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CHAPTER I.
How our sixth combat is against the spirit of accidie, and what its character
is.
OUR sixth combat is with what the Greeks call ἀκηδία, which we may term
weariness or distress of heart. This is akin to dejection, and is especially
trying to solitaries, and a dangerous and frequent foe to dwellers in the
desert; and especially disturbing to a monk about the sixth hour, like some
fever which seizes him at stated times, bringing the burning heat of its attacks
on the sick man at usual and regular hours. Lastly, there are some of the elders
who declare that this is the “midday demon” spoken of in the ninetieth Psalm.
CHAPTER II.
A description of accidie, and the way in which it creeps over the heart of a
monk, and the injury it inflicts on the soul.
AND when this has taken possession of some unhappy soul, it produces dislike of
the place, disgust with the cell, and disdain and contempt of the brethren who
dwell with him or at a little distance, as if they were careless or unspiritual.
It also makes the man lazy and sluggish about all manner of work which has to be
done within the enclosure of his dormitory. It does not suffer him to stay in
his cell, or to take any pains about reading, and he often groans because he can
do no good while he stays there, and complains and sighs because he can bear no
spiritual fruit so long as he is joined to that society; and he complains that
he is cut off from spiritual gain, and is of no use in the place, as if he were
one who, though he could govern others and be useful to a great number of
people, yet was edifying none, nor profiting any one by his teaching and
doctrine. He cries up distant monasteries and those which are a long way off,
and describes such places as more profitable and better suited for salvation;
and besides this he paints the intercourse with the brethren there as sweet and
full of spiritual life. On the other hand, he says that everything about him is
rough, and not only that there is nothing edifying among the brethren who are
stopping there, but also that even food for the body cannot be procured without
great difficulty. Lastly he fancies that he will never be well while he stays in
that place, unless he leaves his cell (in which he is sure to die if he stops in
it any longer) and takes himself off from thence as quickly as possible. Then
the fifth or sixth hour brings him such bodily weariness and longing for food
that he seems to himself worn out and wearied as if with a long journey, or some
very heavy work, or as if he had put off taking food during a fast of two or
three days. Then besides this he looks about anxiously this way and that, and
sighs that none of the brethren come to see him, and often goes in and out of
his cell, and frequently gazes up at the sun, as if it was too slow in setting,
and so a kind of unreasonable confusion of mind takes possession of him like
some foul darkness, and makes him idle and useless for every spiritual work, so
that he imagines that no cure for so terrible an attack can be found in anything
except visiting some one of the brethren, or in the solace of sleep alone. Then
the disease suggests that he ought to show courteous and friendly hospitalities
to the brethren, and pay visits to the sick, whether near at hand or far off. He
talks too about some dutiful and religious offices; that those kinsfolk ought to
be inquired after, and that he ought to go and see them oftener; that it would
be a real work of piety to go more frequently to visit that religious woman,
devoted to the service of God, who is deprived of all support of kindred; and
that it would be a most excellent thing to get what is needful for her who is
neglected and despised by her own kinsfolk; and that he ought piously to devote
his time to these things instead of staying uselessly and with no profit in his
cell.
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