Mnesikakia: Chrysostom, the Eucharist, and the Relentless Demon
All that John Chrysostom teaches about the Eucharist and holy communion circles back to the liturgy. It is the liturgy that calls the Christian away from the busyness and boredom of everyday life, and yet profitable participation in the liturgy can be marred by what the Christian brings to the experience, which no doubt explains why we encounter so many exhortations in John’s homilies to put aside the cares of this world and to let go of those obstacles that can block proper involvement in the heavenly liturgy as it comes down to earth. Among these obstacles one stands out for the heavy emphasis John places on it as a significant barrier not only to communion but to salvation. Mnesikakia (μνησικακία) is literally “the remembrance of evil” and is sometimes translated “remembrance of injury,” “nursing grudges,” or “resentment.” The word occurs more times in the Chrysostom corpus than in any other Greek Father of the Church. This demon was John’s greatest challenge in urging his people to live a virtuous life, because in this one vice he finds the greatest threat.
In one of the Eclogues constructed from Chrysostom’s sermons around the tenth century, the anonymous author reflects Chrysostom’s sentiments well when he speaks of the obstacle of mnesikakia, which can hinder the Christian’s worthy participation. He singles it out as a formidable challenge to approaching the liturgy:
Let us be attentive in partaking of the divine body. Let us not abandon the churches but gather and not just happen to engage in the activities in the church. Rather let us be fearful and trembling, casting our eyes below but our soul above. Let us sigh deeply in our heart . . . When we enter the church, let us approach without having mnesikakia in our soul, as is fitting for God, lest we be condemned when we say, “Forgive us as we have forgiven.”
As we will see, Chrysostom views mnesikakia as perhaps the worst of all sins or vices because it can block God’s forgiveness and without that forgiveness there can be no salvation. Mnesikakia is an extreme form of hate and one particularly hard to extricate from the human soul. It is, as it were, the equal and opposite of love because it destroys love. And of all the positive inner dispositions that John encourages, love stands head and shoulders above the rest. This he rightly sees in the letters of his favorite saint, Paul of Tarsus. In Col 3:14 Paul calls love “the bond of perfection,” an idea that impressed itself deeply on John. He knew that having that perfect bond of love required the eradication of mnesikakia. As a curate of souls, John was ready to help excise this pernicious vice that would damage their love for humanity.
I have noted elsewhere that modern scholars studying Chrysostom’s eucharistic passages had for a long time concentrated on finding evidence of John’s belief in the real presence. The dynamics of previous eucharistic controversy help explain this focus, but the problem with this approach lies in posing questions to Chrysostom’s texts that fail to capture his own emphases and concerns. I have no doubt that John cared more for the health of his people’s souls than he did for defending the sacrament of the Eucharist. He mostly assumed the truths of the real presence and the true sacrifice of the cross held within it. The majority of his eucharistic teaching had to do with its moral and spiritual implications. Among the many vices John treats, he returns to mnesikakia more often than any other even when he does not name it as such. In a homily on Hebrews John minces no words as he declares that “mnesikakia is not a small sin but a great one.” Why is this vice more troublesome than others? Because it blocks forgiveness, God cannot countenance a person who will not forgive: “There is nothing, nothing that God hates and turns away from like a man of mnesikakia and holding on to anger.”
The subject of forgiveness has more relevance to secular society than one might think. Forgiveness in Chrysostom has recently been placed in conversation with modern treatments of the same subject that seem to be at odds with John’s view. Certain philosophers have argued that it is not right to extend forgiveness to unapologetic and unrepentant offenders because to do so demeans the value of the victim and/or excuses the offense. However, Samuel Kaldas has argued that Chrysostom did not in any way excuse the gravity of offense when he called for forgiving others. And John certainly did not think that forgiving an offender in any way demeaned a victim. Citing a couple of texts in Chrysostom, Kaldas claims that John’s insistence on the necessity of forgiveness was grounded in an eschatological view of the human victim that affirmed his dignity. A wider set of texts in Chrysostom treated below will reveal a richer ground in which the power of forgiveness grows.
In what follows I will attempt to show how John Chrysostom counsels those afflicted by the demon of mnesikakia. In pursuing this course we will learn that mnesikakia not only destroys relationships among human beings but even destroys the one who holds on to grudges and past injuries. First, I will quickly survey some selected uses of mnesikakia before John and then try to define more closely how John viewed this vice. While this vice is worthy of much greater exploration, here I show how John ties it to the Eucharist and the liturgy. As John then muses on various exemplars in Scripture (e.g., King David), he attempts to show the devastation that mnesikakia brings and the beauty of a forgiving heart. As a good pastoral philosopher, he desires the healing of the soul for his hearers who struggle with this vice. He fulfills that desire by offering the positive wisdom to be found in the virtue of forbearance. Releasing the hurt of past injuries, humility and forbearance soothe the wounded soul and liberate one to commune with God.
Retaining the memory of evils done and the resulting anger internalized also has an effect on the person himself. It closes that person off from grace and love. It can lead to despair or despondency. Although John sometimes states matters in a rather stark tone, his underlying motive is admirable. He is concerned that his hearers not do any greater harm to themselves than an enemy has already done by nursing resentments and harboring anger. Ridding one’s soul of mnesikakia is an essential part of the prayer expressed in every eucharistic liturgy, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Finding a way of cleansing one’s soul of mnesikakia is very difficult, but John is certain of one thing in this regard. It takes an act of the will on the part of the person affected. This is why he sometimes uses forceful language, “Those who wish to approach the cross, hate slander. Loathe the remembrance of evil. Don’t stop having mercy on the poor. Don’t hesitate to care for the sick. Don’t yearn for wealth. Don’t stop visiting those in prison.” The fact that John would include “loathing mnesikakia” alongside caring for the poor and unfortunate suggests that he thought the substitution of virtues and acts of love would be an essential part of the eradication of vice. Fighting against mnesikakia became a centerpiece of John’s exhortations to holiness.
Mnesikakia Before John Chrysostom
John Chrysostom was not the first Greek Father to use the word mnesikakia or expound its meaning. Examples of its use prior to John in the late fourth century can be found in the three Cappadocian Fathers (Basil, Gregory Nazianzen, Gregory of Nyssa). The company that mnesikakia keeps in their minds can be seen in the lists of vices and virtues they give in which the word occurs. Basil, the elder statesman of the Cappadocian triumvirate, places this vice among all the other uncontrolled passions that destroy the soul, “anger and jealousy, and mnesikakia, lies, arrogance, mental disturbance, and nasty speech, laziness in prayers, the desire for things that can never be, fine clothing, beautifying one’s face, social events and company beyond what is proper and necessary.” Gregory of Nyssa, Basil’s younger brother who was given to mysticism much more than his practically minded sibling, includes mnesikakia in the list of vices that, he says, Paul had rejected and excised from his soul: “Neither pleasure, nor sorrow, nor rage, nor fear, nor guile, nor uncontrolled emotion, nor vanity, nor rashness. Not mnesikakia, not jealousy, not purposeful revenge, not greed or love of glory and honor, not any other thing that could stain the soul by some condition of the soul.” Gregory gives us a clue to his understanding of mnesikakia by its juxtaposition with jealousy (φθόνος) and purposeful revenge (ἀμυντική τις διάθεσις). Just as any of the vices listed here may poison the soul of a Christian, so this triad of hate presupposes the ill-will of someone against another. Mnesikakia seems to give rise to a deliberate choice and to acts of violence. Gregory Nazianzen, Basil’s closest friend in his youth, also links mnesikakia to temper (θυμὸς) and anger (οργὴ) in one of his moral poems:
Temper is the sudden seething of the mind
Anger is the temper held within.
Mnesikakia happens in recalling evil for an ambush.
Here Gregory seems to consider mnesikakia a more extreme form of temper or anger inasmuch as it purposes to do harm to another. The Cappadocians all agree that mnesikakia is reprehensible, but they never appear to expound on the vice itself at any length.
Evagrius Ponticus (d. 399), an almost exact contemporary of John Chrysostom, invokes the concept more often than the Cappadocian Fathers and is more analytical of its meaning, perhaps due to his more overtly ascetic life. Evagrius views mnesikakia as being as deadly as John does, and extricating it from one’s mind is as crucial a task as Chrysostom believes: “Put great wrath and anger from you, and don’t let remembrance of evil lodge in you.” The reason for his insistence lies in the pernicious effects that this vice has. Mnesikakia that is not driven from the soul darkens the mind of the one who seeks to pray and it blocks meaningful prayer. Conversely, prayer is really the only practice that can overcome mnesikakia: “A strong wind drives clouds away and remembrance of evil drives the mind away from knowledge. He who prays for his enemies is free from mnesikakia.” Evagrius was also the first writer to mention mnesikakia and love of money in the same breath, but he would not be the last: “The thought arises at the same time, and we fall prey to the demon of love of money and remembrance of evil.” As we will see, Chrysostom too sees a close link between these two vices. It is doubtful that John ever knew Evagrius or read his writings. It is more likely that they share some wisdom common to desert monks and urban ascetics like John.
Few, if any, of these instances of mnesikakia in earlier Fathers are connected explicitly to the Eucharist, but there is one case in which the remembrance of evil is mentioned in connection to the liturgy of the Church. Cyril of Jerusalem’s Mystagogical Lectures have been translated numerous times and still stand today as a clear witness to the liturgy of Jerusalem in the mid-fourth century. In the fifth catechesis, Cyril recites the deacon’s words “Let us receive and greet one another” and teaches that the kiss Christians give one another is different from “those in the marketplace.” This kiss carries a far more meaningful significance: “this kiss unites souls to one another and weds all forgetfulness of evil [ἀμνησικακίαν] to them. So this kiss is a sign of their souls being mingled and all mnesikakia being banished.” This explains why the kiss or greeting of peace is integral to the liturgy and to the Christian life. It may not be an exaggeration to say that the whole purpose of participation in the liturgy is to rid the soul of mnesikakia. Certainly, John Chrysostom connected the two and hoped that the liturgy and the Eucharist would banish this evil from the Christian soul and community.
What is Mnesikakia for John?
Since the liturgy was so important for John Chrysostom, it is not surprising that he would talk about serious moral deficiencies in connection with and in the context of the Eucharist. The very existence of the liturgy of the Church required that moral issues be dealt with every time one enters into liturgy, for it is there that the petition of the Lord’s Prayer reminds us, “Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors.” As evidence of how important this fact is for John, he expands on it in a manner I have not found in any other Church Father:
Upon entering the church, let us come, as is fitting for God, not recalling evils against us in our soul lest somehow we pray against ourselves. Rather let’s pray, “Forgive us as we forgive our debtors.” The saying is frightening and hard even to say. But he who says this cries out to God, “I have forgiven, Master. Forgive me! I have let them go. Let [my sins] go! I have made room [in my heart]. Make room [for me]! If I have held on to them [i.e., the offenses], hold on to mine. If I have not forgiven my neighbor, do not forgive my sins. In the measure I have used, measure it back to me.
The intensity evident in this section shows how important the issue of forgiveness is for Chrysostom. Particularly striking is the spiritual effect that mnesikakia has on the person who prays at liturgy. Praying for God’s forgiveness while retaining hatred for one’s enemies is in effect to “pray against ourselves.” There are several texts where John emphasizes that having mnesikakia leaves negative effects on the soul, but perhaps the most pernicious effect is that withholding forgiveness blocks God’s forgiveness of sin.
The relation of this hidden vice to the liturgy comes out again in a passage from Homily 20 to the People of Antioch, in which John connects the problem of mnesikakia to holy communion on the one side and to God’s lovingkindness on the other: “Just as it is impossible for an adulterer and a blasphemer to partake of this table, so too the one who has an enemy and remembers evils [of the past] cannot enjoy holy communion.” This is all part of God’s “holy laws” (ἱερῶν νόμων) because communion with God and mnesikakia are utterly incompatible. The law of forgiveness of one’s enemies comes not from some arbitrarily designed decision but from the love of God for humanity: “How do you wish the gentle and meek Master to be to you if you become harsh and unforgiving to your fellow servant? But has your fellow servant insulted you? Haven’t you insulted God many times?” John weighs the relative evil of adultery and blasphemy with mnesikakia and finds the latter worse. But why is it worse?
For the fornicator or adulterer has fulfilled his desire and the sin is over; although he may wish vigilantly to show great repentance after his fall, he has some comfort. But the one who remembers evil [mnesikakia] actively brings about sin on a daily basis and it is never over. In the first case, the fault comes into play and sin is committed. In this case sin is daring [to assert itself] daily. What pardon can we have if we give ourselves willingly to such an evil beast?
John’s assessment here turns on the difference between acts and habits. Adultery may occur because of a deep-seated internal disorder, but it may also be a temporary moral lapse out of weakness. Blasphemy may come from a sudden blast of anger or a deep hatred for God, but both sins are acts that are easily identified and renounced. Mnesikakia is more a persistent beast that dogs the Christian and destroys love and charity.
That mnesikakia constitutes a serious, even grave evil comes out clearly in John’s handling of a parable that deals with the problem of unforgiveness. The parable of the Unforgiving Servant in Mt 18:21–35 is both natural and startling. It is natural insofar as forgiveness lies at the heart of the gospel of Christ. Jesus’s command to repent because the kingdom of God is at hand brought with it the promise of forgiveness for those who turn back to God. It is also startling because of the seemingly impossible demand taught in the parable. I detect in John’s treatment of this parable the surprise and even shock that may beset the Christian who seeks to live by its truth.
The radical nature of the forgiveness called for in the parable is underscored by John’s introduction of Rom 11:29 (“The gifts and calling of God are irrevocable”) into his explanation. The parable appears to teach that God can revoke forgiveness once given, and this seems to contradict Paul’s definitive declaration that nothing God gives can be revoked. Here John asks, “What may be worse than mnesikakia when it calls up the love of God for humanity [already] shown and yet it cannot dispose him [the servant] to forgive sins? Will the anger against his neighbor prevail?” The shock one senses comes from the lack of any spirit of forgiveness in the servant arising from his experience of the love of God. Why has the servant who owed so much retained such anger and hatred for his fellow servant? Mnesikakia is the one sinful disposition that rots away the soul and blocks God’s forgiveness. And John heightens the evil latent in mnesikakia by juxtaposing the text from Romans:
Although it is written that “the gifts of God are irrevocable,” how can it be that an accounting is called for again after the gift [of forgiveness] is given, after love for humanity has been advanced? It is because of mnesikakia. It is so that should anyone sin in a manner that is not as harsh as this sin is in comparison to others, [we may know] that all the other [sins] can be forgiven. Not only could this one [sin] not find leniency, but also it brought the others back again. So mnesikakia is a twofold evil because it has no excuse with God and because the other sins, although forgiven, are again being brought up and counted against us. That is precisely what happened here.
John sees an exception to the maxim of Rom 11:29, and the only sin/evil that can cause God to withdraw his forgiveness and mercy is the lack of the same in us toward our fellow servants. This is why I claimed earlier that John sees mnesikakia as perhaps the worst of all sins and why he proclaimed here what we noted earlier, “There is nothing, nothing that God hates and turns away from like a man of mnesikakia and holding on to anger.”
John’s thoughts are sobering and arresting. As he works through various aspects of the parable he concentrates on the enormous difference between the debt the master forgave (10,000 talents) and the small amount owed to the unforgiving servant by his fellow servant (100 denarii). This prompts John to consider the unpayable debt that sinners owe to God, the Master of all. Forgetting the debt owed to God may be what causes the one who has mnesikakia to remember the debt owed to him. If the Christian thinks of sin, it should be only his own sins he contemplates, not those of the one who hurt him. In case his hearers may be tempted to disagree with John, he reminds them, “Rather it is not I but Christ who showed this in the parable.” From this he draws the broader but more important exhortation: “So let us be diligent in being purified of anger and reconciling with those who are disagreeable toward us, because we know that neither prayer, almsgiving, nor fasting nor partaking of the mysteries nor any other thing [can bring forgiveness] if we hold on to evil memories. Nothing will be able to advocate for us on that day.”
Considering the consequences of holding on to hurts, injuries, and sufferings that one has sustained at the hands of another is sobering. And Chrysostom meant it to be so. He wanted to stop the bitter Christian in his tracks and impress on him how remembrance of wrongs has to be eradicated from the soul in order to find salvation.
John not only denounces mnesikakia and warns against its harmful effects, he also sees the same vice latent in the moral examples of Scripture and praises those who overcome it. Quite naturally, we expect some discussion of forgiving enemies in connection with the account of Christ’s crucifixion and his words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Lk 23:34). In his two homilies on the good thief on the cross, John employs imitation as the main mode of ridding oneself of mnesikakia and of acquiring the ability to forgive. He urges imitation of the Master (Christ) but also adduces moral examples from the New Testament (Stephen, Paul) to reinforce his plea for his flock to show mercy and grant forgiveness. Here John’s appeal to imitation (μίμησις) means more than our modern English equivalent. As numerous patristic scholars have noted, mimesis in the Greek Fathers is more than bare imitation of behavior; mimesis means internalizing the attitudes and dispositions that the examples illustrate. The affinity of Stephen the Deacon’s stoning with Jesus’s crucifixion, as clearly portrayed by the author of Acts, is not lost on Chrysostom, who uses Stephen and Paul to overcome the expected objection that the average Christian may not be able to imitate Christ himself.
John fortifies his appeal to forgive one’s enemies by an appeal to Old Testament figures who display the same gracious desire for the salvation of others. They lived in a time of the lex talionis (an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth) but John’s examples displayed a greater clemency that anticipated Christ’s call to forgive even one’s enemies. Moses prayed that he might be wiped out of the book of life if God would not forgive the sins of his people (Ex 32:32). David stands in John’s mind as a stellar example of the willingness to forgive those who persecuted him. In On the Cross and the Thief 1, John cites the incident of Saul pursuing David in 1 Samuel 24, where David prefers to receive God’s punishment for sin than to have it fall on those pursuing him. John again appeals to the story of Saul and David in the cave where the King was relieving himself. David was afforded the opportunity to take the life of one who hated him without cause and was urged to do so by his faithful men. David refused:
David was the one who found him sleeping inside the cave, but he did not call him the son of Kish but instead used a name of honor. “I am not laying my hand on the Lord’s Anointed [χριστὸν].” This shows he was free of anger and mnesikakia. David calls the one who injured him “the Anointed of the Lord.” Saul is the one who thirsted for his blood, who set out to destroy him after he had received a myriad of benefits. But David had in view not what Saul deserved to suffer but only what was proper to do and to say. What does this mean? When someone seizes his enemy in prison, he does so with a threefold bond: the limited space of close quarters, his helplessness, and his need to rest. Would you not demand justice and punishment for him? You would not ever say, “I will not lay my hand on the Lord’s Anointed,” would you? But, yes, that is what David said.
Noting that David was said to be a man “after God’s own heart” (ἄνδρα κατὰ τὴν καρδίαν μου), John is anxious that every Christian should follow David’s example and become “free from anger and mnesikakia.” David did not brood over the injuries that Saul had inflicted on him because he did not view the king through the eyes of passion but rather saw that which he truly was, “the Lord’s Anointed.” There is an implicit truth that John would want for his people. Mnesikakia and the anger associated with it can only be expelled by taking a proper view of one’s opponent. If someone views his enemy only as an enemy, then vindictive revenge seems the only path to follow. If the injured party sees the person in question in his true status, then, like David, he can overcome the impulses of anger that arise from mnesikakia.
All these examples from the Old and New Testaments stand not only as encouragements to leniency and mercy but even function in Chrysostom as a standard of judgment. Yet these examples of the godly from both testaments are all faint reflections of Christ’s person, his teachings, and his divine example:
The more examples we have, the greater our judgment will be if we fail to imitate them. To pray for one’s enemies is greater than to pray for one’s friends. The latter will not profit you as much as the former. “If you love those who love you, you are doing nothing great,” Christ says, “because tax collectors do the same.” . . . Whenever we love our enemies, we become like God in proportion to our human strength because “he causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good and causes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust.” Let us then become like the Father.
The second homily on the good thief uses much the same material as the first and was probably preached on a similar occasion in a later year. Yet in this second homily we also see John’s invocation of the love of God for humanity (philanthropia). Here John focuses on the crowd’s mocking, “If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” For Chrysostom these words reflect both ignorance and “shameless unbelief,” for greater things than coming down from the cross were done by Christ (such as raising Lazarus). Yet Christ’s concern was not to prove his divinity; it was to remain on the cross precisely to save those who mocked and derided him. This all is what prompted his prayer, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” What could more show the love of God than such a petition? John brings out the love behind this request: “It is not only the cross but the words from the cross that show this ineffable love for humanity. Yet I ask that you attend carefully that you may see the greatness of God’s love for humanity and how in their foolishness Christ uses the occasion for good.” Here we arrive at a crossroads, one side of which I have discussed elsewhere of how central God’s love of humanity was in John’s preaching. The other is the human response to divine love. Will Christians embrace it and live according to it? The dissonance between divine love and the human response helps us answer why mnesikakia is such a great evil. It is a mindset in direct opposition to God’s philanthropic intentions. The one who was injured, ignored, despised, and rejected is also the one whose love remained undaunted in the face of human indifference or depravity. In this way, the Christian must be perfect like the heavenly Exemplar.
The close association of mnesikakia with anger, rage, and vindictiveness is not surprising, but there is one connection that we may not have ever suspected. John Chrysostom sees a link between wealth and mnesikakia. John became legendary for his rants against wealth and the wealthy. The wealthy took him to be their enemy because he never seemed to cease calling them out for their self-centeredness and neglect of the poor. However, what connection could there possibly be between wealth and mnesikakia? In a passage in Homily 3 on 2 Thessalonians we obtain some glimpse into John’s thinking from what appears to be a passing use of mnesikakia:
Wealth is indeed a thorn that has no fruit, ugly in appearance, distasteful to use, sorrowing those who touch it, not only bearing no fruit but even thwarting shoots. Such is wealth. Not only does it bear no eternal fruit but it holds back those wanting it. Thorns are the food of unreasoning camels. They are food for the fire and useful for nothing. Such is wealth, useful for nothing but to light the oven, for fixing on that day that burns like a pot, for feeding those irrational passions, that is, mnesikakia and anger. Such is the camel eating thorns. It is reported by knowledgeable people that there is nothing in their herds so wild, so sulky, and so mnesikakon as a camel. Such is wealth. Irrational passions feed the soul. They pierce and wound the rational faculties like thorns do.
Wealth or the love of money can make one focus on oneself to the exclusion or even detriment of others. Mnesikakia can do the same. Remembering the injuries someone has inflicted can make one vengeful, or at least turn toward self-pity. John’s comparison with the camel eating thorns underscores this truth. The love of wealth and the love of self that wealth can sometimes produce are subrational impulses (τὰ ἄλογα πάθη) that are similar to feelings of vengeance and anger. When John asks, as he occasionally does, why someone would injure himself more than he already has been injured by nursing mnesikakia, he is implicitly appealing to the use of reason to counter these subrational impulses. Giving in to anger and a vengeful spirit only reinforces the same self-centeredness that wealth also nurtures. That mnesikakia is a subrational or even irrational passion becomes clear in John’s application of the term to camels. Even animals have memory or an analogue of memory and often respond to previous injuries with fear or aggression. Mnesikakia is not rational and therefore completely unfit for human beings.
Does wealth always produce mnesikakia? I doubt even John would have agreed with that conclusion. But there may have been a good reason why Paul said that “the love of money is the root of all evil” (1 Tim 6:10). Not only can the management of wealth require inordinate amounts of time, but the fear of losing one’s wealth can drive a person to extreme measures of self-protection. And that is at the core of what mnesikakia entails. It is the thirst for vengeance arising from the impulse of self-protection.
Mnesikakia, Self-harm, and Victory
John uses the natural impulse to protect oneself to counsel the eradication of mnesikakia. If protecting oneself were paramount, then the elimination of the vice of mnesikakia would also be of the utmost importance. There are a number of passages where Chrysostom makes important points on the self-harm that mnesikakia does. Retaining a bitter spirit consumes the heart of the one holding it inside and blocks the growth of charity. This leads us back to a homily we encountered earlier, On Blessed Philogonius. There we saw how John linked the Eucharist to the birth of Christ and the experience of the sacred table as extending the salvation of the Savior to the Church. Yet, as John approaches the consideration of the proper dispositions for holy communion, we hear him urging reconciliation and forgiveness.
John asks if any Christian is troubled by the lingering animosity of being wronged. That interior turmoil must be extricated in approaching holy communion, but another truth must also be considered. No matter how great the offense sustained, not forgiving the offender will be an even greater insult to God. The solution for every Christian begins with having more regard for God’s commands than hatred for the one who has hurt him. Closely aligned with this moral consideration is a psychological fact that plays into the problem. By holding on to grudges and injuries, one endangers the health of one’s soul. However deeply one has been injured, lack of forgiveness is an even deeper wound. The reward in the final judgment will be great, and so Chrysostom urges his hearers to take the longer (and eternal) view of things. Still, one does not have to wait for future peace and glory. The realities of heaven can begin to be experienced in this life through communion: “As the King enters your soul, there should be great tranquility, great silence, deep in your thoughts.”
John is clearly dealing with the same problem of mnesikakia even though the word itself does not occur in the homily On Blessed Philogonius. How seriously he views the issue shows itself by being at the very end of a homily that otherwise sounds a positive note. Recall that this homily was preached just a few days before Christmas/Epiphany, a time that surely qualified as a high feast day. John longs for the day to arrive as he equally longs for his flock to be liberated from the chains of unforgiveness and bitterness.
John seems very aware of the intense struggle one might experience with hatred and unforgiveness, as this feeling shows up in the way he begins the homily. A Christian can be so troubled, so disturbed by anger within, that he cannot see how communion could be possible or even desirable. Mnesikakia can dull the spiritual senses to the point of oblivion. Hate, anger, and rage can so block divine grace that one is tempted to believe that peace of heart will never be found. Yet it is precisely in this context that John reminds his hearers of the soothing effects of the King’s presence in the soul. Choosing the word king to refer to Christ in this text seems more than accidental. In the cultural context of the day, John and his people knew that one does not dare to speak in the presence of a king without permission. However, he reminds them that this is no earthly king. The King received in communion is the One himself who is tranquility, peace, contemplation. So Christ’s presence in the Eucharist can be exactly what they need to overcome mnesikakia and its associated emotions.
Building on such a foundation, John makes his final argument for overcoming hate in the form of an appeal to self-protection. The problem of mnesikakia often arises from a person focusing on his or her own hurt. John here seems to counsel his people to look back at themselves with an attitude of protecting themselves from an even greater evil than the one inflicted upon them by others. John’s advice brings to mind the proverbial line that the cure is often worse than the disease. If someone imagines that the cure for past injuries is to hate the one who inflicted the pain, if revenge seems to be the most satisfying course of thought and action, John asks his fellow believers to consider the effects of mnesikakia on their own souls. Mnesikakia and unforgiveness are a great enemy of the soul, even if not always visible and obvious. Revenge, like so many sins, may bring temporary satisfaction, but in the end it destroys the one who possesses it. And John does not hesitate to put the matter in its most ultimate form. Mnesikakia, hate, and revenge are all offenses against God. The God who readily forgives the erring sinner upon repentance is the God who will reward the sinner who forgives another. The exercise of forgiveness toward others will make a person “enjoy a greater honor from the God who commanded these things.” In this way, John urges forgiveness and love because both the judgment for not forgiving and the reward for doing so will be extraordinary. So as John seeks to prepare his congregation for approaching the holy table properly, he asks them to look carefully at one of the most persistent and pernicious vices the human race has ever faced.
As with the parable of the Unforgiving Servant, we also expect Chrysostom to deal with mnesikakia and unforgiveness in his exposition of Paul’s words in Rom 12:14–21. Wanting his hearers to overcome evil with good, John expands on Rom 12:14:
Bless those who persecute you. He did not say, “Don’t recall the evil or be revengeful.” He was rather looking for something better. The first was characteristic of a wise man, but this latter [something better] belongs to angels. So he added, “Bless and do not curse,” that we may do only that of the wise man. Those who persecute us are patrons of rewards. Assuming you are sober minded, you are preparing another reward for yourself after that one. The persecutor provides one reward from the persecution, but you do so for yourself from blessing him because it carries the greatest sign of love for Christ.
By glossing mnesikakia with ἀμύνεσθε (to exact revenge, to defend oneself) he gives a sense of what it means to leave the remembrance of evil behind. Yet here John goes beyond just a negative command to appeal to love for Christ as a motive for treating the persecutor as a benefactor. How is possible for one who inflicts injury to be seen as a patron? Consider the converse. Self-harm is implied when one retains mnesikakia to the point to exacting revenge or dismissing the party that injures. John’s is a vision beyond the natural realm because he sees both the persecutor and the blessing given to him as a twofold reward. Providence affords the injured a chance to gain a greater reward.
Later in the same homily John shows great prudence in counseling against mnesikakia and for a demonstration of love and grace toward those who have inflicted injury. He fully acknowledges the human tendency to return injury for injury and the desire to exact revenge, “hoping for punishment for the one who gave him pain because nothing is sweeter than seeing an enemy punished.” Yet Paul’s words call for a higher response to injury. He urged the Romans “to overcome evil with good” (Rom 12:21), to feed the enemy and give him something to drink, thereby heaping coals of fire on his head (Rom 12:20). John knew that “even if the enemy were a wild beast, he would not remain an enemy once he is fed.” The corollary to such acts of kindness also has an effect on the injured party because “even if he were a thousand times more pusillanimous, he would not continue wanting punishment after feeding and giving drink.” Such magnanimity is possible only when the injured person sees “the end [telos] of the problem,” by which John seems to mean that God’s plan for these situations is higher and better than human revenge. Engaging in acts that arise from mnesikakia means hanging on to the evil (τὸ γὰρ ἔτι μνησικακεῖν) and entails that the person would be diminished by evil. The reward that awaits the one who returns good for evil lies in becoming a better person, one who is better for others in this world and more pleasing to God, who arranged this order.
Homily 50 on the Acts of the Apostles contains a lengthy treatment of the same theme of the self-harm that mnesikakia engenders and by contrast the victory contained in putting away anger and revenge. John appeals to the example of Paul before Felix the Governor (Acts 24). Paul did not reply to accusations tit for tat but answered only as was necessary for his defense. As John urges imitation of Paul, he explains the negative effects of mnesikakia and the positive benefits of responding to insult with grace and love:
Let us imitate him [Paul] since he was an imitator of Christ. If he replied nothing to one who went to the extent of murder and slaughter, whose forgiveness may we be worthy of if we become like savages with ridicule and abuse, calling our enemies totally abominable and ugly things? What defense can we have if we retain such enemies? Aren’t you listening? He who honors [another] honors himself. But we are abusing ourselves. Do you accuse others of abusing you? Why do you fall into [another] accusation? Why do you beat yourself up? Stay free of emotion. Don’t let yourself be wounded more. Don’t toss yourself into evil by wanting to strike another.
John appeals to the natural inclination to protect oneself. The problem often lies in the offended party not knowing what will result in being hurt even more, so John lays down an axiom, “He who honors [another] honors himself.” The wisdom of this preacher is remarkable. Responding to evil acts or words in kind is to fall into the same trap as the offender. Apparently, John felt the need to stress this truth because so few can recognize its value. So where does the strength come from to overcome mnesikakia and its associated anger? It derives from a readjustment of one’s values, from a reassessment of what constitutes victory and defeat. John sees strength as the ability to overcome the demons lurking in the human soul, not as conquering an external source of aggravation. It is the person who injures another that is weak. The stronger person feels no need to do so:
By abusing someone greater, he himself becomes weaker. Do you recognize when we have to grieve? It is when we engage in abuse but the other person remains silent. He then becomes stronger and we become weaker. But if the contrary is the case, you can rejoice. You are crowned and proclaimed victor without having ever entered the battle, without dealing with the hot sun, the heat, or the dust. You did it without wrestling or having a grip on him. All you did was stand or sit and wish it. For that you got a great crown. And not a great one but something even greater. For entering a match with your opponent is nothing equal to overcoming the flaming darts of anger. You have conquered without having to lock arms with him. You have dispelled your passionate emotion. You have destroyed the wild beast. You have bridled the raging madness just like the best herdsmen do.
The victor’s wreath, then, belongs to the Christian who conquers anger. The real beast to defeat is not the offending person but the passion that lurks in one’s own soul, passion that is ready to devour love and thwart goodness. In the homilies on Acts John likens mnesikakia to madness (ἀπόνοια), an ailment worse than physical disease. While physical illness is often confined to one person, and even moral vices can be carried within the soul without detection, anger and madness are different. While it is theoretically possible to hold such passions within one’s person, it rarely turns out that way in practice. Bitterness toward one’s enemies often comes out if the opportunity affords. It may not be overt or obvious at first, but it comes out in any case. This is why John says that anger and madness are worse than sickness. And the converse is also true. Victory over anger, rage, and mnesikakia is a victory like no other. The greatest victory is the conquering of self.
The Antidote to Mnesikakia (Remembering Evil)
If mnesikakia is such a serious evil, if it is a vice that no Christian should toy with or ignore, what can be done to rid oneself of its grip? Does John the preacher offer any solid advice, any hope that such a persistent demon can be expelled? One thing is clear in John’s preaching: customary, perfunctory, and legalistic solutions will not do. Perhaps we are thrown back on the straightforward call of Jesus and other authors in the New Testament, “Repent” (Mk 1:15). John would not disagree with that exhortation, but he knew that strong words alone were not sufficient to produce the desired change. The natural question from the person who is told to repent is how. Not knowing how to address the problem may become an excuse for not facing up to it, but John was not one to let that happen. In a similar instance, when John was urging his congregation to engage in good works, he heard this objection:
How can I be in the world, some say, and in the midst of everyday affairs and still be saved? What is that, you say, O Man? Do you want me to show briefly that my being saved is a matter not of place but of the choice and manner of living? Adam was placed as a wreck in paradise as in a harbor. Lot was saved out of Sodom as on a sea. Job was justified on a dunghill. Saul, when he was in a cave, sent out [orders] as king from here and there. It is not a defense to say, “I cannot be in the world and in the midst of practical affairs and be saved.”
It is easy to imagine a similar objection in the case of mnesikakia. How could one even begin to eliminate this plague from the soul? Better just to give up and live with it. While not denying the difficulty involved, John insists that expelling mnesikakia is not optional. Paying heed to the exhortation to repent is a beginning, and John sees this as closely connected to mnesikakia:
Move your accuser inside your conscience that you may not have an accuser at the Lord’s judgment seat. One way of repentance is the best but there is another that is no less [important] than this. It is not to remember the evil your enemy did, not to hold on to anger, to forgive the sins of your fellow servants. And so your sins against the Master will be forgiven. Look, the second is to forgive sins: “You will forgive your debtors, your heavenly Father will forgive you.”
By having a resolute purpose to get rid of mnesikakia, one has taken the first step toward being free of its grip. The love of God that has forgiven much greater offenses of the offended party can function as a great impetus for that person to let go of the hurt and the hate that still plagues the soul. And perhaps the realization that one does more injury to one’s own soul by not forgiving than the original offense inflicted will be a great boon to repentance. So, the willful determination to fight against mnesikakia is essential, but it still may not help cure the disease. What virtues must be substituted for this tendency to dwell on the hurt sustained from another? All growth in the highest virtue of love requires considerable labor, but even then one may not be up to the task without supernatural grace.
If growth in love and grace involves substituting a virtue for the vice of mnesikakia, what virtue is most important and effective in eliminating that evil? Recall that mnesikakia is not a sin consisting of discrete acts like robbery, adultery, or murder. It is more like greed or lust, an inner disposition that underlies many specific acts. Mnesikakia, like other vices, takes hold of its subject and dominates the mind and the heart where it is lodged. A powerful virtue is needed to overcome not only the discrete acts that may arise from mnesikakia but also the deeper motivations and patterns of thought that give rise to those acts. John is sure that humility is such a virtue. Without humility there is no hope for defeating mnesikakia. In that homily on Hebrews cited earlier John urges humility:
So if we pray with humility, if we beat our chests with the tax collector, if we give voice to the same words as he, “Be merciful to me a sinner,” we will obtain everything. Although we are not tax collectors, we still have other sins no less than his. Don’t tell me that you have sinned only a little, for the substance of it is the same. Just as a man is called a murderer whether he murders a child or a man, so this is true of a greedy man whether he is greedy for much or for little. Remembrance of evil is not small but a great sin. For “remembering evil is a way to death” and “the one who is angry with his brother for no reason will be liable to Gehenna.” So too for anyone who calls his brother a fool and an ignoramus and things like that. We also partake of the awesome mysteries unworthily and are malicious and abusive. Some of us often got drunk. Each one of these is by itself enough to get us expelled from the kingdom.
Here is the fuller context of that powerful condemnation, “mnesikakia is not small but a great sin,” and now we can see what the basis of those strong words is. The example of the tax collector in Lk 18:9–14 fits the bill for fighting mnesikakia perfectly. Why? Because remembering an evil done necessarily involves the opposite of humility—pride. Pride has many faces, which is perhaps the reason why it was designated a capital sin later in Christian history. Pride can manifest itself as boasting, vindictiveness, insistence on always being right, failure to listen to persons, intransigence, or simply selfishness. But no one can doubt that mnesikakia relies on pride as an instrument to grow its evil into vindictiveness. Pride rarely shows itself as pride; it more often masquerades behind some virtue twisted into evil. Mnesikakia doubt less masquerades as a desire for justice. One was wronged and another must pay. John unmasks mnesikakia to show what it is and how truly deadly it is.
With so formidable a foe as mnesikakia and its associated pride, how does the example of the tax collector help? What did John see in this man that could benefit the believer struggling with mnesikakia? One clear lesson is in John’s mind. This man made no excuse, no calculating greater or lesser sins; his plea was “have mercy on me a sinner.” And so John urges his hearers to beat their breast like him. In the end, whether the sin is social like extortion or private like mnesikakia, “the substance of it [all sin] is the same.” John quotes from Proverbs that nursing grudges leads to death. Then quoting Jesus in Mt 5:22, Chrysostom emphasizes that mnesikakia is worthy of the harshest judgment of God. Only a profound change in the inner disposition of the heart—only a move from hate to love—can prepare a person for God’s judgment. And so too only these things will prepare a person to receive the Holy Eucharist. Abuse and malice will block God’s grace in the mysteries as much as extortion or adultery.
Humility is inherently an inner disposition although it clearly affects all interactions with others. Yet humility may not be enough to silence the demon of mnesikakia. To understand the antidote to vindictiveness that arises from mnesikakia, John gives us the virtue of anexikakia (ἀνεξικακίᾳ). Typically translated as “forbearance,” ἀνεξικακίᾳ may have a wider significance. One cannot help noticing that both mnesikakia and anexikakia contain the root word κακία, meaning “evil” in the broadest and most general sense. Just as mnesikakia is the embedding of evils done in the memory, so anexikakia is the expulsion or excision of evil from the soul. That raises the question as to the proper translation of the latter term or at least what quality of soul is meant by anexikakia. In 2 Tim 2:24, the only verse of the New Testament where the word occurs, the word is aligned with gentleness and teachability and is contrasted with combativeness. In John’s usage, ἀνεξικακίᾳ shows the meaning of forbearance as bearing with the evil done in a patient and understanding way. He even proclaims expelling mnesikakia as a victory when countered with forbearance: “You are thinking of conquering your enemy. Well, you will be conquered by evil, that is, by anger. So, if you want to conquer, be reconciled, and don’t prosecute him. It is an illustrious victory when you conquer evil with the good, that is, with forbearance [ἀνεξικακίᾳ], when you have expelled anger and the remembrance of evil.” More precisely, forbearance in this context seems to mean resisting the urge to be vindictive. The victory that such forbearance affords lies in seeking reconciliation whereby an enemy becomes a friend. Given all that John has said about the evil of mnesikakia and its effects, is there any positive value in holding on to the memory of the afflictions others imposed? Is there any benefit to retaining and nursing the anger that resides in the injured party? The answer seems to be a clear negative. Surprisingly, John does in fact see something of value in expressing the anger that lies behind mnesikakia, but this positive use of anger requires a refocusing of one’s emotions:
If anyone has an enemy who has mistreated him, if he is angry, let him gather all his wrath, all his bitterness, and unload it on the head of the Devil. In this case, wrath is good, anger is useful, remembering evil is commendable. Just as bearing grudges against others is evil, the same thing is good in this case. So, if you have experienced a deep loss, in this case clear it away. But if you cannot remove it, even if you try with all your members . . . Has someone injured you? Bear the grudge against the Devil and never let your enmity against him be destroyed. Yet, did he not strike you? So remember the evil that he insulted your Master. He offended him, disgraced him, and made war with your brothers. Always be his enemy, always bitter, always savage.
Wrath is good, anger is useful, remembering evil is commendable? In this exhortation from Homily 22 on Ephesians John seems to contradict all that he has said elsewhere about mnesikakia, but in fact this odd change of language only invites us to probe more deeply into the underlying problem. John recognizes that ridding oneself of anger and bitterness is easier said than done. Most people suffer from the residual effects of holding on to negative memories from past injuries. What can be done about this persistent problem?
John encourages us to acknowledge the hurt and pain caused by others. He calls it “a deep loss” (ἐλαττώματα) and knows that it is sometimes profoundly impossible to extricate it from our memories (“if you cannot remove it, even if you try with all your members”). His mention of “members” (μετὰ τῶν μελῶν) suggests his awareness that sometimes Christians have exhausted their resources in trying to overcome this problem. Yet John has one more strategy that no other Greek Father seems to have thought of: begin a hate campaign against the Devil. Fight the Devil with his own medicine. It is the Devil who is the true source of the problem because he is not only the father of lies (cf. Jn 8:44); he is father of hate as well. In one sense hate is the one thing that the Devil understands. John does not mince words: “Always be his enemy, always bitter, always savage.” But why this stratagem? Is it a last resort? John offers the ultimate motivation for hating the Devil. “So remember the evil that he insulted your Master. He offended him, disgraced him, and made war with your brothers.” The evil treatment of Christ by the Devil will motivate the Christian to hate the Devil because he loves Christ. When the Christian turns his memory of past evils against the Evil One, it is like defending Christ against the attacks of that same evil power. However, is hating the Devil still not a form of hate and incompatible with love? How can the vice of mnesikakia be expelled unless all forms of hate are renounced? One explanation may lie in understanding that to love Christ means to hate his enemies, not in the sense of intense emotion but hate in the sense of what opposes Christ. In any case, love for Christ lies at the root of ridding oneself of mnesikakia.
It may not be too fanciful to say that for John the best and most effective answer to mnesikakia is love, for it is from love that humility, forbearance, and other virtues flow. In his commentary on 1 Corinthians 13, John hints at how the interaction of virtues works:
Love thoroughly purifies everything. Look! A patient person is not completely kind. If he is not kind, the matter becomes evil and he is in danger of falling into mnesikakia. For this reason, love gave a medicine, which is kindness. Love keeps virtue pure. Again, the kind person is often easily content, but this love also sets the matter straight. For love, he says, “is not pompous, not puffed up.” The kind and patient person often makes false pretensions. But such love takes away this evil.
John implies a hierarchy of virtues in which kindness, though it be laudatory, is still inferior to love. Kindness and other virtues like generosity or thoughtfulness may not necessarily fend off mnesikakia. Love, however, when perfected, expels the remembrance of evil. The perennial problem is that love is rarely perfected in the human soul in this world. If John is right in his insistence that God will not forgive those who refuse forgiveness to their fellow human beings, then salvation is in jeopardy, at least for those who fail to forgive. Can God’s loving forgiveness be withheld? Why will God not forgive if we do not forgive our debtors? Doesn’t God have the power to forgive even if we do not? Is he not merciful enough to forgive even those of us who cannot forgive others? And why has God tied our being forgiven to our willingness to forgive others? If we view this problem as an arbitrary law set by divine arrangement an answer may be lacking, but the answer may lie in something not about God but about us. The ability to forgive the sins of others does not lie in human strength, no matter how advanced a person may be in the pursuit of love. It requires divine grace, the very life of God in the human soul. If we think of this problem in purely legal terms, we miss something essential about the nature of salvation.
John took seriously Jesus’s words in Mt 5:48, “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect,” as he understood the context of God allowing his goodness to fall upon the just and the unjust. Perfection in love means loving those who do not love in return, and “praying for those who persecute us.” Final salvation means arriving at that perfection that comes from love, but human beings are incapable of that kind of love. Only an infusion of God’s love into the human soul can bring a person to the place where he can love enough to forgive heinous offenses.
What happens in the case of an injured person being unable to forgive the offender? When someone refuses to forgive, he closes off the possibility of receiving that divine love. The soul shrinks in its spiritual capacity. Instead of magnanimity, the soul becomes pusillanimous, or “very-small-souled.” Holding on to memories of past injuries drives love from our souls. If we are to reach God, we must love as God loves. God must be loved as he loves in a kind of parity of love. But such a goal is unreachable for us. We can never love God as he loves us. That is why we must have God’s love in our souls to do so. Only God’s love makes it possible to love as God does, and we must be filled with that love in order to forgive as God forgives. When God does not forgive us because we don’t forgive others, it is not because of some arbitrary rule he established but because we are not capable of receiving his love, which alone can perfect us into the image of Christ his son (cf. Rom 8:29).
It becomes clear that John Chrysostom sees mnesikakia as one of the worst vices afflicting the human soul. It gives rise to so many sinful attitudes and actions. From this it follows that eradicating mnesikakia should be one of the greatest goals of the spiritual life. Overcoming anger, bitterness, vindictiveness, brooding over past evils, and a myriad of other negative passions would indeed be one of the greatest victories that a Christian could ever have. That John felt this way is evident from his use of military language in describing King David’s victory in conquering mnesikakia. David’s dramatic victory over Goliath, the Philistine giant, is puny compared to his other victory: “David obtained a greater war trophy by sparing Saul’s life than by cutting off Goliath’s head. That victory was far more illustrious and the trophy more glorious.”
If the opposite of mnesikakia is to be filled with the love of God, then John’s urgings can be understood as acts of love, because nothing could be more destructive of divine love in the soul than to withhold forgiveness of one’s fellow sinner. Love of one’s fellow human beings is a sure sign of goodness. Forgiveness of others is certainly one of the most difficult and yet important aspects of that love. It recognizes that others will sin and yet are not consigned to a hopeless state of loss. Forgiveness puts a sinner back on track and allows for second chances. Love also reaches out to another even when it is not convenient to do so. And that truth explains why John Chrysostom could not discuss the Eucharist without treating how it affected human relationships. The gift of Christ in the Eucharist is the supreme gift of self. It provides both model and impetus to give of oneself to others, especially to those who are less fortunate. Love that does not affect one’s relations with others is not genuine love. Love that is not compassionate is not love. Love always reaches out to share and to embrace.
EDITORIAL NOTE: This essay is excerpted from John Chrysostom: Theologian of the Eucharist (Catholic University of America Press, 2024). All rights reserved.