A Fourth Kind of Monk

There is, however, another, fourth kind, which we have lately seen springing up among those who flatter themselves with the look and form of anchorites. In their early days they seem, in a brief fervor, to seek the perfection of the coenobium, but presently they cool off. They do not like to put an end to their former habits and faults, they are no longer content to bear the yoke of humility and patience, and they scorn to be subject to the rule of the elders. So they look for separate cells and want to stay by themselves alone, so that, provoked by nobody, they may be thought patient, gentle and humble by men.

This arrangement, or rather this lukewarmness, never allows those it has once taken hold of to come near perfection. For in this way their faults are not only not rooted out but actually grow worse, while no one stirs them up. They are like some deadly internal poison: the more it is hidden, the more deeply it creeps in and causes an incurable disease in the sick person. For out of respect for each man’s own cell, no one ventures to reprove the faults of a solitary, which he would rather have ignored than cured. Moreover, virtues are produced not by hiding faults but by driving them out.