not know the place of the heart—how can one’s life function properly? This is the same as moving the heart from its place and demanding life. Whoever cultivates a faith that perceives the spiritual world and one’s place within it cannot help but enter a state of anxiety and soften; and once this happens, it is not so difficult afterward to awaken other feelings as well.

To aid in this, just as in perceiving the spiritual world, passages from Scripture are used that succinctly and powerfully express one state or another, for example: “Have mercy on Your creation, O Lord”; “My wounds have become foul and festering…” (Ps. 37:6); “If He did not spare His own Son…” (Rom. 8:32); “by whom I am judged, save me…” and so on—and he works with them, often repeating the same passages until they are imprinted.

Not every feeling comes easily at all times, but sometimes one, and sometimes another, and one must make use of such dispositions to attain these feelings as quickly as possible. It is easily revealed in the morning, or one must act in such a way that it is revealed at that time, so that one may then remain with it throughout the day. Open your heart and offer prayer, and whatever stirs in your heart, remain steadfast and attentive to it. Clothe this feeling with Scripture and repeat it. By acting in this way, you will remain constantly in this state and will soon become accustomed to spiritual practice. One must, however, remember that it is not always helpful to wait for the right disposition: sometimes one must act even when the soul is empty, and sometimes, when one feeling is present, it is necessary to supplant it with others, for, depending on the state of the spirit, one must sometimes lean toward one feeling and sometimes predominantly toward another. It goes without saying that the happiest state of mind is one in which one can experience all of these at once. Such perfection in the spiritual life should be set as a goal and sought after. To this end, whenever one sets out to pray, after gathering one’s thoughts inwardly and entering the spiritual realm, one should begin to go through them in order, one after another—at first, at least in thought, and, as the Lord grants, in feeling as well. It is good for this purpose to choose a prayer that contains them all, to commit it to memory, and to reread it often with attention. There are many prayers in the Psalter, and everyone can find one that suits them, for there is not just one prayer for everyone. They are briefly summarized in the twelve daytime and twelve nighttime supplications of St. Chrysostom. But there is no doubt that there is no more reliable way to internalize them than by attending the divine service in church.

It goes without saying how these feelings fuel the fire of zeal: even a single one is enough to keep it smoldering, because each of them is an integral part of it and plays its own role within it. The spirit of zeal is simple and singular, yet all-encompassing. The initial feeling must always be the fear of God, and the final one—a self-humbling surrender to God’s will, which is good and saves us. The former is derived from the spiritual world, while the latter arises from all that follows in faith. However, it is impossible to determine exactly which feelings arise from which and how—this happens differently for everyone. That is why the Holy Fathers offer various instructions or explanations on this matter. For the most part, they are presented in scattered instructions: have the fear of God; regard everything as worthless (consider all things as rubbish—Ed.); do not love the world; place yourself below everyone else and reproach yourself in all things; see your own sins; and take refuge in God alone. The sum of all these is a painful, God-fearing clinging to God with the words: “Lord, You who weigh all things, save me, and I will strive to the best of my ability.” That is all. Whoever becomes accustomed to placing himself in spirit in such a state has a ready and safe refuge.

Being in a certain state of mind is of great significance in the spiritual life. Whoever possesses it is already within themselves, at the heart, for our attention is always directed toward the active part of our being, and if that is the heart, then it is within the heart. To those who are within themselves, the spiritual world is open. From this it is clear that just as abiding within oneself, with a vision of the other world, is a condition for the awakening of spiritual feelings, so too—conversely—the latter presuppose the former and, by their very arising, bring them about. Through the combined interaction of both, spiritual life blossoms. Whoever is in a feeling has their spirit bound and anchored, while whoever lacks it soars. Therefore, in order to dwell inward more successfully, strive toward the senses, albeit through intense self-immersion. For whoever wishes to remain with mere mental concentration labors in vain: a single minute—and everything scatters. It is no wonder, then, that scholars, despite all their education, are constantly daydreaming: this is because they work with their minds alone.

There is no need to set forth in detail the rules and characteristics of each sense—this should be the subject of private instruction, reflection, and reading. The Holy Fathers mostly present them in fragments, in the form of sayings. The main thing they sought and advised was to understand the spiritual structure and to be able to maintain it. Whoever achieves this has but one rule left: be inward, and keep a secret teaching in your heart. By “secret teaching,” they meant the vision of some object from the spiritual world or the stirring of a spiritual sense through some word from Holy Scripture, or a word from the Fathers, or a prayer. Thus, they taught: instruct yourself in the remembrance of God, in the remembrance of mortality, in the remembrance of sins, and in self-discipline—that is, be mindful of this subject and speak of it inwardly without ceasing, for example: “Where shall I go?” (Ps. 138:7) or: “a worm, not a man” (Ps. 21:7). This and similar practices, carried out in attention and feeling, constitute secret instruction.

It follows from this that, in short, all the methods or techniques for kindling and sustaining the spirit of zeal can be summarized as follows: after awakening, turn inward, take your place within your heart, review your entire spiritual life, and, having settled on a single thing, remain in it without ceasing. Or, to put it even more succinctly : gather yourself and cultivate this secret teaching in your heart.

By this means, with the help of the Lord’s grace, the spirit of zeal, in its true form, will be sustained—sometimes smoldering, sometimes blazing. And this is the inner path. It is important to know that this is the most direct path to salvation. One can set everything aside and devote oneself solely to this practice—and everything will proceed successfully. On the contrary, even if we do everything else, without paying attention to this, we will see no fruit.

Whoever does not turn inward and toward this spiritual practice is merely dragging their feet. True, this practice is extremely difficult, especially at first, but it is direct and fruitful. Therefore, a guiding priest must introduce his charges to this practice as soon as possible and strengthen them in it. It is even possible to introduce them to the external aspects first, but always in conjunction with this work—and not only is it possible, but it is necessary. This is because the seed of this work lies in the process of conversion, through which the entire work unfolds. One need only explain it, emphasize its importance, and provide guidance. Then all external matters will proceed willingly, swiftly, and with maturity. On the contrary, without this, everything will tear apart like rotten threads. Note the rule that one must proceed not suddenly, but gradually; it must have strict limitations, for it may lead not to this inner work—in which the essence of the matter lies—but to external rules. Therefore, even though there are people who proceed from the outside in, the unchanging rule must remain: to enter inward first and kindle the spirit of zeal there.

It seems like a simple matter; but without understanding it, one can toil for a long time—and to little avail. And this is due to the nature of physical activity. It is easier, and that is why it attracts; the inner activity, however, is difficult, and that is why it repels. But one who becomes attached to the former, as something material, gradually materializes in spirit as well; therefore, he grows cold, becomes more rigid, and, consequently, drifts further and further away from the inner. And so it turns out that at first one may set aside the inner life, as if until the time of maturity—thinking that the time will come—but later, looking back, one finds that the time has passed, and instead of being prepared, one has become entirely incapable of it. Nor should one set aside the external: it is the support of the inner, and both must proceed together. It is only evident that the priority lies with the former, for one must serve God in spirit, and it is fitting to worship Him in spirit and truth (it is proper—Ed.). Both must be in mutual submission, according to their respective dignities, without coercion toward one another or forced separation.

Guidelines for Exercises Contributing to the Strengthening of a Person’s Spiritual and Physical Powers

In this way, a life filled with grace within, in the spirit, will burn and blaze forth. Because of the zeal and diligence of a person who surrenders himself to God, grace will dwell within him and penetrate him with its sanctifying power, increasingly assimilating him to itself. However, one cannot and must not stop there. This is still a seed, a point of support. It is necessary to ensure that this light of life proceeds further and, by permeating the very nature of the soul and body—thus sanctifying them and assimilating them to itself—casts out the unnatural passions that have arisen and restores them to their pure and natural state—not remaining confined within itself, but spreading throughout our entire being, throughout all our faculties. But since these powers, as mentioned above, are all permeated by the unnatural, the Spirit of grace—the purest—which has come into the heart, cannot enter them directly and immediately, being barred by their impurity. Therefore, certain mediators must be established between the Spirit of grace dwelling within us and our powers, through which He might flow into them and heal them—just as plasters are applied to sore spots. It is evident that all these mediating means, on the one hand, must bear the character and properties of a divine or heavenly origin, and on the other hand, must be in perfect harmony with our faculties in their natural constitution and purpose; otherwise, grace will not pass through them, and the faculties will not derive healing from them. Such means must be of this nature in their origin and intrinsic nature. In and of themselves, they cannot be anything other than actions, exercises, and labors, since they are applied to the faculties, whose distinctive property is to act. Therefore, we must now seek out which deeds and exercises God Himself, in His Scripture or through the teachings of the saints who followed Him, has chosen and designated as means for healing our powers and restoring to them their lost purity and wholeness. It is not difficult to discover such exercises and practices; one need only review a few lives of the ascetics, and they will reveal themselves. Fasting, labor, vigil, solitude, withdrawal from the world, self-control, reading Scripture and the Holy Fathers, attending church, frequent confession and Communion, vows, and other acts of piety and virtue—all of these, taken together or sometimes primarily in certain specific aspects, can be found in nearly every life of the Holy Fathers. The common name for all of them—ascetic practice—may seem daunting, but the significance it conveys, namely their healing power, should be appealing. Let us simply assign to each of these ascetic practices and exercises its proper place, specifying the degree to which and the purpose for which each should be applied. To do this more effectively, we will outline the course of each of our actions and, consequently, of our entire activity. Every free action, originating in consciousness and freedom—and thus in the spirit—descends into the soul and, through its faculties—reason, will, and emotion—is prepared for execution and then carried out by the body’s powers at a specific time, place, and under other external circumstances. An external act for the most part passes without a trace when it is not repeated, noticed, or adopted by others. When this does happen, however, it becomes a permanent rule, a moral principle, a custom—as if it were a law. The sum total of these customs constitutes the spirit of that society or circle of people in which such customs are established. If their origin is good, then the customs are good, and society is good. If their origin is bad, then the customs are bad, and society is bad. But in the latter case, whoever has entered this cycle of customs and mores is inevitably their slave and, despite the toil of slavery, serves them unquestioningly. Whoever lives according to the ways of the world submits to the customs and spirit of the world. But even those who enter this world with a fresh outlook inevitably become imbued with its spirit and soon become like the others, for these customs are the elements that form within us a sinful, passionate, and God-opposing spirit, since they themselves are nothing other than passions in action.

With the aim of purifying and transforming a person, Divine grace first and foremost provides the source of all his activity; namely, it turns his consciousness and freedom toward God, so that healing may then proceed from this source with all his strength, through his own actions—whether assigned to him or stirred within him—from a source that is already healed and sanctified. We have already seen how this source is healed and preserved. Now it is necessary to determine what actions, endowed with healing power in the sense indicated above, should flow from it. This, however, does not permit the arbitrary determination of these actions, but only that they must be undertaken with a free and uncoerced mind and will; for otherwise, they will not bear the expected fruit.

Thus, following the formation and preservation of zeal in conjunction with the entire inner constitution, one must establish the exercises indicated in the Word of God and the writings of the holy fathers—first for the faculties of the soul, as the immediate recipients of all that is initiated in the sanctuary of the spirit; then for the faculties and functions of the body, as the recipients of what matures in the soul; and finally, for outward conduct, as the common outlet for all inner activity or its arena and, at the same time, its manifestation. All these exercises must be directed in such a way that they do not extinguish, but rather further kindle the spirit of zeal along with the entire inner constitution.

In the soul we find three faculties: the mind, the will, and the heart—or, as the Holy Fathers put it, the rational, the appetitive, and the irascible faculties. For each of these, the holy ascetics applied specific healing exercises—those akin to them, as well as those that receive and convey grace. These need not be devised theoretically, but should simply be selected from proven ascetic practices, determining which exercises correspond to which faculty. Thus:

For the intellect:

a) Reading and listening to the Word of God, the writings of the Holy Fathers, and the lives of God’s saints.

b) Studying and committing to memory all God-given truths in concise summaries (catechism).

c) Seeking counsel from the most experienced and senior.

d) Mutual conversation and friendly counsel.

For the will:

a) Strict observance of all the ascetic rules now prescribed.

b) Submission to the entire church constitution.

c) Submission to civil, official, and family order, for through it

God’s will is mediated.

d) Submission to God’s will regarding the course of one’s life.

e) Attention to one’s conscience in performing good deeds.

f) Obedience to the spirit that zealously seeks to fulfill vows.

Regarding the heart:

a) Attending holy church services.

b) Prayer, as prescribed by the Church, as a daily practice at home.

c) The use of the holy cross, icons, and other sacred objects and items.

d) Observance of the sacred customs established by the Church and always recommended by it.

The body is, by nature, pure. Therefore, one need only remove from its needs what is unnatural and strengthen it in what is natural to it—or, in other words, restore it to its natural state. Furthermore, the body must serve as an aid to the soul, as its constant friend; therefore, in addition to returning to the bounds of nature, the satisfaction of its needs must also be directed toward the benefit of the soul and the spirit. To meet these requirements, a specific exercise is prescribed for each bodily function, serving as a means both for the healing of our physical nature and for spiritual benefit.

This includes rules that prescribe:

a) with regard to the senses: the preservation of the senses in general, and especially of hearing and sight (nervous

function);

b) the preservation of the mouth and tongue (muscular);

c) physical vigor through labor and manual work (muscular);

d) abstinence and fasting (abdominal);

e) moderation in sleep and wakefulness (abdominal);

f) bodily cleanliness (visceral).

In general, with regard to the body: exertion (muscular), irritability (nervous), and exhaustion (abdominal).

It goes without saying that through such practices, the body will gradually return to its natural state, becoming lively and strong (muscular), clear and pure (nervous), light and free, and will become the most suitable instrument for our spirit and a worthy temple of the Holy Spirit.

Our external self is the channel of our deeds, their arena, and at the same time both the cause and the support—their beginning and their end. It could be left alone if it did not exert a reciprocal influence on us. But in reality, it exerts a strong influence and even rules over us. Therefore, as an expression of the activity of our inner forces or character, when these change, it too must inevitably change. Its arena is the family, one’s position, and one’s relationships. Thus, we must include here all the binding rules:

a) to abandon bad habits, without exception;

b) next, to purify one’s relationships and interactions, retaining what is beneficial and eliminating what is harmful, and to determine one’s conduct or manner of dealing with others;

c) to redistribute or reestablish duties related to one’s position, if any, according to the new order;

d) to establish an order for family affairs, or, more generally, to adapt the home to the spiritual life.

It is necessary to do this so that everything external—things, people, and affairs—creates, as it were, a kind of spiritual atmosphere that nourishes and builds up, rather than destroys.

These are the exercises and spiritual struggles! Their practice must be unceasing; they must be with us, like a bandage with a plaster on various parts of our body. But the most suitable place for them, where they must appear in their purest, most perfect, and strictest form, is fasting—the most salvific institution of the Holy Church, intended for our purification and sanctification through the Sacraments. This term signifies:

1) the performance of all spiritual practices in their perfect form, as preparation for receiving the Sacraments;

2) the actual reception of the sacraments of Confession and Communion of the Body and Blood of Christ.

These are practices that encompass the whole person, nourishing the spirit, the soul, and the body. We shall call them grace-filled means of nurturing and strengthening the spiritual life.

Here are a few general remarks regarding all these spiritual practices and exercises. Every ascetic must perform all such practices and exercises in a manner specifically tailored to him, for in and of themselves they are, as it were, merely the raw material and framework for rules. Rules are constructed from them—by applying them to time, place, person, circumstances, and so on. This is what every ascetic must do—either on their own or under the guidance of their mentor and spiritual father—applying it to every exercise, and then, from the totality of these, constructing a single comprehensive order of spiritual exercises or ascetic practices, where everything has its place and time, both great and small. This order, just like the rules, cannot be sufficiently outlined in a written guide, except perhaps in general terms. Here, one can only describe each exercise and demonstrate its purpose and general principles of application.

It is not difficult to see how all such feats and exercises correspond to inner activity. It is precisely the rules of external conduct, along with the discipline of the body, that are essential for preserving inner abiding and spiritual consciousness, while pious exercises are essential for spiritual vitality. Therefore, in the spiritual life, they are just as essential as the inner life itself. The Holy Fathers refer to these as bodily or material works, or the active life, while the inner life is called the contemplative life, as well as spiritual and intellectual works. It is a mistake to think that the inner life can stand on its own, even if the outer life is not attuned to it; just as it is wrong for anyone to focus solely on the outer life, forgetting the inner life as we have described it, or neglecting it. Both must go hand in hand, so that the whole matter can be briefly expressed as follows: having turned inward and entered into spiritual consciousness, awaken your vital activity—or spiritual order—and then proceed according to the ascetic discipline you have established for yourself.

At the same time, one must firmly keep in mind that spiritual exercises, ascetic deeds, and conduct—despite their essential necessity and complete suitability for preserving and cultivating the spiritual life and restoring one’s nature—do not possess the power to do so on their own; it is not they that create the spirit or purify one’s nature, but rather the grace of God, which flows through them and, as it were, gains access, a channel to our powers. Therefore, engage in them with all diligence, zeal, and perseverance; but entrust your very progress to the Lord, so that under their cover He Himself may build us up as He wills and knows. When you undertake a spiritual practice, do not fix your attention and heart on it, but pass it by as something external—open yourself to grace like a ready vessel, surrendering yourself completely to God. “Whoever finds grace finds it through faith and diligence,” says Saint Gregory of Sinai, “and not through diligence alone.” No matter how diligent our work may be, if we do not surrender ourselves to God in the midst of it, we do not attract grace; it does not build a true spirit within us, but rather a spirit of flattery, producing a Pharisee. Grace is their very soul. They are true to the extent that they nurture and preserve self-abasement, contrition, the fear of God, the need for God’s help, and devotion to God. Satiety and contentment with these things are a sign of their false use, or of folly.

This is the entire sequence of the positive actions we have mentioned, or the principles of self-discipline. We must now examine each of them separately, albeit in general terms.

Exercises Contributing to the Formation of the Powers of the Soul in the Spirit of the Christian Life

There are three faculties: the intellect, the will, and the emotions. The exercises are distributed accordingly. They are directly aimed at the development of these faculties, but in such a way that the spirit is not extinguished by them; on the contrary, it is kindled more and more. The latter serves as a measure and a restraint on the former, which submits to it to the point of silent submission or complete cessation.

a) Exercises that form the mind, with the kindling and life of the spirit

Christian formation of the mind consists in imprinting upon it all the truths of the faith so deeply that they constitute its very essence, or that it consists solely of them, so that when it comes to reasoning about anything, it judges or verifies all that is knowable by them, and in general could not make even the slightest move without them. The Apostle calls this “holding fast to the pattern of sound teaching” (2 Tim. 1:13).

The practices or activities pertaining to this are: reading and hearing the Word of God, the writings of the Fathers, the lives of the holy Fathers, mutual discussion, and seeking counsel from those with the most experience.

It is good to read or listen; it is better to engage in mutual conversation; and it is even better to heed the counsel of the most experienced.

The Word of God is the most fruitful, followed by the writings of the Fathers and the lives of the saints. However, one must know that the lives of the saints are best for beginners, the writings of the Fathers for those of intermediate level, and the Word of God for the perfected.

All of these—both sources of truth and means of drawing from them—clearly contribute to imprinting them on the mind and, at the same time, to sustaining a spirit of zeal. Often a single text can stir the spirit for more than a day; there are lives of the saints where even a single recollection rekindles the fervor of zeal; there are passages in the writings of the Holy Fathers that are deeply inspiring. Therefore, it is a good rule:

to copy such passages and keep them, in case of need, to stir up the spirit.

Often neither internal nor external efforts help—the spirit remains dormant. Hurry to read something from anywhere. If that doesn’t help—run to someone for a conversation. The latter, when done with faith, rarely fails to bear fruit.

There are two kinds of reading: one is routine, almost mechanical, and the other is selective, guided by spiritual needs and advice. But even the first is not without benefit. It is, however, more suitable for those who are already established, who are, as it were, merely reviewing rather than studying.

It is absolutely essential for every person to have someone with whom to discuss spiritual matters—someone who already knows everything about us and to whom we can boldly reveal everything that is on our hearts. It is better to have one such person, or at most two. Idle conversations, however, intended merely to pass the time, must be avoided at all costs. Here are the rules for reading: before reading, one must clear the soul of everything;

— awaken a desire to know what is being read; turn to God in prayer; follow what is being read with attention and take it all into an open heart;

— if something has not yet reached your heart, pause on it until it does;

— obviously, one must read very slowly;

— stop reading when the soul no longer wishes to be nourished by the reading—it is, then, satisfied. If, however, a particular passage strikes the soul, dwell on it and read no further.

The best time to read the Word of God is in the morning; the Lives of the Saints, after lunch; and the Holy Fathers, shortly before bedtime. It is therefore possible to touch on a little of everything each day.

During such activities, one must constantly keep the main goal in mind—imprinting truths and stirring the spirit. If this is not achieved through reading or conversation, then they are merely idle indulgence of taste and hearing, empty chatter. If this is done wisely, then the truths are both imprinted and inspire, and one helps the other; but if one strays from the right approach, then neither happens: truths are crammed into the head like sand, and the spirit grows cold and callous, puffed up and conceited.

Imprinting truths is not the same as examining them. All that is required here is this: grasp the truth and hold it in your mind until it merges with it—without arguments or limitations—as the single face of truth.

Therefore, the easiest way to achieve this can rightly be considered the following: all truths are found in the catechism. Every morning, take a truth from there and grasp it; carry it in your mind and nourish yourself with it for as long as your soul needs nourishment—a day, two, or more; do the same with another, and so on—until the end. This method is easy and widely accepted. If you cannot read, ask for one truth and live by it.

It is clear that the rule applies to everyone: imprint the truths in such a way that they inspire. The methods of carrying this out, however, are varied, and it is impossible to prescribe a single one for everyone.

Consequently, reading, listening, and conversation that do not imprint truths or stir the spirit must be regarded as wrong, having strayed from the truth. This is the disease of excessive reading driven solely by curiosity, when one follows what is being read with the mind alone, without bringing it to the heart or delighting its taste.

This is the art of daydreaming, which does not build up or teach, but rather destroys, always leading to conceit. The whole matter, as has been said, must be limited to the following: grasp the truth and hold it in your mind until your heart savors it. The holy fathers put it simply: remember, hold it in your mind, keep it before your eyes.

b) Exercises for the formation of the will and for the arousal of the spirit

To form the will means to imprint upon it good dispositions, or virtues: humility, meekness, patience, self-control, forbearance, helpfulness, and so on—so that, having become one with it or grown into it, they might, as it were, constitute its very nature; and so that, when anything is undertaken by the will, it might be undertaken through their inspiration and in their spirit—that is, so that they might become the rulers and reign over our deeds.

Such a disposition of the will is secure and steadfast; but since it is opposed to a sinful disposition, attaining it requires toil and effort. Therefore, the practices pertaining to this— —are directed primarily against the principal weakness of the will, namely, self-will, disobedience, and impatience with the yoke.

This infirmity is cured by submission to God’s will, with the rejection of one’s own will and every other will. God’s will, however, is revealed in various forms of obedience incumbent upon each person. The first and foremost requirement is the observance of the laws or commandments according to one’s own office or station; next comes the observance of the Church’s statutes, the requirements of civic and family order, the demands of circumstances arising from providential will, and the demands of a zealous spirit—all with discernment and counsel.

All of this constitutes a field for righteous deeds, which is open to everyone—and indeed, to all. Therefore, learn only to manage these matters well, and you will not feel a lack of means for the formation of the will.

To this end, clarify for yourself the full range of righteous deeds that are possible for you, given your position, rank, and circumstances, while also considering when, how, to what extent, and what can and should be accomplished.

Once you have clarified all this, establish a general outline of the deeds and their order so that nothing you do is done by chance, bearing in mind that this order is appropriate only in general; in particular, it may be altered as required by the course of events. Do everything with reason.

Therefore, it is best to list possible situations and possible tasks on a daily basis.

Those skilled in doing what is right never predetermine anything, but always do whatever God sends their way, for everything comes from God; through circumstances, He reveals His will to us.

All this, however, is merely work. Engaging in it merely makes one competent. To rise through it to virtue, one must steadfastly maintain the spirit of true virtue, namely: with humility and the fear of God, do everything according to God’s will and for God’s glory. Whoever acts out of self-confidence—with boldness bordering on audacity—for the sake of self-gratification or to please others, even while performing righteous deeds, fosters within himself the evil spirit of self-righteousness, conceit, and hypocrisy.

While maintaining the right spirit, one must also keep in mind the laws, especially the law of gradualness and continuity: that is, always begin with the lesser and ascend to the higher, and then, once you have begun, do not stop. In this way, one can avoid: the distress of feeling imperfect, for perfection does not come all at once; there will be time yet; the thought that one has already done everything, for there is no end to the stages; and overconfident initiative, undertaking feats beyond one’s strength.

The ultimate goal is the naturalness of virtue, when the law no longer feels like a burden.

The one who is most successful in achieving this is the one who is blessed with the grace to live alongside the virtuous and the active; and even more successful is the one who learns from them. There will be no need to redo or correct mistakes made out of ignorance or lack of practice. Do not read or ponder, as the saying goes, but find a godly person, and you will immediately learn the fear of God. The same applies to every other virtue. It is good, however, judging by yourself, your character, and your circumstances, to choose one virtue above all others and to adhere to it unwaveringly—it will serve as a foundation, like a canvas—and from there move on to others. This is a lifeline in times of slackness—it serves as a strong reminder and quickly reawakens one’s resolve. Above all else, almsgiving is the surest path, for it leads to the King.

However, this applies only to deeds, not to dispositions, which must have their own inner order, founded in the spirit, in a certain sense independent of consciousness and free will, as the Lord wills. All the saints acknowledge the fear of God as its beginning and love as its end; in between, all the virtues are built upon one another, though not in the same way for everyone, but certainly upon humble and contrite repentance and sorrow for sins. These are the lifeblood of the virtues. The description of each virtue—its properties, works, degrees of perfection, and deviations—is the subject of specific books and the teachings of the Fathers. Learn all this through reading.

This kind of virtuous practice directly shapes the will and imprints virtues upon it, but at the same time it keeps the spirit in constant tension. Just as friction generates heat, so too do good deeds warm the zeal. Without them, even a good spirit grows cold and fades away. This usually happens to those who do nothing, or to people who limit themselves to merely refraining from evil and injustice. No, one must also set out to do and choose good deeds. There are, however, also those who are overly busy, who therefore quickly exhaust themselves and scatter their spirit. Everything requires moderation.

c) The Formation of the Heart

To cultivate the heart means to nurture in it a taste for things that are holy, divine, and spiritual, so that, when immersed in them, it feels as if in its natural element, finds in them sweetness, and bliss, while remaining indifferent to everything else, having no taste for it—and indeed, even feeling aversion toward it. All of a person’s spiritual activity converges on the heart: truths are imprinted upon it, and good dispositions take root within it, but its primary task is the taste we have described. When the mind beholds the entire structure of the spiritual world and its various objects, or when various good undertakings take shape in the will, the heart must, in all of this, feel sweetness and radiate warmth. This spiritual delight is the first sign of the revival of a soul that has died because of sin. Therefore, its cultivation is a very important matter even in the early stages.

The practice directed toward it is, in general, our entire sacred ministry in all its forms—whether public, private, domestic, or ecclesiastical—and, above all, the spirit of prayer that animates it.

Divine service—that is, all the daily services, with the entire arrangement of the church, icons, candles, incense, singing, readings, and rituals, as well as services for various needs—and then domestic worship, also involving sacred objects—consecrated icons, holy oil, candles, holy water, the cross, incense—this entire collection of sacred objects, which appeals to all the senses—sight, hearing, smell, touch, and taste—are the most powerful and only true purifiers of the senses in a deadened soul. The soul has been deadened by the spirit of the world, which envelops it through the sin dwelling within it. The entire structure of our divine service—in its form, meaning, the power of faith, and especially the grace hidden within it—possesses an irresistible power to repel the spirit of the world and, by freeing the soul from its oppressive influence, enables it to breathe freely, as it were, and to taste the sweetness of this spiritual freedom. One who enters the church enters a completely different world, is influenced by it, and is transformed accordingly. The same happens to those who surround themselves with sacred objects. The frequency of spiritual impressions penetrates the inner self more quickly and brings about the transformation of the heart more swiftly. Therefore:

1) One should make it a habit to attend church services as often as possible, typically Matins, the Liturgy, and Vespers. Strive to be there daily at the first opportunity—even if only once—and, if possible, never leave. Our church is paradise on earth or heaven itself. Hurry to the church in the faith that it is the dwelling place of God, where He Himself has promised to hear us more quickly; while in the church, be as if in the presence of God, with fear and reverence, which you should express through patient standing, bowing, and attentive participation in the service as a whole, without letting your thoughts wander, or becoming lax or careless.

2) One should not forget other forms of worship, whether private, performed in the church or at home, nor one’s own home prayer, conducted in accordance with the church’s order. One must remember that this is merely a supplement to the church service, not a substitute for it. The Apostle, commanding us not to neglect our gatherings, made it clear that the full power of the service belongs to the communal service (see Heb. 10:25).

3) One should observe all church feasts, rites, and customs—in short, the entire liturgical order—and adhere to them in every aspect of life, so as to remain constantly, as it were, in a special atmosphere. This is easy to do. Such is the structure of our Church. Simply accept it with faith.

But above all, what gives strength to church ministry is the spirit of prayer. Prayer is both an all-encompassing duty and an all-powerful means. Through it, the truths of the faith are imprinted on the mind, and good morals on the will; but above all, the heart is enlivened in its feelings. Only then do the first two follow swiftly, when this one is present. Therefore, the practice of prayer must be begun first and foremost and continued constantly, tirelessly, until the Lord grants prayer to the one who prays.

The foundations of prayer lie in the very act of turning to God, for prayer is the turning of the mind and heart toward God, which is precisely what this act entails. But through inattention or ignorance, one can extinguish this spark within oneself. Then one must immediately begin certain practices, with the aim of kindling the spirit of prayer. In addition to performing the divine services and participating in them, as has been mentioned, personal prayer—wherever and however it is performed—is most directly relevant here. There is one rule here: get into the habit of praying. To this end:

1) Choose a prayer schedule—for evening, morning, and daytime.

2) Start with a short prayer routine at first, so as not to discourage a spirit unaccustomed to this practice and effort.

3) But you must always perform it with reverence, diligence, and full attention.

4) This requires: standing, bowing, genuflection, the sign of the cross, reading, and sometimes singing.

5) The more often you engage in this kind of prayer, the better. Some do it every hour: a little at a time, but more frequently.

6) The prayers to be recited are listed in the prayer books. But it is good to become accustomed to one particular prayer so that, upon beginning it, your spirit is immediately kindled.

7) The rule for prayer is simple: when you begin to pray, say it with fear and trembling as if speaking directly into God’s ears, accompanying it with the sign of the cross, bows, and prostrations, according to the movement of the spirit.

8) The established rule must always be followed without fail; but this does not prevent you from adding to it as your heart prompts you.

9) Whether you read or sing aloud, whisper, or remain silent—it makes no difference, for the Lord is near. But sometimes it is better to perform the entire prayer in one way, and at other times in another.

10) One must firmly keep in mind the limit of prayer. A good prayer is one that ends with a prostration before God, accompanied by the feeling: “You who weigh all things, save me.”

11) There are degrees of prayer. The first degree is physical prayer, consisting mainly of reading, standing, and bowing. Attention wanders, the heart feels nothing, and there is no desire: here, there is patience, toil, and sweat. Nevertheless, set limits and pray. This is active prayer. The second level is attentive prayer: the mind grows accustomed to gathering itself at the hour of prayer and reciting the entire prayer with full awareness, without distraction. Attention merges with the written word and speaks as if it were its own. The third level is prayer of the heart: the heart is warmed by attention, and what is there in thought becomes a feeling here. There is a word of contrition, and here is contrition; there is a petition, and here is a sense of need and longing. Whoever has progressed to the level of feeling prays without words, for God is the God of the heart. That is why this is the pinnacle of prayerful training—to stand in prayer, moving from one feeling to another. At this point, reading may cease, as may thinking, and let there be only abiding in the feeling with the familiar signs of prayer. Such prayer comes gradually at first. In church or at home, a feeling of prayer comes over you… And here is the common counsel of the saints—do not let this pass unnoticed: that is, when the feeling is present, cease all other activity and abide in it. St. John Climacus says, “An angel is praying with you.” Attention to these manifestations of prayer fosters the cultivation of prayer, while inattention destroys it: and the very point of cultivation lies in this.

However, no matter how perfected one may consider oneself to be in prayer, one must never abandon the rules of prayer, but practice it as instructed, and always begin with active prayer. Intellectual prayer must accompany it, and heartfelt prayer will follow. Without this, the latter will be lost, and a person will think they are praying, when in fact they are not.

When the sense of prayer rises to the point of continuity, then spiritual prayer begins, which is a gift of the Holy Spirit, who intercedes for us—the highest level of comprehensible prayer. But there is, they say, also a prayer that is beyond the grasp of the mind, or one that goes beyond the limits of consciousness (as St. Isaac the Syrian teaches).

The “easiest” means of ascending to unceasing prayer is to cultivate the practice of the Jesus Prayer and to root it within oneself. The most experienced men in the spiritual life, enlightened by God, have found this one simple yet all-powerful means for strengthening the spirit in all spiritual endeavors, as well as in the entire life of spiritual asceticism, and in their teachings they have left detailed rules regarding it.

Through our labors and ascetic practices, we seek the purification of the heart and the renewal of the spirit. There are two paths to this: the active path—that is, engaging in the ascetic practices outlined above—and the contemplative path—turning the mind toward God. In the former, the soul is purified and receives God; in the latter, God, who is visible, burns away all impurity and comes to dwell in the purified soul. Summarizing the latter in the Jesus Prayer, Gregory of Sinai says: “We attain God either through deeds and labor, or through the artful invocation of the name of Jesus,” and then adds that the first path is longer than the latter—the latter is swifter and more effective. Consequently, some have placed the Jesus Prayer first among spiritual practices. It enlightens, strengthens, revives, overcomes all enemies—visible and invisible—and lifts us up to God. So almighty and all-powerful is it! The name of the Lord Jesus is a treasure of blessings, strength, and life in the Spirit.

It follows naturally from this that anyone who has repented or begun to seek the Lord can and should, right from the start, be given a complete instruction in the practice of the Jesus Prayer, and through it be introduced to all other practices as well, because in this way one can be strengthened more quickly, gain spiritual insight more quickly, and enter into inner peace. Unaware of this, some—or rather, the majority—remain stuck in bodily and mental practices and squander their efforts and time almost in vain.

This practice is called “the art.” And it is very simple. Keeping your consciousness and attention in your heart, repeat ceaselessly: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me,” without any image or form, trusting that the Lord sees you and hears you.

To become established in this, one should set aside a specific time in the morning or evening—a quarter of an hour, half an hour, or more, as much as one can—dedicated solely to offering this prayer. This should be done after morning and evening prayers, either standing or sitting. This will lay the foundation for developing the habit.

Then, throughout the day, make a conscious effort to say it every few minutes, no matter what you are doing.

The habit will become more and more ingrained, and the prayer will be recited, as it were, of its own accord, during any task or activity. The more resolutely one undertakes this, the sooner one succeeds.

One must certainly keep one’s consciousness focused on the heart and, while performing the prayer, hold one’s breath slightly as an expression of the intensity with which it is performed.

But the highest condition is faith that God is near and hears us. Speak your prayer into the ear of God.

This practice instills warmth in the spirit, followed by enlightenment, and then rapture. But all this is sometimes achieved only over the course of years.

At first, this prayer is purely an act of the will, like any other task; then it becomes a matter of the mind; and finally, it takes root in the heart.

There are deviations from the right path of this prayer. Therefore, one must learn it from someone who knows it. Errors arise more from where one’s attention is focused—in the head or in the heart.

Whoever is in the heart is safe. Even safer is the one who clings to God with anguish at every moment, in contrition, praying for deliverance from delusions.

The Holy Fathers have set forth the teaching on this practice in detail. Therefore, one who has undertaken this practice ought to read their writings, setting aside all else. The best instructions are found in the works of Hesychius (of Jerusalem—Ed.), in the prefaces by Elder Basil, and in the life of Paissius (The Life and Writings of the Moldavian Elder Paissius Velichkovsky, with the addition of prefaces to the books of Saints Gregory of Sinai, Philotheos of Sinai, Isichius the Presbyter, and Nilus of Sora, compiled by his friend and fellow ascetic Elder Basil of Polyamerul, on spiritual sobriety and prayer. Published by the Kozelsk Vvedenskaya Optina Hermitage. Moscow, 1892. (Ed.); from Gregory of Sinai, Philotheos of Sinai, Theoliptus (Metropolitan of Philadelphia—Ed.), Simeon the New Theologian, Nilus of Sora, and the holy monk Dorotheus (Russian).

Whoever masters this, having gone through all that has been shown above, is a man—a practitioner of the Christian life. He will quickly progress in self-purification and Christian perfection and will attain the desired peace in communion with God.

These are practices for the powers of the soul, adapted to the movements of the spirit. Here we see how each of them is attuned to the life of the spirit, or to spiritual sensibilities. But they also lead to the strengthening of the foundational conditions for inner dwelling, namely: the mental practices lead to the gathering of attention, the practices of the will lead to vigilance, and the practices of the heart lead to sobriety. Prayer, however, encompasses all of them and unites them all; even in its very nature, it is nothing other than the inner activity previously described.

All these actions are intended to develop the powers of the soul in accordance with the spirit of the new life. This is the same as the spiritualization of the soul, or its elevation into the spirit and its fusion with it. In the Fall, they were united in opposition. In conversion, the spirit is restored, but the soul remains with a fierce streak of defiance and aversion toward the spirit and all that is spiritual. These activities, imbued with spiritual elements, bring the soul into harmony with the Spirit and cause it to merge with Him. From this it is evident how essential they are and how badly those who exempt themselves from them are doing. They themselves are the reason why their labor bears no fruit—they toil but see no fruit, then soon lose heart, and it is all over.

But at the same time, one must remember that all their fruit comes from the spirit of zeal and seeking. It channels the restorative power of grace through these deeds and brings revival to the soul. Without it, all these deeds are empty, cold, lifeless, and dry. Reading, prostrations, worship services, and everything else bear little fruit when there is no inner spirit. These deeds can lead to pride and self-righteousness and sustain themselves by these alone. Therefore, everything falls away when adversity is encountered by one who lacks the Spirit. Moreover, they are tedious in and of themselves. The Spirit, however, imparts to the soul a strength by which it finds no satisfaction in these deeds alone and would desire to turn to them always— .

Thus, it is absolutely necessary, in these practices, to always keep in mind that the spirit of life should burn within us, with a humble and heartfelt turning toward God, our Savior; and this is best nourished and preserved through prayer and devotional practices. One must also be careful not to stop at these alone, for they are nourishing for the soul as well. One might therefore remain spiritual through them, to the detriment of the spirit. This is most likely to happen with reading and, in general, with the knowledge and assimilation of the truth.

Conducting the Body According to the Spirit of the New Life

A distinctive feature here is the restraint of the flesh. To restrain the flesh means not to indulge it in any lust, or not to do anything for the sake of pleasure. Neither food, nor drink, nor sleep, nor movement, nor sight, nor hearing, nor any other senses or impressions should be accepted as if they were a blessing, but rather as if in passing, as something extraneous, without paying attention to them—before, during, or after—and even more so, with a certain degree of deprivation, not according to the desires of the flesh, but according to reason and a good purpose. Give the body what it needs with a little self-denial, and, having set it aside, turn entirely to the soul. The holy fathers call this the pursuit of the repose of the flesh—the most dangerous of ailments and one that is contrary to God. Whoever pities the flesh cannot have the Spirit of God dwelling within them. And even occasional, fragmentary indulgence of the flesh, arising from inattention and sloth, cools the spirit. What then can be said of those for whom carnal pleasure has become the norm? The appeasement of the flesh is to the spirit what water is to fire. The flesh is the seat of all passions, as Cassian teaches (John Cassian the Roman—Ed.) and as anyone can verify through experience; therefore, restraining it is the drying up of the passions. Whoever indulges the flesh even in the slightest cannot be inwardly focused; he is absorbed in whatever pleases the flesh, and therefore lacks composure and, consequently, is cold. A soul that clings to the flesh merges with it; from this it becomes burdened, gravitates toward the earth, and is incapable of freely beholding the spiritual with the mind. On the contrary, how clear is the vision of one who has restrained the flesh, how easily he turns inward, how unentrenched his passions are—in short, how tangibly the spiritual life within him comes alive! As much as this outer self is decaying, so much is the inner self being renewed day by day (cf. 2 Cor. 4:16). If the flesh grows strong, it does so at the expense of the spirit; and if the spirit matures, it does so only through the repose of the flesh. We find no easy life among the saints: all lived austerely, in self-denial, weakness, dryness, and mortification of the flesh. For this reason, Saint Isaac the Syrian regards the mortification of the flesh as a condition for salvation. He who spares the flesh stands on a path that is alluring, slippery, deceptive, and illusory.

The flesh must be restrained in all its parts, members, and functions, so that all its members may become instruments of righteousness.

Among the members of our bodily life, some are animally-soulful—the closest instruments of the soul’s activity—while others are purely animal, instruments of animal sustenance, nutrition, and growth. The former have greater freedom and are less constrained; the latter are more bound, more carnal, and coarser.

The former include: the senses, speech, and movement; the latter include: nutrition, sleep, sexual activity, and various sensory impressions—heat, cold, softness, and so on.

Hence the following rules for restraining the flesh:

1. Control your senses, especially sight and hearing; restrain your movements; hold your tongue. Whoever fails to rein in these three has their inner self in disarray, in laxity, and in captivity; indeed, they are not even present within; for these are the passages through which the soul moves from within to without, or the windows that let the inner warmth escape.

2. Exercise your authority over them by forcibly directing them toward objects that are now beneficial. Previously, they were irresistibly drawn to that which nourished the self and the primary passion. Now you must direct them toward that which builds up the spirit.

3. Measure out the food the flesh requires—simple and wholesome—weigh it by measure and weight, determine its quality and timing, and be at peace with that. Do the same with sleep. Put an end to sexual activity by drying up the flesh. Above all, keep the flesh in a state of bitterness—cold, harsh, and the like—so that there may be no tenderness.

4. Having established all this, struggle against the flesh until it is subdued and, having become accustomed to this humble and harsh state, becomes a silent servant. The subjugation of the flesh is ultimately achieved. One must keep this in mind and strive for it as a reward for one’s labors. Physical virtues are cultivated through physical feats: solitude, silence, fasting, vigil, labor, patience in deprivation, purity, and chastity.

5. One must, however, remember that this companion will oppress and attack us until the grave. They say: do not trust the flesh—it is deceitful. And the moment you let your guard down, hoping for its subjugation, it will immediately seize you and overcome you. The struggle against it is a lifelong one, but it is most difficult at first, becoming easier and easier until, finally, only a mindful attention to discipline remains, accompanied by only faint sensations of the flesh’s urges.

6. For the most lasting success—especially in physical endeavors—it is necessary to observe the principle of gradualness. Here is some general advice: first, keep the flesh under the law of abstinence in every respect, directing all your attention to inner work. When the passions begin to subside and warmth begins to arise in the heart, then, as the inner heat increases, the body’s needs will naturally diminish, and great physical feats will begin as if by themselves.

7. The most important physical feats that restrain the flesh are: fasting, vigil, labor, and chastity. The latter is the most effective of all, the most necessary, and the most essential. Therefore, chastity is the quickest path to Christian perfection. Without it, a person cannot attain such strength or such gifts. One must only remember that, in addition to bodily purity, there is purity of the soul, which may be lacking even in those who have preserved bodily purity until death. It is more significant than bodily purity. Therefore, even married couples, to a certain extent, can draw near to virgins through purity of the soul. Grace assists the laborer who is devoted to God. That is why we see married couples possessing spiritual perfection.

The Order of External Life According to the Spirit of the New Life

Everything pertaining to the order of external life, according to the spirit of the new life, can be called a separation from the world, or the expulsion of the worldly spirit from the entire course of our external life. “I have chosen you out of the world, that is, I have set you apart,” said the Lord to the Apostles (John 15:19). He does the same through divine grace for every believer: He sets apart their spirit from the world. Indeed, conversion itself consists in turning one’s consciousness away from the vain world and opening it up to another world—the spiritual one. But what was accomplished invisibly in the spirit at the beginning must later, in life, be fulfilled in deed and become a constant rule. One who seeks the Lord must withdraw from the world.

By “the world” is meant everything that is passionate, vain, and sinful—that which has entered private, family, and social life and has become a custom and a rule there. Therefore, withdrawing from the world does not mean fleeing from one’s family or society, but rather abandoning the mores, customs, rules, habits, and demands that are completely opposed to the spirit of Christ, which has taken root and is maturing within us. Citizenship and family life are blessed by God; therefore, we must not renounce or despise them, nor anything that pertains to their essential well-being. But all that has crept into them that is lustful and passionate—like a growth that harms and distorts them—must be despised and rejected. To flee from the world means to establish oneself in true family life and citizenship; yet to treat everything else as if it were not ours, as if it did not concern us. Those who use the world in this way are as though they did not use it (1 Cor. 7:31).

Why this must be done is self-evident. That which is vain and steeped in passions inevitably transmits the same into our souls, stirring up or instilling passion. Just as one who walks near soot becomes blackened or one who touches fire is scorched, so one who participates in worldly affairs becomes imbued with what is passionate and godless. Therefore, once caught up in the world, the repentant person falls again, and the innocent one becomes corrupted. This is almost inevitable. Immediately the mind is clouded; forgetfulness, weakness, captivity, and plundering arise, followed by a wounding of the heart, then passion and its consequences—and the person has fallen. All the stories of corruption bear witness to this; just as all those who have turned away—who flee from all these customs as from fire—bear witness to how inevitable and necessary it is to leave all that behind.

And as for what exactly to abandon and how, experience teaches this better than our Scriptures.

The law is this: one must abandon everything that is dangerous to the new life, that stirs up passion, brings vanity, and extinguishes the spirit—and how much variety there is in all this! Let the measure of this be the heart of each person who sincerely seeks salvation without guile, not merely for show. At present, theaters, balls, dancing, music, singing, trips, walks, socializing, jokes, witticisms, laughter, idle pastimes, and even the times for rising, sleeping, eating, and so on—all must be set aside and changed. In other times and places, things may be different. But the standard is always the same: abandon what is harmful and dangerous to life, what extinguishes the spirit. But what exactly is that? For one person, it may be the most trivial thing—perhaps even a walk through a familiar place with a familiar face… “Everything is permissible for me, but not everything is beneficial” (1 Cor. 6:12).

It follows from this that renouncing the world is nothing other than purifying one’s entire external life, removing from it all that is passionate, and replacing it with what is pure—that which does not hinder spiritual life but rather aids it—in family life, private life, and public life; to establish, in general, a pattern of one’s outward conduct at home and abroad, with others and in one’s professional capacity; in accordance with the demands of the spirit of the new life, to define everything by rules, to establish order in the home in all its aspects, order in one’s professional duties, and order in acquaintances and relationships—with whom, when, and how.

How is this to be done? Do it as best you can, but do so with counsel and discernment, under the guidance of a spiritual father or someone you trust. Some do this suddenly and, it seems, with better results, while others do it gradually. The only requirement is that from the very first moment, you must hate all that is worldly and sinful with your heart and remain alien to it, neither desiring it nor taking pleasure in it. Do not love the world, nor the things in the world (1 John 2:15). Following this inner renunciation of the world, visible renunciation may follow either suddenly or gradually. A person who is weak in spirit cannot endure a prolonged struggle; they will not stand firm, but will grow lax and fall. This is especially true of those possessed by carnal passions, which take on the strength of a second nature. Therefore, such people must inevitably and suddenly break away from everything, withdrawing from the place where they wallowed in sin. A person with a strong spirit of zeal will endure it—albeit gradually—but in either case, from the very first moment of conversion, it is absolutely necessary to cease all contact with the sinful world and all that is worldly until the patterns of a new life are established. This is akin to shielding a newly transplanted tree from the wind, which, even if gentle, can topple it because its roots are not yet strong.

The idea that one can live a Christian life while clinging to the world and worldliness is a hollow, deceptive notion. Whoever lives by it will learn nothing more than hypocrisy and a life of pretense—that is, they will be a Christian only in their own mind, but not in reality. At first, he will destroy with one hand what he has built with the other; that is, what has been gathered in seclusion from the world will be scattered again at the very first step into it, and from this comes a direct transition to mere opinion. What is lost from the heart may still remain in memory and imagination. Now, recalling and imagining how it was before, a person may think that it actually still exists, whereas it has vanished, leaving only a trace of it in memory. And he will think that he possesses what in reality he does not have. Here is the judgment: whoever does not have it, even what he thinks he has will be taken away from him (Luke 8:18). And from mere opinion, it is but one step to pharisaism. Hardened pharisaism, however, is a terrible state. It is frightening, however; what is to be done, having left the world? This is frightening only on the outside; on the inside, leaving the world is an entry into paradise. Certainly—there will immediately be bitterness, sorrow, and loss: so what?—steel yourself with patience. Which is more precious: the world or the soul, time or eternity? Give up the lesser—and take what is immeasurable by every measure. It does happen, however, that the world’s intense pressure is felt only at first; then it subsides, subsides, and those who have left the world are left in peace, for few are cherished in the world—they’ll talk about it for a while, and then they’ll forget. Those who leave the world are like the dead. Therefore, one need not fear the world’s hostility all that much, given its vanity and pride—given that it loves what is present and forgets the rest. It is a spectacle: concerned only with, or holding within itself, those who are in it; as for others, it cares little.

Thus, whether through pursuits directed toward the cultivation of the soul’s powers, or through the restraint of the flesh in all its parts—especially those that are the soul’s closest organs—or through the purification of one’s external order, a person who seeks a good and lasting stronghold will safeguard his inner self. Having strengthened himself inwardly through these initial spiritual and mental pursuits in solitude, while restraining the flesh, he proceeds to family, civic, or communal affairs—to pure and salvific endeavors, according to God’s will—and through all these he is built up in the spirit, or, at the very least, is not corrupted.

There is one more thing that can distract him—the constant sight and sound of things—some worldly, some simple—which, simply because they affect the soul, draw it away by demanding its attention and rob it of its peace. If these openings were also blocked, the inner peace would remain undisturbed. Obviously, the surest and most decisive means to this end is the blocking of the senses, but this is not possible or necessary for everyone. Therefore, the holy fathers devised a salvific remedy: to be open to the impressions of external things, yet not to be distracted by them, but to build up the spirit. It consists in assigning a spiritual significance to every thing, to everything seen and heard, and in becoming so firmly established in the thought of this spiritual significance that, when looking at a thing, it is not the thing itself that touches the consciousness, but its spiritual significance. Whoever does this with regard to everything they encounter will constantly walk as if in a school… Light and darkness, man and beast, stone and plant, house and field—everything— —everything down to the smallest detail will be a lesson for him; one need only interpret it for oneself and become firmly established in that understanding. And how salvific this is! “Why are you weeping?” the disciples asked the elder, who had seen a beautiful, lavishly dressed woman. “I weep,” he replied, “for the ruin of God’s rational creatures and for the fact that I do not have such zeal for the salvation of my soul as she has for the ruin of her body…” Another, hearing his wife weeping at a grave, said, “This is how a Christian should weep over his sins.”

Such are the spiritual struggles through which the soul, the body, and our outward conduct are shaped according to the spirit of the new life, after the spirit has been enlivened by God’s grace in conversion, progressing to resolution, vows, and their sealing through the Holy Sacraments. But just as conversion to God is initially unstable if it is not sealed by grace through the Sacraments, so too, in all the time that follows, zeal remains unsteady, diligence is powerless, the will is weak, and life is meager, unless one is renewed through the Divine Sacraments of Confession and Holy Communion. The Christian life, evidenced by zeal, is a life of grace; consequently, the most powerful means for preserving, nourishing, and enlivening it must be the drawing upon and receiving of Divine grace. There are specific elements that nourish our physical life; there are also elements that nourish our spiritual life. These are the Sacraments.

The Lord has given us the Sacrament of the Body and Blood specifically for the nourishment and elevation of our spiritual life. “I am the living bread,” said the Lord; “My Flesh is true food, and My Blood is true drink; therefore, whoever eats this bread will live forever” (John 6:51–58). Spiritual life is the result of communion with the Lord; apart from Him and without Him, we have no true life. But He says: “Whoever eats My Flesh and drinks My Blood abides in Me, and I in him…” “I live because of the Father, and so whoever eats Me will live because of Me” (John 6:56–57): that is, communion with the Lord is accomplished through the reception of His Body and Blood. True spiritual life is strong, active, and fruitful. But “without Me,” says the Lord, “you can do nothing.” Whoever abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit (John 15:5). It follows from all this that if you do not eat the Flesh of the Son of Man and drink His Blood, you will have no life within you… whoever eats this bread will live forever (John 6:51–53).

Here is the blessed source of the preservation and strengthening of our spiritual life! Therefore, from the very beginning of Christianity, true zealots for piety have regarded frequent communion as the foremost blessing. In the time of the Apostles, it was practiced everywhere: Christians all devoted themselves to prayer and the breaking of bread—that is, they received communion. Basil the Great, in his letter to Caesar, states that it is salvific to partake of the Body and Blood daily, and regarding his own life, he writes: “We partake four times a week.” And this is the common view of all the saints: that there is no salvation without Communion, and no progress in life without frequent Communion.

But the Lord—the source of life, who gives life to those who partake of Him—is also a consuming fire. Those who partake worthily taste life, while those who partake unworthily taste death. Although this death does not follow visibly, it is always taking place invisibly in a person’s spirit and heart. Those who partake unworthily depart—like embers from the fire or iron slag. Either the seed of death is sown within the body itself, or it occurs immediately, as was the case in the Church of Corinth, according to the Apostle’s observation (1 Cor. 29–30). Therefore, one must approach Holy Communion with fear and trembling and with proper preparation.

This preparation consists in purifying one’s conscience from dead works. “Let a person examine himself,” the Apostle teaches, “and so let him eat of this bread and drink from this cup” (1 Cor. 11:28). Confession, accompanied by hatred of sin and a vow to turn away from it in every way, makes a person’s spirit a vessel capable of containing the incomprehensible God, by His grace. Resolve and a vow are the place where the Lord communes with us in the Eucharist, for it alone is pure; everything else within us is impure. Therefore, no one comes worthy of their own accord; rather, it is the Lord, by His grace, who deems them worthy because of their confession with contrition and their vow.

One could limit the matter to this alone: confess worthily—and you will be a worthy communicant. But confession itself is a sacrament requiring worthy preparation, and, moreover, to reach its fullness, it requires specific actions, feelings, and dispositions that cannot be accomplished or manifested all at once, but require time and, in a certain sense, exclusive devotion to them. Therefore, it has always been performed according to a well-known rite, with preliminary acts and exercises that prepare one for it, which contribute either to a better understanding of sins, or to the arousal and manifestation of contrition for them, or to the strengthening of the resolve to keep one’s vow. All of these together constitute the period of preparation.

It follows, then, that in order to elevate and strengthen the life of grace through the Sacraments, one must observe a period of spiritual preparation with all its requirements—that is, to confess one’s sins and, having prepared oneself in this way, to worthily receive Holy Communion. One must, therefore, observe this period of spiritual preparation—or, rather, undertake it—because it has already been established for us by the Holy Church. The four fasts have been established for this very purpose: so that those zealous for piety may fast, confess, and receive Holy Communion during them. Therefore, it should be established as a rule that those seeking perfection should fast four times a year, during all the major fasts. This is how it is written in the “Orthodox Confession.” However, this does not prevent those who are zealous from fasting more often or even constantly; nor is it imposed as a yoke on those who, due to their circumstances, are unable to fulfill this. One need only do this: do everything in one’s power to fast four times a year. For laypeople, four times is a modest, moderate measure and, as experience has shown, a very salvific one. Those who do so do not stand out from the rest, and therefore will not boast of having surpassed them. It is permissible, however, to observe fasting twice during Great Lent and the Nativity Fast—at the beginning and at the end. This will make a total of six fasts.

Fasting should be distinguished from abstinence, or the proper observance of fasts according to the Church’s canons. It is part of fasting, but differs from it in its greater strictness regarding food and sleep, and in that it is always combined with other pious activities, such as: setting aside worldly cares and affairs as much as possible; reading, for those who can, the sacred books; regular attendance at church for the prescribed services; and so on. In general, this time is devoted exclusively to pious activities, all of which are directed toward properly offering repentance and confession and then receiving Holy Communion.

Thus, it is evident that the entire essence of Lent consists in a cleansing of one’s whole life, a restoration of its entire order, a refocusing of one’s goals, a renewal of communion with the Lord, and a renewal of the spirit and our entire being. This is akin to washing a soiled garment or bathing in a sauna after a journey. A Christian is on a journey, and no matter how careful he may be, he cannot escape the dust—passionate thoughts and the stains of sin. No matter how small the impurity may be, it is like a speck of dust in the eye or a grain of sand in a clock—the eye cannot see, the clock does not run. Therefore, it is inevitable that we must cleanse ourselves from time to time. How wisely, then, is this arranged for us in the Church, and how salvific it is to submit with humility to such an institution!

This is the meaning of fasting! It is a means of nourishing, warming, and preserving life within us, but above all, it is a thorough examination of our lives, our failures, their causes, and the establishment of ways to avoid them. When sins are recognized, cast out of the heart with contrition and aversion, and washed away through confession with a vow, then the vessel is ready. In Holy Communion, the Lord comes and communes with the spirit of the worthy, who must feel: I am not alone, but with You.

Approaching Continuous Fasting

Fasting is a one-time act, but the spirit of fasting must be elevated to a state of continuous action, and for this purpose, one must engage in certain exercises that help to root it firmly.

Since penance comprises three sanctifying acts—fasting, confession, and Holy Communion—these three must be elevated to the greatest possible continuity, or to the greatest possible frequency. To this end, one must:

a) Regarding fasting

1. Observe all major fasts (those lasting several days—Ed.) or spend the time of fasting in penance—that is, going beyond mere abstinence—so that the flesh itself feels deprivation, lack, and discomfort. A specific number of fasting days is set aside for penance, during which one sets aside one’s usual activities and devotes oneself exclusively to the purification of conscience; during penance, daily life proceeds as usual; fasting is reduced, and other activities are determined by one’s circumstances. The mere mortification of the flesh through the cessation of all pleasures—as befits a time of lamentation—both lightens the spirit and attracts God’s mercy. What a powerful means of spiritual growth this is!

2. Observing fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays. From time to time, this strongly reminds a person that he is not free but in bondage, under a burden; it curbs the outpouring of sensuality, sobers the mind, and imparts vigor; it is, as it were, the brief restraint of a fiery horse with a bridle and reins.

3. Furthermore, voluntarily observing fasting on other days as well, especially on Mondays, as is customary. Some deny themselves certain kinds of food and consistently eat only fasting foods, while others do so every other day, and so on. There are various forms of fasting, and all are beneficial and recommended according to one’s strength and zeal.

b) Regarding Confession

1. Every sin that weighs on the conscience must be hastily cleansed through repentance, without waiting for a specific time of fasting. It is good not to keep it on one’s conscience even for a single day, and even better not for a single hour, for sin drives away grace, robs one of boldness and prayer, and hardens and cools the heart all the more the longer it is held onto. But when cast out through repentance, it leaves behind the moving dew of tears.

2. Every day, before going to sleep, make a private confession to the Lord, in which all that is sinful—in thoughts, desires, feelings, and passionate impulses—as well as all that is impure in righteous deeds is revealed to God, in a spirit of repentance, as that which, though seemingly done against one’s will, it nonetheless exists within us and renders us impure and unworthy before God and before our own sense of purity and perfection. When going to sleep, one departs, as it were, into the next world; confession prepares one for this. During sleep, what has been accumulated during the day is transformed into our very nature—it must be purified, and what is unworthy must be rejected with contrition; after that, all becomes pure.

3. To make confession every moment—that is, to confess to the all-seeing God, with a contrite spirit, every thought, every desire, feeling, and impulse that is wicked and impure, as soon as you become aware of it, and to ask for forgiveness and the strength to avoid it in the future; just as you purify yourself from defilement at that very moment. This practice is most salvific. It is like wiping one’s eyes while walking through dust; it requires the heart’s strict attention. One who is already collected is always diligent and zealous. On the contrary, by leaving thoughts and desires unconfessed through contrition and repentance, one leaves a wound in the heart. And how many unnoticed wounds there are, how many infections! Is it any wonder, then, that there follows a cooling of the spirit and a fall? One thought leads more easily to another, and one desire leads to another—consent, and from there, inner adultery and a fall. But the one who repents unceasingly continually purifies himself and clears the path before him.

4. To share one’s thoughts—that is, to reveal any perplexity, confusion, or new insight to a like-minded person or one’s spiritual father—so that he may resolve the matter, determine its merit, and render a judgment. This avoids stagnation and deviation, cultivates the habit of making decisions independently, and, consequently, saves time that is sometimes wasted on idle daydreaming. Most importantly, it provides unceasing security and an unshakable firmness of conviction, which is linked to firmness of will and steadfastness of action.

Through all these actions, confession truly becomes unceasing. The spirit remains in contrition, in tenderness, in self-abasement, in prayerful prostration—and thus it lives. Of all deeds, this is the most suitable for preserving the spirit of zeal and the fervor of devotion, so much so that for some, all their actions—both for themselves and for others—were limited to one thing: to repent moment by moment and weep over their sins.

c) Regarding Communion

1. One should attend the Liturgy as often as possible and, during its celebration, stand in firm and bright faith in the sacrifice of God being offered at that time. The Sacrament of the Body and Blood is divine food for Christians and is a sacrifice. Not everyone receives Communion at the Liturgy, nor is it received at every service, but the sacrifice is offered by all and for all. That is why everyone must participate in it. They participate through faith, through painful contrition for sins, and through humble submission to the Lord, who offers Himself as a sacrifice—like a lamb—for the life of the world. A single living contemplation of this Sacrament powerfully revives and stirs the spirit. Faith and contrition, in turn, always bring about the cleansing of sins, and not infrequently a secret touch of the Lord upon the Christian’s heart, sweetening and reviving it, as it were, a spiritual communion.

Such a touch is sweeter than honey and honeycomb and more strengthening than all spiritual tonics. But one must remember that it is entirely a gift from God. When, to whom, and how it is granted depends on the Lord Himself. A Christian should receive it with reverence and joy and rejoice when it is granted, but should not strive for it, invent ways to obtain it, or even try to determine whether it is happening or what form it takes. This is to avoid pride and prevent delusion.

2. If you cannot be in the church, do not let the hour of the sacred and Divine Sacrifice pass without a sigh and a turning to God; if possible, stand in prayer and make a few bows. Anything terrifying in nature causes all creation to tremble: thunder, for example, an earthquake, or a storm. At the moment of the Divine Sacrifice in the church, the most awe-inspiring and greatest work on earth and in heaven is performed—but it is performed invisibly, spiritually, before the face of the boundless Triune God, the holy Angels, the entire host of the Heavenly Church, and before the eyes of faith of all who strive and live on earth—invisible, yet nonetheless real. That is why the believer must not let these moments pass unnoticed. But when they are remembered, this very remembrance kindles the spirit and lifts it up to God, thereby drawing down grace.

This is how the practices of fasting can approach continuity, so that, together with inner effort, they may maintain—with constant intensity and strength—the fervor of zeal and the spirit of seeking, and through its help transform all spiritual and physical endeavors into means of salvation for the renewal and strengthening of our inner self.

Such is the general order of the guiding rules. Being founded on the essence of life, it is absolutely necessary for everyone who seeks the Lord. But here only the principles, spirit, and power of the rules are indicated: for example, with regard to the body—denying the flesh in all bodily functions; or with regard to external life—withdrawal from everything imbued with the spirit of the passions, the commitment of the soul with all its strength, and walking under the influence of the means of grace. These are the essential points of ascetic activity. As for the application of these principles, it must vary according to the diverse circumstances of individuals, and in this case, it is impossible to lay down a single rule. For example, to heal the mind, one must imprint upon it the divine truths, as understood by the Holy Church. This can be done through reading, listening, and conversation, drawing from the Word of God, the teachings of the Fathers, the lives of the saints, and sermons. It is up to the spiritual father to determine which method is most appropriate for each person and how it can be carried out. However one is able to do this, let them simply do it. For while asceticism is, in itself, a single reality, it manifests outwardly in an infinite variety of forms. It must be borne in mind, however, that a spiritual father who extinguishes the spirit of zeal through various concessions and indulgences, or who comforts and lulls those who have grown cold, is a destroyer of souls and a murderer; for there is but one path—narrow and sorrowful.

The fullest and most successful fulfillment of all this belongs to monasticism. It is a way of life that, in its best, purest, and most perfect form, fulfills the demands of asceticism, precisely in spirit. It is difficult and penitential; it always consists of those who lead and those who are led; by its very nature removed from the outside world, yet by its very nature bound to the needs of the body; it offers the greatest scope for the practice of spiritual exercises, readings, divine services, prayer, and obedience; it is especially suited to the active eradication of passions—in general, through non-possessiveness, strictness, restlessness, and self-forgetfulness, and in particular, under the guidance of a spiritual director. Then, in the attentive monk, an inner longing for God soon matures—for the sake of the most resolute self-sacrifice and detachment from all things, for the sake of a greater ability to dwell within oneself, and for the sake of being nourished abundantly by the spirit of prayer. Therefore, the attentive monk soon ascends here to silence, to the solitude of the mind, and withdraws to a place of rest—to the desert or a cell.

Rules for the Struggle Against Passions, or the Principles of Self-Resistance

Remaining in the manner described is a strong and powerful means for the eradication of passion, for our purification and correction. By abiding in it with full awareness and freedom, a person—by setting aside passion, as it were—destroys it, denying it nourishment or covering it, as with a yoke, with the prescribed rules to the full extent of one’s strength and activity. Passions stifled in this way fade away like a candle under a vessel. However, it is impossible to limit oneself to this single positive activity alone. Rules are established as remedies for faculties that have been corrupted and saturated with passion. The very same power that is present in evil must now be directed toward good. Therefore, one cannot help but encounter evil at the very beginning and inception of activity, in the first movement of the powers. If good and evil cannot coexist, and if pure good—without any admixture of evil—is required of us, then evil must be driven out in every endeavor in order to begin and accomplish pure good. Thus, in continuous connection with the direct, positive exertion of one’s powers is always accompanied by an indirect effort directed toward driving out the evil and passion that arise within them—in other words, the struggle against passions and lusts. The very establishment of oneself in these feats and the training in them is achieved through struggle and battle, through victory over temptations and seductions. Who has ever been a fasting ascetic without struggling against the belly, or a truly childlike believer without overcoming self-will and self-assertion? And this applies not to any single aspect, but throughout the entire course of positive activity, beginning at its innermost source and extending to its final boundary in detachment from the world. Everywhere there is battle, so that the order described, while restoring strength and nature, is at the same time the arena of unceasing spiritual warfare. Overcome what is unnatural in strength, and it will yield to what is natural; drive away and reject evil—and you will see good. Asceticism is unceasing victory.

The possibility, foundation, and condition of all inner victories is the first victory over oneself—in the breaking of the will and in surrendering oneself to God, with a hostile rejection of all that is sinful. Here was born a dislike of passion, hatred, and aversion, which is the spiritual military force and alone replaces the entire army. Where it is absent, victory is already in the enemy’s hands without a fight; conversely, where it is present, victory is often granted to us without a fight. From this it is clear that just as our innermost self is the starting point of positive action, so too is it the starting point of battle—only in the opposite direction. Consciousness and free will, the transition to the side of good, accompanied by love for it, strike down with hatred every evil and every passion—and, moreover, one’s own. This, in fact, is the very essence of the transition, the turning point. Therefore, the power that struggles against the passions is also the mind, or the spirit, in which consciousness and freedom reside—a spirit sustained and strengthened by grace. Through it, as we have seen, the healing power flows to the faculties through acts of virtue; through it, too, the striking, destructive power flows toward the passions in the struggle. And conversely: when the passions rise up, they aim directly at the mind or spirit—that is, at the subjugation of consciousness and freedom. They are in the sanctuary of our inner self, where the enemy, through the passions, fires his fiery arrows from the soul-body, as if from an ambush. And as long as consciousness and freedom remain intact—that is, as long as they stand on the side of good—no matter how great the attack may be, victory is ours.

This, however, does not imply that the entire power of victory comes from us; rather, it merely reveals its source. The fulcrum of the battle is our restored spirit; the power that conquers and destroys the passions is grace. It builds one thing within us and destroys another—but again, through the spirit, that is, through consciousness and free will. The one who fights with a cry surrenders himself to God, complaining about his enemies and hating them, and God, in him and through him, drives them away and strikes them down. “Take heart,” says the Lord, “I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” the Apostle confesses (Phil. 4:13)—just as without Him we can do nothing. Whoever wants to conquer on his own will undoubtedly fall either into the very passion he is fighting against or into a secondary one. But the one who has surrendered himself to God gains victory as if from nothing. This, again, does not deny the existence of opposition, but merely shows that, despite all opposition, success or victory can never be our own; and if it exists, it is always from God. That is why you should resist and struggle in every possible way, but do not cease to cast all your sorrow upon the living God, Who says: “I am with you in the day of evil—do not be afraid.”

How, then, should a person act now, or what methods are generally suitable for subduing the passions? To determine this, one must examine and identify all of his enemies, as well as the forms in which they appear and act; from this, the nature of the battle against them will become clear of its own accord. Success in battle depends greatly on a clear understanding of its entire composition.

Our progress toward goodness is never peaceful, because our passions are still alive and are strongly reinforced by the present world—the vain, visible world—and by the dark forces that rule within it. These are the sources of the impulses that rise up within us against goodness.

A person is entirely ruled by passions until conversion. Upon conversion, the spirit, filled with zeal, becomes pure. The soul and the body, however, remain passionate. When their purification and healing begin, they resist and rebel against the spirit that is driving them, clinging to their own lives. These rebellions are carried out primarily through bodily and mental forces and afflict the spirit to the extent that these forces are assimilated by it. But there are movements directed straight at the spirit. These are fiery arrows that the enemy shoots from the ambushes of the flesh and soul at the captive who has escaped his tyranny. Hence, even though there is a part of us that is healed or whole, the rebellions of sin and the passions manifest themselves and are felt throughout our entire being.

1. In the body: their root cause is sensual indulgence—or the gratification of the flesh—which is directly linked to the exuberance of bodily life and sensual pleasure. Where these exist, there is lustful desire, gluttony, sensual indulgence, sloth, effeminacy, wandering of the senses, loquacity, distraction, restlessness, licentiousness in all things, frivolity, idle talk, drowsiness, slumber of the eyes, a thirst for pleasure, and every kind of creation of carnal gratification in lust.

2. In the soul: a) in the intellectual part—self-willedness, trust in one’s own mind alone, rebellion, resistance to God’s mind, doubt, arrogance (pride—Ed.) and boasting, inquisitiveness, distraction of the mind, wandering of thoughts; b) in the appetitive part—self-will, disobedience, lust for power, cruelty, enterprisingness, presumption, self-appropriation, ingratitude, possessiveness, and greed; c) in the affective part—passions that disturb the peace and tranquility of the heart, or various kinds of pleasures and pains: anger, envy, hatred, malice, revenge, condemnation, contempt, love of glory, vanity, pride, longing, sorrow, grief, despondency, joy, merriment, fears, hopes, and expectations.

The source of all these mental and physical passions is self-love or the self, which, though initially conquered or rejected, often rises up again and, taking on the form of some passion, enters into battle with the spirit. This remaining self, with its entire host of passions, constitutes the now smoldering carnal man and is precisely that “law in my members” mentioned by the Apostle (Rom. 7:23), from which something always arises that is contrary to what the spirit desires. The Holy Fathers, so as not to distract the attention of the Christian spiritual warrior, sought to trace all passions back to their roots, in order to show what the warrior should aim to overcome. To this end, they identified three at the source—the self: sensuality, covetousness, and pride—and then five others that stem from these. Limiting themselves to these, they described their rise and indicated the method of combating them. Whoever cuts off sensual pleasure through self-denial, covetousness through non-acquisitiveness, and pride through humility has conquered self-centeredness, for it is easier to eradicate it in its offspring than in itself. All this pertains to the soul and the body. But even the spirit, once revived—or, better yet, in the process of being revived—is not free from afflictions, which are all the more dangerous because they touch the very source of life and are often imperceptible due to their subtlety and depth. And here, just as in the soul and the body, there is a contrary series of movements and states that repels and obscures the entire fabric of inner spiritual life. Thus, it often happens that instead of inward abiding and composure, there is an outpouring from oneself, a flight into the senses; instead of the three acts of inner abiding—attention, alertness, and sobriety—there is distraction of the mind, inner turmoil, vanity, weakness, complacency, self-neglect, licentiousness, audacity, captivity, addiction, and a wounded heart; instead of awareness of the spiritual world—there is forgetfulness of God, death, judgment, and all that is spiritual.

Since consciousness—founded on inner abiding—is the essence of the spirit, when it falls, so too does vital activity. From this arise, in place of the fear of God and a sense of dependence on Him—fearlessness; in place of choosing and cherishing the spiritual—indifference toward it; in place of detachment from all things—self-indulgence (why torment oneself!); instead of feelings of repentance—numbness, a hardened heart; instead of faith in the Lord—self-justification; instead of zeal—apathy, lethargy, and lack of enthusiasm; and instead of devotion to God—self-indulgence.

When they assail one’s consciousness or freedom, any one of these feelings either completely blocks or diminishes the source of our spiritual life and places us in extreme danger. This is when outside help is absolutely necessary. Sometimes a person is not even aware of these tempting impulses, for they belong to the category of the subtlest thoughts. Emotional and physical passions are more obvious and coarse, though even among them there are subtle ones, such as the desire for physical comfort, self-will, and rebellion. They are clear in words but often hidden in deeds.

Behold the horde of rebellions of sin, ready at every moment to extinguish our new life… A person walks the earth of his being as if on quicksand, ready to sink at any moment. When you walk, walk with caution, lest your foot stumble upon a stone.

However, while living under the yoke of new rules and order, with the spirit active, all these unrighteous movements would not be so fierce if they were not aided by their neighboring parents—the world and the demons.

The world is the realized realm of passions, or passions made manifest in people, customs, and deeds. When one comes into contact with it in any way, one cannot help but stir up the corresponding wound—or passion—within oneself, due to their similarity and shared disposition. Therefore, everyone living in the world is drawn to them through the passions living within them , prompted by various occasions and temptations.

But there are certain attractions that belong to the world itself. These include: its alluring appearance and success in all things, its terrifying power—the feeling of abandonment and desolation amidst the multitude, and in all things—obstacles, sarcasm, mockery, contempt, indifference, and torment through lawless deeds. These are then followed by oppression, persecution, bitterness, deprivation, and sorrows of every kind.

And the demons, as the sources of all evil, surrounding people everywhere with their hordes, teach them every kind of sin, acting through the flesh—especially the senses and that element in which both the soul and the demons themselves reside. That is why every passion and every sinful rebellion can be attributed to them as the cause. But there is something within the cycle of sin that only the demons themselves can instill, something to which, despite all corruption, human nature appears incapable: namely, blasphemous thoughts—doubts, unbelief, extraordinary aversion, mental clouding, various kinds of delusions, and, in general, passionate, intoxicating temptations, such as: uncontrollable lust, deadly and persistent hatred, and so on. In addition to these invisible struggles against demons, there are visible attacks from them, perceptible through the body: these are various kinds of apparitions, extending even to their power over the body. To recognize all the cunning of demons, it is helpful to read the lives of Niphon, Spyridon, and others.

This is everything that rises up against the new man, both within and without. Those who are attentive say that not a single moment passes without the influence of one of these movements, which is inevitable, for we see how the inner self, zealous for goodness, is surrounded on all sides by a hostile horde and immersed in it as in a sea. However, in addition to perceiving this multitude of enemies, to succeed in battle one must also know the forms these attacks take.

Let us imagine where a person’s focus lies. It is turned inward, toward another world; there, something different stands and acts. His thoughts are on spiritual matters, and his intentions are directed toward spiritual deeds. This means they have turned away from the passionate and the sinful. When, later on, an order of rules conducive to the development of goodness is established, it will become clear that they stand entirely within the realm of spiritual, holy light. The sinful and the passionate have been removed from their attention and lie under the yoke of the rules. They pop up occasionally, from time to time, and then retreat again, drawing attention or not. They reveal themselves only to the inner eye, reminding one of their presence; they want only to be engaged with, to be thought about, to be pondered. Therefore, the primary form in which the enemy manifests within us is the thought. When the enemy succeeds in occupying our mind with an evil thought, he is already not without gain, and often may even claim victory, because a desire may soon incline toward that thought, and following the desire comes a decision and action—and this is already sin and a fall. On this basis, the holy fathers, who were attentive to themselves, identify the following forms and degrees of the uprising of the passions and the entanglement in them: the intrusion of a thought, a thought itself, delight, desire, passion, attraction, decision, and, following that, action. In the way they manifest, they sometimes develop gradually, one after another; at other times, each appears separately, as if out of order—except for the decision, which is never an immediate act but is preceded by reflection and the inclination of free will: as long as it is absent, purity remains intact and the conscience is clear. Therefore, all acts preceding it are designated by a single word: “thought”—either on its own or with a modifier—a simple thought, a passionate thought, a lustful thought; for it appears within us either simply as a thought, a mere representation of a sinful object, or as lust, craving, desire, or, finally, as passion, as an inclination. All of these beckon and tempt the mind or spirit toward what is passionate and sinful, but this is not yet evil or sin until the mind consents to them, engages in a struggle with them every time they appear, and drives them out. The scope of this battle extends from the moment a thought, lust, passion, or attraction arises until their disappearance and the eradication of every trace of them; all the rules of this battle are directed toward this end. It is true that the world acts in general, just as Satan does, but their temptations reach our consciousness only in one of these three ways, for their entire aim is to unsettle our inner state and draw us toward them. All their wiles are directed toward this end, so that in this regard, it is not the methods or actions they employ against us that matter, but rather what they aim to stir up within us—that is what is important and valuable in life and action. For example, in persecutions, the goal is not a person’s suffering, but the thought of complaint, despair, or abandonment of virtue. Consequently, with regard to spiritual warfare, one can decisively state: regardless of where and how sin is stirred up, direct all your strength and attention toward that very sin; begin your struggle with it and fight against it. This law is of the utmost importance: it will keep a person centered within, and thus strong and, in a certain sense, safe. That is why, in the writings of the Holy Fathers, all the rules are directed toward thoughts, passions, and desires and are applied to their nature; the causes, however, are not mentioned, or if they are mentioned, it is without attaching any special significance to them in this regard and often without distinction. For the world, demons, and lust can all arouse—and do arouse—the same passion, but this does not give it a distinct character. Thus, this is where the ascetic’s entire attention must be directed—inward, toward thoughts, desires, passions, and inclinations—primarily, however, toward thoughts, for the heart and the will are not as changeable as thought, and passions and desires rarely arise on their own but are for the most part born of thoughts. Hence the rule: cut off a thought—and you will cut off everything.

After this, it is very easy to outline the general principles of spiritual warfare. They are sufficiently described in *Letters on the Christian Life*. We will quote them from there.

Among the rules of spiritual warfare that constitute the Christian’s art of war, some contribute to the prevention of attacks, others to the easiest and most successful conclusion of the battle, and still others to the most secure consolidation of the fruits of victory or to the swiftest eradication of the consequences of defeat; and these are therefore naturally divided into three classes: a) rules to be observed before battle, b) during the battle itself, and c) after the battle.

Before battle, a warrior must act in such a way that, through his actions, he either prevents attacks, enables himself to detect them at the very outset, or even prepares the ground for victory. Therefore, first and foremost, he must—restrict the scope of sinful impulses, confine them to a single place; for in this way, it will not only be easier for him to detect disturbances, but it will also be clearer where to direct his efforts.

1. The general outline of the realm of sin is as follows: having established itself at the center of life—the heart—sin penetrates the soul and body through all their functions, then spreads to all of a person’s external relationships, and finally casts its shadow over everything surrounding him. Now, even when driven out of the depths of the heart, it still hovers in its vicinity, still feeding on what it fed on before; faces, objects, and events can easily stir up the same thoughts and feelings that a person associated with them when he was serving sin. A prudent warrior must now cut off this external sustenance of the enemy. To do this, he must: a) reorganize his entire outward conduct, giving everything in it a new form, new motivations, a new schedule, and so on, in keeping with the spirit of the new life; b) arrange his time so that not a single hour remains without a proper occupation. The intervals free from necessary activities must be filled not with just anything, but with activities that contribute to mortifying sin and strengthening the spirit. Anyone can experience for themselves how beneficial certain physical exercises—contrary to the aforementioned inclinations—are in this regard; c) to restrain one’s senses, especially the eyes, ears, and tongue, which are the easiest conduits for sin from the heart outward and from the outside into the heart; d) to assign a spiritual significance to everything one must encounter—things, people, and circumstances—and, in particular, to fill one’s permanent dwelling with objects that are most striking to the soul, so that, in this way, while living in the external world, one might live, as it were, in a kind of Divine school. In general, one’s entire external life should be arranged in such a way that, on the one hand, it no longer requires special attention and frees us from any concern for ourselves, and on the other hand, not only protects us from unexpected outbursts of sin but also nourishes and strengthens the new life of the spirit that is emerging. Under such an arrangement, sin will be completely fenced off from the outside; it will no longer receive nourishment or reinforcement from here.

2. If a person now exerts every effort from within to preserve himself as he is, in the state in which he emerged from his first victory—that is, if he constantly rekindles the feelings and dispositions that were revived in him at that time—then sin will be fenced off from within as well and will remain here forever without support or firmness. Sin, thus deprived of nourishment and support, if not destroyed at once, must at least grow weaker and weaker until it is completely exhausted. After this, the struggle against sin will obviously diminish and will be entirely focused on the struggle against thoughts (which will be particularly inclined to disrupt the new order), and rarely against passions and inclinations, where one need only remain vigilant… Indeed, the warrior of Christ must constantly have two vigilant guards: sobriety and discernment. The first is directed inward, and the latter outward; the former watches over the movements arising from the heart itself, while the latter anticipates the movements that may arise within it due to external influences. The rule for the first: once every thought has been banished from the soul by the remembrance of God’s presence, stand at the door of the heart and carefully watch over everything entering and leaving it; above all, do not allow feelings and desires to precede your actions, for all evil stems from this. The rule for the second: at the beginning of each day, sit down and consider all possible encounters and situations, as well as all possible feelings and impulses that may arise in connection with them, and prepare in advance within yourself the necessary defense against them, so that you will not be thrown into confusion or fall when an unexpected attack occurs. However, in order to act more effectively during the attack itself, it is useful to engage in deliberate mental combat beforehand, mentally placing oneself in various circumstances, with various feelings and desires, and to devise various ways of keeping oneself within proper bounds, noting what was particularly helpful in one situation versus another. Such preliminary practice fosters a warrior’s spirit, accustoming one to face the enemy without fear and to defeat him without great difficulty, as if following tried-and-true methods. Furthermore, before we engage in battle, we must first determine when to act offensively, when defensively, and when to retreat. Aside from the fact that the use of one method of combat or another corresponds to the stages of spiritual growth, it is best at first to retreat—that is, to take refuge under the Lord’s protection without offering resistance. Furthermore, once we have come to know our enemies through experience and studied their attacks, we can repel them without delay; however, we must not deliberately allow passions to arise within ourselves or place ourselves in circumstances where they are free to act with full force, merely to create an opportunity for battle and victory. There are certain intense emotional stirrings that can be overcome exclusively by one method or another. Thoughts must certainly be driven away, but this is not always possible with inclinations and passions, especially those of a physical nature. In either case, one may lose the victory simply through ignorance. Finally, one must never go into battle without the central, victorious thought—it is, as it were, the banner of victory. Just as it previously decided the matter between good and evil in favor of the former, so now, during the battle against each particular sinful movement of the soul, it will effortlessly make us victors. With its appearance, all hordes of enemies, all vicious thoughts and desires, must be scattered. It has the power to inspire and elevate a person above oneself; therefore, one must bring it to mind as often as possible and make it a living reality—to establish this light, which dispels darkness, forever in the firmament of the mind. Nothing can kindle the zeal to eradicate sin more strongly than this thought—a zeal that is like a swift stream of living water, which, rippling but not churning, renders imperceptible all the waves caused by the stones of temptation cast into it.

With such precautions and rules, go forth, soldier of Christ, with confidence into battle. However, even during the battle itself, you must act according to established rules, so as not to resemble enemies who attack haphazardly while defending themselves. Often, a single orderly course of action, without undue strain, can bring you success. When you notice the enemy approaching—the beginning of agitation, whether in thought, passion, or inclination—first and foremost, hasten to recognize that these are enemies. It is a great mistake, and a universal one, to regard everything that arises within us as our own inherent property, for which we must stand as we would for ourselves. Everything sinful is something that has come to us; therefore, it must always be separated from ourselves, otherwise we will have a traitor within ourselves. Whoever wishes to wage war against himself must divide himself into himself and the enemy lurking within him.

Once you have separated yourself from a known sinful impulse and recognized it as an enemy, then convey this awareness to your feelings and rekindle aversion to it in your heart. This is the most effective means of driving out sin. Every sinful impulse is sustained in the soul by a certain sense of pleasure derived from it; therefore, when aversion to it is aroused, it, having lost all support, disappears of its own accord. However, this is not always easy or even possible: it is easy to strike down thoughts with anger, harder to strike down desires, but even harder to strike down passions, for they themselves are movements of the heart. When this does not help and the enemy does not yield victory without a fight, enter the struggle courageously, but without arrogance or overconfidence. Timidity throws the soul into confusion, into a state of instability and laxity, and, not being firmly grounded in itself, it can easily fall. Arrogance and conceit are enemies in themselves that must be fought: whoever allows them has already fallen and has predisposed himself to further falls, for they lead a person into inaction and carelessness. Once the battle has begun, guard your heart above all else: do not let emerging impulses reach your emotions; meet them at the very entrance to your soul and strive to strike them down there. And to this end, hasten to establish in your soul convictions that are contrary to those upon which the troubling thought is based. Such counter-convictions are, in the battle of the mind, not only a shield but also arrows—they protect your heart and strike the enemy right in the heart. From then on, the battle will consist of the emerging sin being constantly shielded by thoughts and ideas that defend it, while the one fighting it will, for his part, destroy these strongholds with opposing thoughts and ideas. The duration of this struggle depends on a wide variety of circumstances, which are impossible to determine with certainty. One must simply not grow weak or, even in thought, lean in the enemy’s direction—and victory is assured, for the sinful impulse, as we noted earlier, has no firm foothold within us and will therefore naturally cease soon. If, even after this conscientious effort to defend yourself, the enemy still lingers in your soul like a ghost and refuses to yield, this is a clear sign that he is being sustained by an external force; therefore, you must turn to outside help—whether earthly or heavenly—by confiding in your spiritual director and, in fervent prayer, invoking the Lord, all the saints, and especially your Guardian Angel. Devotion to God has never gone unrewarded. It should be noted, however, that it is one thing to battle thoughts, another to battle passions, and yet another to battle desires: for thoughts differ from one another, desires differ from one another, and passions differ from one another. In all of this, one must employ specific methods, which must first be determined either through reflection or from the experiences and teachings of ascetics. But one should not always resort to strict resistance: sometimes mere contempt drives the enemy away, while resistance only multiplies him and provokes him. The enemy must be pursued until not even a trace of it remains; otherwise, even a simple thought left in the heart, like an evil seed, will bear fruit in an imperceptible inclination of the soul toward it. During the battle itself, one must not take measures to prevent it in the future. Rules devised in the heat of battle are always very strict, and therefore it is always necessary to change them; consequently, this leads to the experience of failure, which is so harmful in spiritual warfare and so tempting to the warrior.

The battle is over. Give thanks to the Lord for delivering you from defeat, but do not indulge excessively in the joy of salvation; do not give in to carelessness; do not let your zeal wane—the enemy often pretends to be defeated only so that, when you succumb to a sense of security, he may strike you all the more easily with a surprise attack. Therefore, do not lay aside your weapons of war, and do not forget the rules of self-protection. Always be an alert and vigilant warrior. It is better to sit down and take stock of the spoils: examine the entire course of the battle—its beginning, its continuation, and, finally, what gave rise to it, what particularly intensified it, and what brought it to an end. This will be a kind of tribute exacted from the vanquished, which will greatly facilitate future victories over them; thus, spiritual wisdom and ascetic experience are ultimately acquired. Do not speak to anyone about the victory—this will greatly irritate the enemy and sap your strength. The vanity that is impossible to avoid in such a situation will open the doors to spiritual fortification, and after defeating one enemy, you will have to fight against a whole host of them. But if you are defeated, be contrite, yet do not flee from God, and do not be obstinate; hasten to soften your heart and bring it to repentance. It is impossible not to fall, but it is possible—and indeed necessary—to rise again after falling. One who runs swiftly, even if he stumbles over something, quickly gets up and rushes onward toward his goal—follow his example. Our Lord is like a mother who leads a child by the hand and does not abandon him, even if he stumbles and falls very often. Instead of sinking into passive despondency, take heart for new feats, drawing from this fall a lesson in humility and prudence, so as not to walk where it is slippery and where one cannot help but fall. If you do not erase sin through sincere repentance, then, having gained some foothold within you, it will inevitably drag you down to the depths of the sea of sin. Sin will prevail over you, and you will have to start all over again from the very beginning of the struggle—but God alone knows whether that will even be possible. Perhaps, by giving in to sin now, you will cross the line of repentance; perhaps, after that, there will no longer be a single truth capable of striking your heart; perhaps you will not even be granted grace. Then, even here, you will be numbered among those condemned to eternal torment.

In general, regarding the rules of spiritual warfare, it should be noted that they are, in essence, nothing other than the application of the full arsenal to specific cases, and that, for this reason, it is impossible to describe them all. The nature of the inner struggle is unfathomable and hidden; the situations it involves are extremely varied, and the combatants are too different: what is a temptation for one means nothing to another; what strikes one leaves another completely indifferent. Therefore, it is absolutely impossible to establish a single set of rules for everyone. The best creator of rules for this struggle is each person for themselves. Experience will teach everything; one need only have a fervent desire to conquer oneself. The first ascetics did not learn from books, and yet they serve as models of victors. Moreover, one should not rely too heavily on these rules—they represent only an external outline. What constitutes the essence of the matter, each person learns only through experience, when they actually engage in the struggle. And in this endeavor, their only guides remain their own prudence and their surrender to God. The inner course of the Christian life within each person brings to mind ancient underground passages, exceedingly intricate and hidden. Upon entering them, the person being tested receives a few general instructions—do this here, do that there, follow this sign here, and that one there—and is then left alone in the darkness, sometimes with only the faint light of a lamp. Everything depends on their presence of mind, prudence, and caution, as well as on invisible guidance. A similar secrecy prevails in the inner Christian life. Here, everyone walks alone, even if surrounded by a multitude of rules. Only the trained feelings of the heart—and especially the promptings of grace—are for him constant, infallible, and ever-present guides in the battle against himself; everything else abandons him.

Such is the course of the struggle against every passion, desire, and thought. Since passions, desires, and thoughts are all alike, there is no particular need to address the struggle against each thought individually. We will make only a few observations:

1. There are subtle and most subtle thoughts, and there are coarse and coarsest thoughts. Anyone can notice the latter on their own; the former are imperceptible while they dwell in the heart, but are revealed afterward—through one’s actions, and moreover, more to others than to oneself. Here is the impulse not to trust one’s own peace, goodness, and purity even a jot, but always to suspect them—to closely monitor the course of events and observe what thoughts accompany and conclude them, so as to judge from this later what originally lay within. It is best, however, to have another trusted observer—a trained eye will immediately point out what lies hidden within us, even if we do not notice it ourselves. When we speak of the subtlest thoughts, we do not mean only spiritual ones: they arise from both the body and the soul. Their distinctive characteristic is their imperceptibility, their concealment in the depths, so that a person thinks they are acting purely, without any admixture of passion, when in fact they are acting out of passion. The reason for this is a purity of heart that has not yet been established, or, better said, a failure to distinguish the natural from the superimposed. When this happens, the subtle and the subtlest will become coarse and the coarsest, for then attention will be sharpened by experience, and the senses of the heart will be trained to distinguish between good and evil.

2. There are thoughts, desires, and passions that come in the form of sudden surges and fleeting disturbances, and there are those that are constant, lasting for days, months, and years. The former are fleeting, but they should not be disregarded; rather, one must watch not only for them but also for their pattern. The enemy seems to follow a rule: not to begin suddenly with a passion, but with a thought, and to repeat it often. A thought driven away by anger the first time may be more easily accepted the second or third time; then a desire and a passion will arise, and from there it is but one step to consent and action. Persistent thoughts are heavy and deadly; it is they who are primarily called “tempters.” What one must know about them is that they are not of nature, though they are inherent in it by their very nature, but always come from the enemy; that the Lord permits them with a special purpose—for our purification—to test and confirm our faithfulness, faith, steadfastness, and ability to discern the inner person, — therefore, we must bear them with equanimity, even if they are exceedingly offensive to a new, grace-filled heart—such as blasphemy, despair, and unbelief. The main thing is never to yield to them, never to internalize them, and to keep the heart free from them, separating them from ourselves and our freedom through thought and faith.

3. The thoughts one must fight against are not always evil; often they appear good, and very often they are neutral. Regarding the evil ones, there is one rule: drive them away immediately; the latter, however, must be examined or reasoned through. This includes the much-praised skill of discerning which thoughts to act upon and which to reject. No rules can be prescribed for this: let everyone learn for themselves from their own experiences, for no two people are alike, meaning that what suits another may not suit us. It is better to do this: once a routine has been established, follow it, and cast aside everything new that arises, no matter how plausible it may seem. If a thought presents nothing harmful either in itself or in its consequences, even then do not yield to it immediately, but wait for the right time so as not to be rash. Some have waited five years and still not acted on a thought. The most important law, however, is not to trust your own mind and heart, but to submit every thought to your spiritual guide. Violation of this rule has always been—and remains—the cause of great downfalls and deceptions.

4. An evil thought tempts, while a plausible one beguiles. Whoever is led astray by the former is considered to have sinned and fallen, while whoever is led astray by the latter is considered to be under the spell of delusion. Is it possible to describe all forms of delusion in their origins and characteristics? One of their primary characteristics is that a person confidently considers himself to be something he is not—for example, called to instruct others, capable of an extraordinary life, and so on. Their source is the subtlest thought that “I am significant, and I am quite significant…” The insignificant person imagines something about himself. It is to this most secret pride that the enemy latches on and ensnares a person. Moreover, every subtle, wicked thought, unnoticed by us, keeps us in delusion; when we think we are guided by good and pious thoughts. In this regard, it can be said that not a moment passes when we are not under delusion; we walk as if among ghosts, ensnared by them in one form or another. This is because evil is still within us, not yet dissipated, while goodness lies on the surface; that is why our eyes are as if veiled by a mist of vapors.

5. As for each thought individually, it is good to gather information about them in advance—that is, to have an understanding of them, their causes, their consequences, and the ways to dispel them. This will serve as a reserve, very useful in times of battle; namely, when a thought cannot be dispelled by hatred and begins to multiply, tempting and persuading, then it is necessary to counter it with something refuting it. But to do this, one must have thoughts in reserve. In this regard, the Holy Fathers selected the eight principal passions and described them as models, which anyone seeking guidance can use. However, these are not the only subjects of spiritual struggle, but only the principal ones. Therefore, we find descriptions of other passions and rules for dealing with them in other works. The richest collection of these is found in the works of John Climacus.

6. There are carnal thoughts, there are mental thoughts, and there are spiritual thoughts. It is obvious to everyone that all of them can arise at any time, but naturally, carnal thoughts are more noticeable at first, while mental and spiritual thoughts reveal themselves later. Accordingly, the struggle must also shift or change its focus. One must know this so that, for example, the body—having been conquered—does not succumb to complacency born of a false sense of security, for it can still be defeated through the soul, and one who has subdued the soul can still be struck down in the spirit. In general, as long as there is breath, the struggle will not cease, though it may subside, and sometimes for a long time.

7. St. Dorotheus says: “There is the passion that acts, there is the one who struggles, and there is the one who conquers.” The first sins, the second begins to purify himself, and the third is close to dispassion. The more resolutely one resists passions—not yielding to them even in thought, let alone in desire or pleasure, or, if this happens, swiftly uprooting them from the heart by the roots, always bringing oneself to a state of aversion—the sooner one attains purity. The more yielding and indulgent one is toward oneself, the longer the process drags on, with pauses and setbacks. This depends on self-pity, or on failing to separate oneself from passion: by seemingly pitying oneself, a person nurtures the enemy and becomes an enemy to oneself.

8. The result of this struggle is purity of the mind from thoughts, of the heart from passions, and of the will from inclinations. When this purity is achieved, a person acts with dispassion. Their inner self becomes a pure mirror, reflecting spiritual objects.

9. The mental struggle against thoughts, desires, and passions should not constitute the sole means—one that excludes and replaces all others—for purifying us of our impurities, despite its absolute necessity, inevitability, and victorious power. It must be accompanied by the active struggle against passions—that is, their eradication, extinguishing, and annihilation (crushing—Ed.)—through actions that are their opposites. The reason for this is that passion has permeated (saturated, infiltrated—Ed.) our strength, and it has permeated it because we acted passionately. Every passionate act contributed a particle of passion to our strength, and through the accumulation of all such acts, our strength became overflowing with passion, like a sponge with water or a garment with a foul odor. Conversely, to extract this passion, one must engage in actions opposite to the former, so that each action, as it settles into the power, displaces a corresponding portion of passion from it, and a multitude of such actions, performed frequently and continuously, will eliminate all passion. Such a method, if used properly, is so powerful that those who practice it, after a few attempts, begin to feel a diminishing of their passions, a sense of relief and freedom, and a certain light in their soul. Mental struggle alone drives passion out of consciousness, but it still remains alive; it has merely been concealed. On the contrary, the opposite action strikes this serpent in the head. It does not follow, however, that one can cease mental struggle while engaged in action. It must accompany the action inseparably; otherwise, it may remain fruitless and even foster, rather than diminish, passion, because while fighting one passion, another may take hold—for example, vanity during fasting. If this is ignored, then, despite all effort, the practice will bear no fruit. Mental combat, when combined with active practice, strikes the passion from both outside and within, eradicating it as quickly as an enemy perishes when surrounded and defeated from both the front and the rear.

10. In this active self-correction, one must observe a certain order and sequence, in the structure of which one must pay attention to the nature of passion in general, to one’s own character, and to the virtuous conduct mentioned in the section on positive action. In the first case, one must focus on the principal passions: pleasure-seeking, lust, and pride—and, consequently, primarily train oneself in self-mortification and harshness, in squandering one’s possessions and destroying one’s belongings, in submitting and subjugating oneself to others, or in self-abasement (see Barsanuphius). Among the saints who have actively set out to purify themselves, deeds of this kind are always visible in the foreground. In the background lies their principal passion. This principal passion will manifest itself at the moment of conversion, during the recognition of one’s sinfulness and repentance. When a vow not to sin is made, this passion is the one that receives the most attention. Therefore, it must subsequently constitute the primary object of resistance against the sin dwelling within us. It overshadows all other passions, just as it binds them around itself or serves as a fulcrum for them. Other passions can only emerge once this one has been weakened and overcome, and they will be scattered along with it (dispersed, driven away—Ed.). One must arm oneself against it with all one’s strength from the very beginning, all the more so because there is often a great deal of hatred toward it, which gives one the strength to resist. And one cannot proceed to subdue the primary passions without first subduing this one. In the third respect, the order of virtue becomes evident of its own accord. Specifically, actions will first be directed against the dominant passion, then against the primary passions, and then, when both have subsided, virtue is free to finish off the remnants of the hostile horde as it sees fit—and more so according to an inner guidance. Whatever passion revives and manifests itself is the one against which actions must be directed. These are the goals of the struggle, and they must be pursued according to a well-known law. In addition to observing the order outlined above, the very act of resistance must be measured and steady, so as not to jump from one thing to another like a distracted person. There will be no true fruit, but only vanity will be sown. Act more decisively and without wavering—the closer you are to the end and to peace. Persevere in the undertaking you have begun until the fruit appears, for the end crowns the work… And one must also observe whatever experience reveals to the doer. It seems that this is how things proceed: immediately following the turning point comes an active struggle against the passions; arising from it or alongside it comes an immediate inner struggle; then, subsequently, they mutually reinforce and strengthen one another: as the inner grows, so does the outer; as the outer grows, so does the inner; finally, when both have grown strong enough, thoughts arise in a person of feats and deeds aimed at decisively extinguishing the passions, at cutting them off at the root. One should neither undertake great feats and deeds oneself nor advise others to do so. One must act gradually, growing and strengthening step by step, so that there is momentum and vigor. Otherwise, our actions will resemble a new patch on an old garment. The call to action must arise from within, just as a patient’s urge and intuition sometimes point the way to a decisively healing remedy.

11. The mental and active struggle against passions—while powerful in and of itself—is incomparably more urgent, fruitful, and rapid when it is guided by another. On your own, you will not always recognize the enemy in the battle of the mind, nor will you always be able to act against him and maintain zeal and determination in doing so; and most importantly—in both cases—you cannot have a single plan or preliminary outline to guide the entire struggle. It is utterly impossible to accomplish this on your own. It is necessary for someone to view both our present and our future from the outside. Therefore, entrusting oneself to a spiritual guide should be regarded as the best and most decisive means of self-improvement. He will employ the same method upon us and within us—active, mental combat—but, most importantly, according to his own judgment, plan, and discernment of the goal, the path, and the crossroads. Therefore, whoever desires and seeks purification, seek and implore from the Lord a fatherly guide; once you have found him, tell him everything about yourself—what you know and what you see within yourself. Then surrender yourself entirely to him, both inwardly and outwardly—surrender yourself like unworked material, so that he may build from it a house for the Lord, a new person. Having done this, cast aside all concern for yourself and take refuge carefree under the father’s wing. Let him lead you wherever and however he wishes; let him compel you to do whatever, whenever, and wherever he wishes. On our part, we offer him unquestioning obedience—unthinking, trusting, and willing—and a complete opening of our conscience to him, or the revelation of our thoughts, desires, passions, deeds, and words—everything we do and everything that happens to us. This enables him to see where we stand and the state of our inner being, and provides him with a basis for giving us advice and assigning us tasks accordingly. The disclosure of our thoughts and obedience to our father are the decisive destroyers of passions and conquerors of demons. Every time a revelation is made and what has been assigned in response is carried out, it is like cleansing a wound and changing the bandage. It is urgent medical treatment! The one who has opened up expels all that is impure and, through obedience, then receives what is pure—a new provision, healing nourishment, pure sap—just as one might take an emetic and then good food. But most importantly, the very root of the passions is cut off: namely, the self, the “I.” The one who leads the battle against the self still wages it on his own, and thus, while acts against the self, he in a certain way nourishes it. Under a spiritual guide, however, our “I” resolutely vanishes into his will from the very first moment, and with it, all the passions lose their foundation; thereafter, they arise and act without order, in confusion—yet even here, all their cunning is outwitted and rendered ineffective through candor. In general, this is a powerful way to quell the passions and quickly attain purity. All the experiences of the saints point in this direction; and there are countless examples… It should also be noted that the sooner, upon conversion, a spiritual director is found and chosen, the better. Zeal is alive and ready for anything, and what will a wise guide not do with it, especially when self-will—which endows one with stubbornness, distrust, argumentativeness, and the urge to correct—has not yet had time to take root… One who suffers from this, having chosen a leader, must first be healed of it in order to take his place as a good son, capable of being educated. It is a misfortune when the soul becomes accustomed to doing everything according to its own understanding and will.

12. Finally, the ultimate refinement, as it were, of our entire being—its purification as in fire—is accomplished by the Lord Himself. Specifically: from without—through sorrows; from within—through tears. It cannot be said that these appear only at the end, and did not exist before. No, they begin from the very start, from the very beginning, and accompany a person in the form of various troubles and heartache; and the more a person matures, the more intense they become. But this is how the Lord instills them in us, allowing—and, as it were, blessing—the ordinary course of external and internal events for our good. Toward the end, however, He deliberately arranges (corrects—Ed.) them, bestows tears, and brings about sorrows—either together or one after another, sometimes one first, then the other, and even one kind in one person and another in another. Sorrows are fire; tears are water. This is baptism by water and fire. St. Isaac the Syrian depicts this as being lifted up on the cross, or the final crucifixion of the outer man. This moment, as they say, is the most tempting, similar to that experienced by Abraham as he offered his son as a sacrifice: darkness in the mind, hopeless anguish in the heart, the expectation of wrath from above, and hell awaiting below; a person sees himself perishing, hanging over the abyss. From here, some emerge triumphant, while others fall and turn back, only to climb this mountain once more. Those who have passed this stage, like those who have ascended to heaven, are no longer earthly but heavenly; they are lifted up by the Divine Spirit and carried by it, like the wheels in Ezekiel’s vision. God is active within them. Their state is beyond the grasp of the mind. It is known only through experience; that is why those who have passed through it do not speak of it—it is neither useful nor, perhaps, even harmless.

This is how it is in the end. Until that time, alongside other methods, constant sorrow and adversity—arranged by God—and a spirit of contrition, granted by Him, must be experienced as the most powerful means of purification. In its power, it is equal to a spiritual guide, and in the absence of such a guide, it can sufficiently replace it—and indeed does so—in a believer who is humble. For in such a case, God Himself is the Guide, and He is, without a doubt, wiser than man. St. Isaac the Syrian describes in detail the gradual manner in which the Lord leads the one being purified ever deeper into purifying sorrows and how He kindles within him a spirit of contrition. All that is required of us is faith in His providential care and a willing, joyful, and grateful acceptance of everything He sends. A lack of this robs sorrowful events of their purifying power, preventing it from reaching our hearts and innermost being. This applies to sorrows. As for contrition—it involves a careful examination of one’s sins and one’s spiritual disorder through self-observation and attention to what is happening within us, followed by frequent confession with sincere repentance and sorrow. Without external sorrows, it is difficult for a person to resist pride and conceit, and without tears of contrition, how can one rid oneself of the inner selfishness of Pharisaic self-righteousness? (In the writings of St. Isaac the Syrian, external sorrows, tears, and contrition are extolled throughout his works.) The Apostle considers those who lack the former to be adulterers. Since these are not within our power but in God’s hands, and since we may hesitate to ask for them out of distrust in our own strength and ignorance of whether we can endure them, we must at least not neglect the latter in any way. The latter is largely in our hands, and praying for it is not forbidden. Therefore, using every means and all wisdom, strive as much as you can to humble yourself before God in repentance, falling down before Him and pleading for mercy. Seeing your effort, He will grant you unceasing contrition and, if necessary, abundant tears, by which the face of your soul will finally be washed and purified completely. Prosperity should not lead to self-confidence and boasting, but to the fear that the Lord might have already abandoned you as unnecessary—and therefore to the strongest zeal for heartfelt contrition, which is always a sacrifice pleasing to God. Indeed, one might say that even when you have no outward sorrow, you should grieve inwardly, for God, as it were, calls you to this. Conversely, to those who grieve outwardly, the Lord Himself sends consolations—moments of exquisite joy that make one forget one’s sorrows and heal one’s wounds, making lamentation impossible. Tears may or may not accompany this: the whole point lies in lamenting before God over one’s own impurities.

These are all the ways in which passions are eradicated within us—whether through our own intellectual effort, through the guidance of spiritual leaders, or through the Lord Himself. It has already been noted that without an inner mental struggle, external struggle cannot be successful; the same must be said of struggle under guidance, as well as of providential purification. Consequently, the inner struggle must be unceasing and unwavering. On its own, it is not very powerful, but when it is absent, all the others are ineffective and of no benefit. Both those who act and those who suffer, those who weep and those who obey, have perished and continue to perish due to a lack of inner struggle or vigilance of the mind. If we also recall what was said earlier about positive inner action—namely, that it is the goal and source of strength for positive outer action—then the full significance of inner action will be revealed in all its power, and it will become clear to everyone that it is the source, foundation, and goal of all asceticism. All our work can be summarized in the following formula: gather yourself inwardly, awaken your spiritual consciousness and vital activity, and in this state of mind, follow the prescribed external work under the guidance of a spiritual director or Divine Providence, but at the same time, with strict and intense attention, observe and monitor everything that arises within. As soon as a passionate rebellion arises, drive it away and strike it down—both mentally and actively—without forgetting to nurture within yourself a spirit that is contrite and sorrowful over your sins.

All the ascetic’s attention must be focused here, so that, while striving, he does not become distracted and is, as it were, bound or girded about the loins of his thoughts. Walking with such inner abiding and guarding is sober walking, and the teaching on this is the teaching of sobriety. Now it is clear why all ascetics considered the virtue of sobriety to be the foremost of ascetic virtues and regarded those who lacked it as fruitless. That is why it must be emphasized in particular. It has already been discussed, but that was only the beginning. It was discussed there in order to show that the practice of self-restraint and self-discipline must spring from within—or, better yet, that one must engage in it only after having established oneself within. Now let us choose the same starting point for our ascent, for there lies the goal, while the external is merely a means. That is to say, we must demonstrate the essential inclination of the striving spirit toward God, the conditions for a swift approach to Him, and the state of one who is close to Him—or, better yet, capable of drawing near—for the approach itself comes from God.

The First Steps Toward Living Communion with God

Having established himself inwardly, he directs all the strength of his zeal toward the work of self-purification from impurities and passions, toward liberating his powers and strengthening them in God-pleasing activity. This work absorbs all his attention, all his efforts, and all his time. As he accustoms himself to this practice and, at the same time, brings order and organization to his inner state, he naturally turns more and more inward, gathers himself within, and lays the foundation for an unceasing abiding within himself. This is the goal of the initial spiritual struggle: entering into oneself. At the very same time that a person begins to establish himself within himself, the main goal—which he must seek and which was previously, as it were, hidden behind a multitude of tasks—gradually reveals itself to him. But it is also natural, as he moves away from the realm of passions, for the main aspiration and inclination of our spirit to come to the fore—for the sake of expanding the sphere of which the entire endeavor is undertaken. This goal and aspiration is the inclination toward God as the supreme good. It is possible only on the condition of experiencing the sweetness of life in God—or tasting how good God is—and therefore does not arise suddenly. At first, fear weighs upon a person: he serves as a slave, out of duty, out of the obligation he recognized at the moment of awakening. Then the fear subsides and, without disappearing entirely, gives way to the sweetness of working for the Lord, to the sensation of pleasure in it. The manifestation of this is the first revival of the soul for God, the vision of its luminous goal. When this attraction appears, it begins to grow of its own accord in the same order in which it was born. One must not, however, wait only for it while remaining inactive; no, a person must act in a certain way to facilitate the swiftest unfolding of this attraction. For this purpose, as before, internal positive action is primarily prescribed; but all deeds performed in this way—insofar as they are carried out without straying from within—are capable of aiding this inclination, nurturing and strengthening it, with all hope placed in God and all directed toward the glory of God. This must be the spirit of all the actions described; otherwise, they will remain fruitless, and, most importantly, a person cannot bear their burden without this inner strength instilled within them. Thus, the aforementioned deeds can foster a drawing toward God, but they must be directed toward that end by a specific inner disposition, which one must maintain while performing them.

The ascent of the mind toward God, or the inclination toward Him, is formed as inner practices are strengthened. It takes root in them like a seed and matures through them as if on fertile soil. Therefore, in order to preserve this inner state and to stir up an inclination toward God more quickly, one must:

1. Train the mind to walk before God. Let a person strive ceaselessly to behold God, as if He were at his right hand, and ascend to the awareness that he is seen by God. Practice in this is the door to God, the opening of heaven to the mind.

2. Do everything for the glory of God and, in nothing—neither outwardly nor inwardly—have anything in mind except this glory: it must be the measure of one’s undertakings and impose its seal upon them.

3. Do everything with the awareness that it is God’s will, walk in that will, obey it in all things, and submit to it wholeheartedly. Acting in accordance with God’s will encompasses everything that comes from a person, while submission to it encompasses everything that happens to a person. Whatever you do, strive to discern what God wants from you in this matter; whatever comes your way, accept it as coming from the hand of the Lord. A person, a thing, an event, joy, sorrow—accept everything with joy; submit to everything willingly, peacefully, and with delight, despite any adversity.

Through these spiritual practices, the mind will increasingly perceive God and be established in the vision of God—it will become accustomed to dwelling in the vision of God with His infinite perfections. This vision is granted for the most part during prayerful standing before God and matures through this very prayerful standing before God. It is the beginning of the ascent to living communion with God.

Simultaneously with the vision of God, reverent worship of God in the spirit arises and is perfected, when, in a painful cry to God, the spirit falls before Him in self-abasement, as a creature—not with a painful, but with the awareness that he is accepted, loved, and shown mercy.

As a result, irresistible inner longings and rapture toward God will arise.

The striving toward God is the goal. But at first, it exists only as an intention, a desire. It must be made real and alive, like a natural attraction—sweet, willing, and irresistible. Only this kind of attraction shows that we are in our proper place, that God accepts us, and that we are moving toward Him. When iron is drawn to a magnet, it means that a magnetic force is acting upon it; the same is true in the spiritual realm: it is only then that we can see that God is touching us—when there is this living aspiration—when the spirit, bypassing everything else, rushes toward God and is enraptured. At first, this does not happen—a zealous person is entirely focused on himself, even if it is for God’s sake; yet this gaze toward God is merely intellectual. The Lord has not yet granted him a taste of Himself, nor is the person capable of it, because he is impure. He serves

God, so to speak, without true delight. Then, as the heart is purified and reformed, he begins to sense the sweetness of a God-pleasing life, walking in it with love and eagerness—it becomes his source of delight. The soul begins to detach itself from everything, as from the cold, and is drawn to God, who warms it. The beginnings of this attraction lie in the spirit, which yearns for Divine grace. Through its promptings and guidance, this attraction matures within the prescribed order, by which it is nourished even without the person’s awareness of the process itself. The signs of this birth are: a willing, quiet, and effortless inner abiding before God, accompanied by a sense of reverence, awe, joy, and the like. Previously, the spirit forced itself inward; now it establishes itself and remains steadfast. It is a joy for the spirit to be there alone with God, apart from others, or without paying attention to anything external. It finds within itself the Kingdom of God, which is peace and joy in the Holy Spirit (Rom. 14:17). Such an immersion within, or immersion in God, is called mental silence or rapture in God. It may be fleeting, but we must make it constant, for therein lies the goal. God is within us when our spirit is truly in God, for this is not a mental communion, but a living, silent immersion in God, detached from all else. Just as a ray of sunlight carries away a drop of dew, so the Lord raptures the spirit by touching it. “And the Spirit lifted me up,” says the prophet (Ezek. 3:12). Many of the saints were constantly in rapture toward God, while others were seized by the Spirit temporarily, but frequently. Thus does such an attraction—or entry into God—begin, mature, and be perfected by divine grace in those who seek God sincerely, conscientiously, and earnestly.

An essential condition for this is the purification of the heart in order to receive the God who draws us: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God” (Matt. 5:8). Therefore, all the spiritual struggles, exercises, and deeds mentioned thus far are a necessary and indispensable preparation for this. However, they must all be undertaken properly, and specifically with this goal in mind. The main thing here is the preservation of the heart: the repository of the zealous spirit is within; the condition for the validity of spiritual struggles, exercises, and deeds is that they come from within; success in the struggle comes only from within; the best way to cultivate a longing for God is from within. Consequently, inner work is the central source of a spiritual, truly Christian life. That is why the Holy Fathers regard it as the sole and only path to perfection. “Be sober and alert; keep watch and pray,” says the Lord (1 Pet. 5:8; Mark 14:38). Sobriety, or guarding the heart, is the chief spiritual endeavor. For the Holy Fathers, everything is directed toward this: everything is in the heart, for what is in the heart is what is manifested in action.

The decisive step in the ascent to God, the very threshold of communion with God, is the complete surrender of oneself to Him, after which it is He who acts, not man. Where does all strength lie, or what are we seeking? Communion with God—that is, for God to dwell within us and begin to walk within us, as it were clothed in our spirit, governing us with His mind, will, and feelings, so that both our desires and actions may be His work, so that He may be the One who acts in all things, and we might become His instruments, or those who act through Him, in our thoughts, desires, feelings, words, and deeds. This is what the Lord, the Ruler of all, seeks, for He alone does everything in creatures through the creatures themselves. The spirit that has come to understand itself must seek the same.

The condition for this indwelling of God within us and for His reign—or the acceptance of His omnipotence—is the renunciation of our own freedom. A free creature, by its very nature and definition, acts of its own accord, but this should not be the case. In the Kingdom of God, no one should act on their own, but God alone should act in all things; and this will not happen as long as freedom stands on its own—for it denies and rejects the power of God. And only then will this stubborn resistance against God’s power cease—when our freedom, or our independent and self-willed activity, falls before Him, when a resolute plea is uttered within a person: “You, O Lord, do in me whatever You will, for I am both blind and weak.”

It is at this very moment that the power of God enters the human spirit and begins its all-encompassing work. Thus, the condition for God’s indwelling in us is our resolute surrender of ourselves to Him.

Surrendering oneself to God is the innermost, most secret act of our spirit—instantaneous, like everything else, yet not achieved instantly, but maturing gradually, whether over a long or short period, depending on the skill and prudence of the Christian who undertakes it. Its beginning lies in the first conversion, for there the penitent, making a vow, invariably says: “I will flee from evil and do good; only You, O Lord, do not forsake me with Your gracious help.” With this disposition, he enters the path of asceticism and works zealously upon it, in the hope of receiving God’s help. But it is evident that here his zeal leads the way, while God’s action follows it. This is necessary both because of the beginner’s disposition and because of God’s purpose. The beginner wants to labor for the Lord’s sake, to serve Him—and so he labors. This instills in him a sense of confidence and, as it were, the boldness to look upon God. But it is evident that this must not remain as it is. It is necessary for a person to follow God’s leading, putting aside his own self-willed zeal. Consequently, a person must not remain in his initial state of mind, but—without diminishing that same zeal—must submit himself to God, place himself under His guidance, and learn to follow His promptings and leading. This is hinted at in the words spoken to Peter: “When you were young, you used to gird yourself and go where you wanted; but when you are old, someone else will gird you and lead you where you do not wish to go” (John 21:18). At first, a person acts out of his own zeal, and then says: “Lord, You who alone know the course of events, arrange my salvation. I will go, bound as I am, wherever You lead me.” This is the very act of resolute devotion to God. The first kind of activity is so pleasing and beautiful—what abundant fruit it bears! That is why it can bind one to itself forever. But this must be guarded against, for it would be like toiling over barren soil: much sand and stones, but no vitality. One must strive, having turned away from it, to move toward devotion to God. True, in a certain way it can grow on its own as a continuation of the first activity; however, one must watch over this growth and foster it—or, better yet, accept what is being formed and cultivated. In fact, even then, “ ” it is God who acts, for without Him we are nothing; yet man says: “I chose, I willed, I labored, and God helped.” Both the will and the choice, as well as the labors, are also good deeds and, consequently, of God; but man, caught up in his busyness and efforts, imagines that his own strength lies therein. Therefore, the inner transition from zeal to zealous devotion to God is nothing other than the revelation and manifestation to our consciousness of God’s action within us, or in the working out of our salvation and purification. The zealous person is made to understand this through frequent failures despite all effort, through unexpected and great successes achieved without particular strain, and through mistakes and falls—especially those that serve as clear lessons—as if they were departures from grace. All of these lead a person to the realization and faith that he is nothing, and that everything is God and His almighty grace. This is the final stage of the preparatory course for devotion to God. It is possible only when a person comes to feel that he is nothing. For their part, people can do the following: examine events and circumstances as they unfold, in order to perceive God’s power in them; delve deeply, with strong faith, into the conditions of justification, until they cry out: “By Your judgments, O Lord, save me”; the sight of a countless multitude of enemies, the obscuring of the path, darkness before one’s eyes, the innumerable crossroads, and the mystery of God’s decrees. These mental preparations derive special strength from active deeds, namely: the distribution of all one’s possessions, the surrender of oneself to universal ridicule (in the guise of a holy fool), seclusion, and the life of a hermit. These are such turning points in life that after them there is nowhere left to turn but to God. All such people cast themselves directly into God’s hands and are accepted by Him. In this regard, the help of a spiritual guide is invaluable if, unseen by the disciple, he places him in such circumstances from which only God’s invisible help can deliver him. The ancient Fathers said: novices must be granted crowns. This sense of one’s own insignificance and surrender to God is best fostered by unceasing sorrows and especially by extraordinary crosses sent by God, which we mentioned above.

One who has surrendered himself to God—or who has been deemed worthy of this gift—begins to be moved by God and to abide in Him. Freedom is not destroyed but continues to exist, for self-surrender is not a final, definitive act but one that is constantly renewed. A person casts himself before God, and God takes him and acts within him, or through his powers. In this lies the true, divine life of our spirit. The one who casts himself into God’s hands receives from God and acts through what he receives. This is a living union, life in God, and being established in Him with one’s whole being: in thought, heart, and will. It comes about through self-surrender. But just as self-surrender grows gradually—and precisely as a continuation of that very first act—so too must this reception of God and abiding in Him inevitably be elevated. This is indeed the case; it elevates itself. Yet, on our part as well, there must be something to assist this process or to hasten its maturation. The arena of communion with God—the realm in which it is formed and operates—is intelligent, spiritual prayer… The one who prays abides in God and, consequently, is fully prepared and capable of allowing God to abide in him as well. But this prayer is not the same as mere supplication; it is a special spiritual act, not so much guided as it is maturing imperceptibly—both for the one being guided and for the one guiding. In it, one might say, lies the ultimate limit of the rules of asceticism (see Symeon the Theologian). For when this prayer is established and confirmed, God is one with our spirit. And the rules concern only its beginnings; but what occurs within it as it is perfected is hidden, becoming invisible, like Moses behind the cloud.

Living communion with God takes place in a state of silence that leads to dispassion

Whoever has begun to experience these involuntary inner stirrings and this rapture toward God—and especially whoever has begun to practice complete self-surrender to God and unceasing prayer—is ready and able to enter into silence. Only such a person is strong enough to endure this feat and carry it out fruitfully. It is impossible to keep such a person in a communal dwelling and in the company of others.

What drove Arsenius the Great away from people? It was this inward drawing toward God. “I love you,” he would say, “but I cannot be with both God and people.” “The true man of silence,” says John Climacus, “not wishing to be deprived of the sweetness of God, withdraws from all people—without hatred toward them—just as earnestly as others draw near to them.”

Let us quote the relevant passage on the concept of silence from the 27th Word of *The Ladder*:

“There is external silence, when one, having separated oneself from everyone, lives alone; and there is internal silence, when one abides in the spirit alone with God—not with effort, but freely, just as the chest breathes freely and the eye sees. They go hand in hand, but the former cannot exist without the latter. Therefore, the true man of silence is he— —who, though an incorporeal being, strives to keep his soul within the confines of his bodily dwelling. Let the cell of the man of silence enclose his body, and let this body contain within itself the temple of the mind.”

Silence will not attract one who has not yet tasted the sweetness of God; nor will one who has not yet conquered his passions taste this sweetness. One afflicted by spiritual passion who attempts silence is like one who has jumped from a ship into the abyss and thinks he can safely reach the shore on a plank.

Let none of those who are prone to irritability and arrogance, hypocrisy and resentment, ever dare to catch even a glimpse of silence, lest they fall into madness.

He who has tasted the sweetness of God strives for silence, so that he may be insatiably filled with it, without any hindrance, and ceaselessly kindle within himself fire with fire, zeal with zeal, and desire with desire. Therefore, “the silent one is the earthly image of an angel; on the parchment of longing, with the handwriting of diligence, he has freed his prayer from sloth and negligence… The silent one is he who cries out with spiritual fervor: ‘My heart is ready, O God! (Ps. 56:8). The silent one is the one who says: ‘I sleep, but my heart is awake’ (Song of Songs 5:2).”

Thus, the silent one’s sole occupation is to be with the one Lord, with Whom he converses face to face, just as the king’s favorites speak into his ear. This work of the heart is protected and guarded by another—the preservation of tranquility of thought. The orderliness of thoughts and the unstealable thought of the Divine constitute the essence of silence and, moreover, carefreeness. Sitting on high, watch—if only you know how—and then you will see how, when, and from where so many thieves of various kinds seek to enter and steal the clusters of grapes. When this watchman grows weary, he rises and prays; then he sits down again and resumes his first task with renewed courage.

Those who love blissful silence undergo the work of the intelligent powers and imitate their way of life. They will never be satisfied, for all eternity, as they praise the Creator; so too, the one who has ascended to the heaven of silence will never be satisfied as he sings the praises of the Creator.

But neither prayer free from sloth nor the preservation of an undisturbed heart can be attained unless perfect carefreeness has first been established in the heart. One cannot reasonably pass through the first two stages without having acquired the last, just as one cannot read without having learned the letters. “A single hair disturbs the eye, and a little worry destroys silence.” Whoever desires to present a pure mind to God yet distracts himself with cares is like one who has firmly bound his feet and yet attempts to walk quickly. Therefore, true silence begins with surrendering oneself to God and a deep conviction in the heart of His care for us.

Only those who have united themselves with silence to delight in God’s love, to quench their thirst for this love, and who are drawn by its sweetness, are true men of silence. Such people, if they practice silence with discernment, soon begin to taste its fruits, which are: an untroubled mind, purified thought, rapture in the Lord, insatiable prayer, unwavering vigilance, constant tears, and so on.

Thus, the inner longing for a sweet standing before God draws one to silence; the path to it is paved by purification from the passions through all the spiritual struggles by which good is strengthened within us and evil is exhausted; its immediate threshold is the surrender of oneself to God in carefree trust; its essence is an unshakable, prayerful standing before God with the mind in the heart, from which fire is kindled by fire.

The burning of the spirit from God’s touch definitively purifies a person and elevates him to a state of dispassion. In this fire, our nature is remelted, like unrefined metal in a crucible, and emerges radiant with heavenly purity, making it a dwelling place ready for God.

Thus, on the path to living communion with God, there is an inevitable silence—if not always in the familiar form of the ascetic life, then always as a state in which the spirit, gathered inwardly and deepened by the fire of the Divine Spirit, is elevated to seraphic purity and a burning passion for God and in God.

This fire takes root in moments of conversion and begins to act as soon as, in accordance with one’s vow, a person undertakes the labor; but this is an initial warmth, appearing and then receding. It acts throughout the entire course of the labor of purifying the heart; otherwise, a person could not endure these labors. But it cannot reveal its full power at that time, due to the coldness of the passions still present in a person. It reveals its full power only when the passions have fallen silent. The first warmth is like the burning of damp, wet firewood, and the second is like the burning of that same firewood when the fire has dried it out and penetrated its entire composition. By another analogy, the first warmth is like that found in water containing an ice floe that has not yet melted: the warmth is there, but the water does not boil and will not boil until the ice floe melts. When the ice floe melts, the warmth, penetrating the entire mass of water, heats it more and more intensely; as a result, the water boils over and is purified. This is what the second kind of heat is like. The last two modes of fire’s action represent the workings of spiritual burning in the final stages of Christian perfection, leading to perfect purity and dispassion.

“The substance of the passions, being consumed by the Divine fire, is burned away, and as the substance is eradicated and the soul is purified, the passions also depart.”

Here is the meaning of dispassion, as explained in Word 29 of *The Ladder*: “Dispassion is the resurrection of the soul before the resurrection of the body.”

The resurrection of the soul should be understood as the departure from the old nature, namely when the new man comes into being, in whom there is nothing of the old man, as it is said: “I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit within you” (Ezek. 36:26) (see Isaac the Syrian).

This complete and yet ever-increasing perfection of those who are perfected in the Lord so sanctifies the mind and lifts it away from the material world that it often, in a state of ecstasy, is lifted from life in the body up to heaven to behold the vision.

The Apostle demonstrated dispassion when he wrote: “We have the mind of Christ” (1 Cor. 2:16). That Syrian ascetic also demonstrated dispassion when he cried out: “Let the waves of Your grace wash over me!” (St. Ephrem).

Impassive toward all objects that arouse and nourish passions, he has become so insensitive that they have no effect on him, even though they are before his eyes. This is because he is wholly united with God. He enters a brothel—and not only does he feel no stirrings of passion, but he also leads the prostitute to a pure and ascetic life.

Whoever is deemed worthy of this state, even while still here, clothed in mortal flesh, becomes a temple of the living God, Who guides and instructs him in all his words, deeds, and thoughts; and he, by virtue of inner enlightenment, discerns the will of the Lord, as if hearing a certain voice, and, being above all human teaching, says: “When I come and appear before the face of God” (Ps. 41:3), for I can no longer endure the works of my own desires, but I seek that immortal goodness which You bestowed upon me before I fell into corruption. But why say so much! The dispassionate one does not live on his own, but Christ lives in him (Gal. 2:20), as he said, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7).

Detachment is the heavenly palace of the Heavenly King. And behold, at last, communion with God and union with God—the ultimate goal of the human spirit’s quest, when it is in God, and God is in it. At last, the Lord’s will and His prayer are fulfilled: that just as He is in the Father and the Father is in Him, so every believer may be one with Him (John 17:21). His comforting assurance is fulfilled: whoever keeps His word, the Father will love him, and They will come to him and make their home with him (John 14:23). The apostolic definition of those who have died to the passions is being fulfilled: their life is hidden with Christ in God (see Col. 3:3). Such people are the temple of God (1 Cor. 3:16), and the Spirit of God dwells in them (Rom. 8:9).

Those who have attained this are the mystics of God, and their state is the same as that of the Apostles, for they too discern the will of God in all things, hearing as it were a certain voice, and, having perfectly united their senses with God, they are secretly taught His words by Him. This state is marked by a flame of love, by which they boldly declare: “Who shall separate us?” (Rom. 8:35). And love is the giver of prophecy, the cause of miracles, the abyss of enlightenment, the source of the divine fire, which, the more it flows, the more it stirs up the thirsty soul.

Since this state is the fruit of silence—when practiced with discernment—not all those who observe silence are left by God in silence forever. Those who, through silence, attain dispassion and thereby become worthy of most sincere communion with God and indwelling by God are called forth from there to serve those seeking salvation, and they serve them by enlightening, guiding, and performing miracles. And to Anthony the Great, just as to John in the desert, a voice spoke to him in his silence, calling him to the work of guiding others on the path to salvation—and the fruits of his labors are known to all. The same was true of many others.

We know of no state on earth higher than this apostolic one. Here ends our survey of the order of a God-pleasing life.