LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
THE FATHERS
OF THE DESERT
THE FATHERS
OF THE DESERT
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
THE COUNTESS HAHN-HAHN
181.^092.1, B y v. !
H I TJ+ EMILY F. BOWDEN
With a Chapter on The Spiritual Life of
the first Six Centuries
By
JOHN BERNARD DALGAIRNS
(Priest of the Oratory)
In Two Uolumes : 1)olume I
97505
BURNS AND GATES
28 ORCHARD STREET
LONDON W
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
First Edition 1867
Second Edition 1907
CONTENTS
Essay on the Spiritual life of the last six centuries. By
John Bernard Dalgairns. Priest of the Oratory . i-lxiv
CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM.
How it took possession of the world; by the doctrine of
its being the only way of salvation; by the connection
between the ancient prophecies and their fulfilment;
by learning; by its civilization of mankind: by works of
love 1
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
Why Christians rejoiced over each new Church Descrip
tion by Eusebius of the Church at Tyre Basilicas
Their decoration The cross, images and votive offer
ingsThe Liturgy of the Church Oblation Eulogia
The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass Low Masses Votive
Masses Masses for the Dead The Canonical Hours 13
FEASTS AND FASTS.
Sunday Easter Ascension Day The Rogation days-
Pentecost Christmas Epiphany The feasts of the
Blessed Virgin Mary and the Saints The spirit of pe
nance Secret and public confession The four degrees
of public penance Relaxation of the spirit of penance 28
THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.
Byzantium; its situation, environs, greatness, riches,
beauty, palaces, churches and treasures of art The
Nile and its banks 39
THE ANCHORITES.
How the anchorites strove to live according to the three
evangelical counsels given by Christ The evangelical
counsel founded the state of perfection by means of
CONTENTS
PA OB
Christian asceticism Its fruit, mysticism, is the union
of the soul with God Penance or suffering for the love
of God must precede the kingdom of God in the soul . 52
THE DESERT.
T^e Deserts of the East The Great Syrian Desert from
Anti-Lebanon to the Euphrates Damascus at its en
tranceThe Lesser Arabian Desert between Gaza and
Cairo The Egyptian Desert between Cairo and the
Great Cataract of the Nile The Thebaid between the
Nile and the Red Sea The caves and the ancient Egyp
tian rock-sepulchres 68
PAUL OF THEBES.
Born 229 Died 342.
Patriarch of solitaries He flies from the world and finds
God He is discovered by Antony His death . . 7
ST. ANTONY.
Born 251-Died 356.
His parentage and education The Gospel leads him to
the state of perfection He practises holy asceticism
The tempter torments him He goes to ThebaisJ and
shuts himself up in a ruined tower for twenty years
His influence upon his own and future ages His mira
cles His rewards His prophecies He goes to the
mountains of Colzim The end of his life . . .91
ST. HILARION.
Born 291 Died 371.
At the age of fourteen he seeks the guidance of St Antony
He withdraws to the morasses on the shore of the
Mediterranean near Gaza The severity of his mortifi
cationHis prayers work miracles His hermitage be
comes a place of pilgrimage Disciples collect around
him, and lauras with anchorites and monasteries with
monks arise and flourish in Palestine, Syria and Meso
potamiaHe flies from worldly honours to Egypt, Sicily,
Dalmatia and Cyprus His death ... .139
6
CONTENTS
PAGE
PAUL THE SIMPLE.
Died at the end of the 4th century.
At the age of sixty he became a disciple of St Antony, and
attains to perfection through childlike obedience . . 158
AMMON. ABBOT OF NITRIA.
Died about the middle of the 4th century.
He marries and, together with his bride, lives in a state of
virginity After eighteen years they separate, and he
settles in the desert of Nitria A numerous community
assembles there by degrees Their mode of life, occupa
tion and hospitality The still more remote seclusion
of some in the Desert of Cellia Antony in spirit sees
Ammon s death 165
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
Born 292-Died 348.
The impression made by Christians upon the heathen
youth His campaign, his baptism and resolution He
goes to the aged Palemon to be exercised in asceticism
A presumptuous solitary Pachomius founds monaster
ies and the Order of Tabenna, and prescribes their rule
The life of the monks The life of the nuns Brother
Zaccheus Pachomius obeys a child Brother Sylvanus
Macarius of Alexandria and the Egyptian Macarius
Brother Tithees Pachomius tames crocodiles and is
calumniated He dies of the plague 174
SERAPION THE SINDONITE.
Died in the 4th century.
At Corinth he becomes slave of an actor, whom he converts
At Lacedyemon he sells himself to a Manichee and con
verts him He sells himself twice more in Rome He
returns to the Egyptian Desert and dies . . . .210
7
CONTENTS
ST. ARSENIUS.
Born 355 Died 450.
He goes from Rome to Constantinople, and from thence
to the Desert of Scete He is tried by Brother John the
Dwarf He]considers himself as one dead His humility
and silence Brother Alexander An aged solitary A
noble Roman lady Arsenius flies from one desert to
another His peaceful death 216
THE BLESSED MOSES.
Died in the 5th century.
He is a slave in Ethiopia and then a robber He flies to
the Desert of Scete, where he undergoes terrible strug
glesHe is consoled by St Isidore The teaching of
Moses Brother Zacharias The reception Moses gives to
visitors He is ordained priest His end . . . 231
BROTHER VALENS, BROTHER ERO AND
BROTHER PTOLEMY.
Died in the 5th century.
Brother Valens falls a prey to presumption and goes out of
his mind Brother Ero begins piously, but lets himself be
beguiled by vanity and falls into misery Brother Pto
lemy becomes a victim to self-will 243
ST. EPHREM THE SYRIAN.
Born 306-Died 378.
His origin His spirit of penance His ascetic life with St
James of Nisibis His friendship with the monk Julian
St. James and King Sapor Ephrem becomes deacon,
preacher of penance, doctor of the Church, poet and
missionary His praises of the Holy Mother of God-
He undertakes the charge of the plague-stricken in
Edessa and dies . . 253
ST. MACRINA.
Born 328 Died 379.
Her grandmother, Macrina the elder Her parents, St. Basil
and St. Emmelia Her childhood, education, betrothal
8
CONTENTS
PAO1
and consecration to God Her virtues Her monastery
Her sufferings Her death 274
THE BLESSED MARANA AND THE BLESSED CYRA
Died in the 5th century.
These two rich and noble virgins lead, at Berea in Syria,
~a life of severe penance for love of Christ in bonds. . 283
,ST. THAIS.
Died in the 4th century.
She leads a sinful life in Alexandria The Abbot Paphnu-
tius goes to her She is converted and does penance for
three years imraurred in a solitary cell 288
ST. PELAGIA.
Died in the 5th century.
Mount Olivet near Jerusalem Brother Pelagius does
penance in one of its caverns James, deacon of Edessa
visits him He is found dead How Bishop Nonnus of
Edessa had converted the actress Pelagia, at Antioch. 292
ST. SIMEON STYLITES.
Born 388 Died 459.
His birth in the village of Sisan in Syria His childhood
as a shepherd His love of God His joy in sacrifice
His entrance at the age of fourteen into the Monastery
of Teleda His austere penance His trials He leaves
Teleda. He goes to the deserted monastery of Telnesche
At the age of twenty-four he enters the mandra At
thirty-five he mounts first low and then higher columns
His mode of life on the same His clothing, devotion,
sermons, and sufferings His miracles The concourse
of people to him How he receives his mother The
Emperor Theodosius II. Pulcheria Eudocia Nestro-
rius and his heresy condemned by the Council of Ephesus,
431 Eutyches and his heresy condemned by the Council
of Chalcedon, 451 The Empress Eudocia espouses the
latter heresy, but listens to Simeon and is converted- -
Earthquakes at Antioch Simeon s death Other Sty-
CONTENTS
PAGB
lites: Daniel at Constantinople, who died in 489, and
Simeon the younger, who died 596, on the marvellous
mountain near Antioch, after he had stood upon columns
from his sixth year upwards 308
ST. NILUS.
Died in the 5th century.
Born in Ancyra, studied in Antioch, lived at Constanti
nople, in a happy marriage, and loaded with honours
About the year 390, he goes with his son Theodulus to
the Desert of Mount Sinai He receives a gift of illumi
nation and becomes by means of his writings a teacher
in the Church The holy virgin Magna The onslaught
of the Saracens Theodulus is taken captive He is re
stored to Nilus Both father and son are ordained priests
and return to Sinai. . . . 371
ST. JOHN CLIMACUS.
Born 525 Died 605.
Palestine his native country He is well educated At the
age of sixteen he enters the Desert of Sinai, where he
becomes the disciple of the anchorite Martyrius He
takes the religious vows, and attains to the highest vir
tueAt the request of the Abbot of Raithu, he writes
"the Ladder to Paradise" On obedience Brothers
Abbacyrus, Laurence, Menas, and Isidore On penance
On meekness and humility On prayer and the peace
of the soul John is made Abbot of Sinai After four
years he retires again into the desert at Thola He dies
peacefully 382
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GRACCHI.
The great number of religious of both sexes in the East,
and especially in Egypt St. Athanasius takes to Rome
an intimate and deep knowledge of the religious life
The life of the noble ladies of heathen Rome Their
female slaves Their luxury in dress, ornaments, and
furniture Their cruelty and pride 402
10
CONTENTS
ST. MARCELLA.
Died 410.
PAGE
Her family The influence of St. Athanasius upon her
and upon her sister Asella Her marriage Her widow
hood Her occupations Her salutary influence over
women Her holy zeal Her friendship with St. Jerome
Her adopted daughter Principia The sack of Rome,
by Alaric king of the Goths Marcella s death. . .418
THE BLESSED FABIOLA.
Died 400.
She leaves her first husband and marries another She
does public penance Her glorious conversion to God
She founds the first hospital in Rome, and serves in it as
nurse She makes a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where
she acquires the friendship of St. Jerome Her retnrn
to Rome, and her death 428
THE BLESSED PAULA.
Born 347 Died 405.
Bethlehem and the Holy Cave Paula s ancestry Her
husband Toxotius Her happy marriage Her five noble
children Her grief at the death of her husband Her
conversion to God Her ascetic life Her spiritual
direction by St. Jerome Her studies of the Holy Scrip
tures with her daughters Eustochium dedicates herself
to a life of virginity Blesilla marries, and dies young
Paulina marries Pammachius and Rufina Aletius Paula
goes with Eustochium to Palestine She travels all over
it, and visits Egypt In Bethlehem she builds a monas
tery for monks, with a refuge for pilgrims, and a
monastery of nuns which she governs She invites Mar-
cella to come to Bethlehem Death of Rufina and Pau
lina, 39S Pammachius builds a hospital at Ostia, and
dies in 410 Paula s son Toxotius marries Laeta, and die*
young His little daughter, Paula the younger, is sent
to her grandmother, at Bethlehem Death of St. Paula
Eustochium becomes Superioress of the monastery
She is honoured by St. Jerome 4.%
11
CONTENTS
THE TWO MELANIAS.
Died 410 and 439.
PAOE
The Roman widow Melania arranges her household and
travels to Egypt, in 372, to visit the solitaries St. Isi
dore, master of the hospital at Alexandria The blind
Didymus The blessed Alexandra An avaricious virgin
Hor, abbot of Nitria St. Pambo and the silver vessels
The exhortation of Pinuphius Sayings of the ancient
fathers Why the abbot Sylvanus loved Brother Mark
Brother John captures a lioness, and waters a stick
Two peaceful ascetics Persecution of the solitaries
Melania protects them She founds a monastery at
Jerusalem, and lives there in the practice of good works
Evagrius Ponticus Rufinus Melania inclines towards
heresy Her son Publicola, and Albina his wife Her
granddaughter Melania and her husband Pinian, strive
after evangelical perfection Melania goes to Italy, and
with her family visits St. Paulinus at Nola. In Rome
she converts Apronianus In 408 she goes with her family
to Tagaste, to the holy Bishop Alypius. Their mode
of life there Melania the elder returns alone to Jeru
salem, and dies there in 410 In the year 417, Pinian,
Melania the younger, and Albinia journey to the East
Their ascetic life Volusian s mmons his niece Melania
to Constantinople She converts him to Christianity
Her friendship with the Empress Eudocia Pinian s
death in 435 Eudocia makes a pilgrimage to Jerusalem
Melania s holy death in the year 439 .... 471
INTRODUCTION
ESSAY ON THE SPIRITUAL LIFE OF
THE FIRST SIX CENTURIES.
The lives of the Saints of the Desert have
ever exercised a wonderful influence over the
minds, not only of Catholics, but of all who call
themselves Christians; nor is it difficult to
comprehend why it should be so now, more than
ever. The age in which we live distinguishes
itself above all others by a restless longing to
realize the past. Men are searching bog and
marsh, moor and river, the wide expanse of
downs, the tops of mountains and the bottom
of lakes to find out how our ancestors lived, and
to reproduce the men of the age of stone, bronze,
or iron. The same sort of yearning curiosity
exercises itself on the early Christians. If we
had only Eusebius and Sozomen, it would be
utterly impossible to picture to ourselves what
were our ancestors in Christ. The Catacombs
tell us much, but they are comparatively dumb.
In the lives of the Desert- saints, we have a
most strangely authentic insight into the very
1
11 INTRODUCTION.
hearts and thoughts as well as the way of life
of men and women who lived hundreds of years
ago. They are extraordinarily authentic, for
the marvellous facts which they contain are
vouched for by writers such as St. Athanasius,
who probably knew St. Antony and by St. Jerome.
In most cases we have the account, almost the
journals of men, who, like Cassian, Palladius
and Moschus, travelled conscientiously to visit
the marvellous population of Nitria and the
Thebaid. Palgrave and Livingston tell us far
less of the tents of the Bedouins and the huts of
the negroes, than these writers tell us of the
daily life, and the very gossip of the monastery.
There is a freshness and a bloom, a cheerfulness
and a frankness about these monks and hermits,
which has an inexpressible charm. It seems as
if the men who had been trained to silence
and contemplation, when they did speak, spoke
like children, with their heart on their lips,
so good humouredly did they answer the some
what tiresome questions of inquisitive travel
lers. Such men as these are too real to bo
accounted for on any theory of myths, and,
wonderful as are the tales told of them, they
can hardly be consigned to he class of
legendary literature, when vouched for by such
men as St. Athanasius. These monks look out
upon us from the darkness of the past with a
vividness and simplicity, which shew that they
considered that their existence in this busy
world needed neither apology nor proof. The
INTRODUCTION, 111
strangely beautiful virtues which they practised
serve as their defence even with the most un-
ascetic. Even writers of a school, most opposed to
mysticism, have forgotten its principles and been
caught in the net of the charity and sweetness
of these solitaries. Their usefulness has found
favour for them in the eyes of the most hostile.
It is impossible to find fault with a man who,
like St. Antony, presents himself after years of
silence, prayer and fasting, at the door of his
cave with a bloom on his cheek, and a smile on
his lip, and who condescends to use something
like gentlemanly chaff with the philosopher
who came to see him. There is at once a gulf
between him and a fakir. He fully vindi
cates his usefulness, who is the consoler and
the confidante and spiritual guide of half Egypt.
Even St. Simeon Stylites can hardly be said to
be lost to the world when he converted Arabs
and Barbarians of various races. There is
evidence enough in the following pages, that
the cell of the hermit in the fourth, fifth and
sixth centuries was the refuge of the poor and
the suffering and the outcast. The monk of
the desert was a Carthusian, a Sister of St.
Vincent of Paul and a nun of the Good
Shepherd, all in one. Never were men less
rigorous to others than these who were so rigid
to themselves. No man of the world was ever
less narrow-minded than those solitaries of the
desert. At the time when the Church was
most severe in her discipline, thPT are ever
IV INTRODUCTION
preaching that a repentance of one day* ia
enough, if it be profound, ever singing hymns
of joy over sinners, who instantly receive the
Holy Communion, ever dwelling on stories like
that of St. Pelagia who hears down all the
canons which would delay her reception into the
Church, by the fervour of her conversion.
Qualities, such as these, constitute the chief
charm of the lives of the Fathers of the Desert ;
yet after all they by no means furnish the key
to their marvellous mode of living. All this
does not in the least explain their love of
solitude. When St. Antony hid himself in the
desert, he never anticipated that the mountain
of Colzim would become one great monastery
and resound day and night with the chanting
of the Psalms. When Ammon left his virgin
bride, he little thought that the wild solitude
of the dark pools of Nitria would be peopled
with five thousand monks, of whom he was to
be the spiritual father. It was in spite of
himself, that St. Hilarion was the founder of
the monastic state in Palestine. When Abbot
Paphnutius retired from the world, he certainly
never anticipated that he would go to Alexandria
to bring back Thais with him. All these actions
were afterthoughts, but their greatest attraction,
their original vocation was to the desert, where
was their real home. This is the point which
demands explanation and on which we will
* Rosweide, p. 676, 600.
INTRODUCTION. V
dwell. Their great work, that by which they
have an influence upon us at this day, was the
foundation of mystical theology,
Christianity appeared upon earth fts an essen
tially social religion. It was planted in the
world, says one of its earliest writers, as the sonl
is in the body, and if it vivified the dead mass,
that body in its turn seemed a condition of its
operation. "Christians are neither different
from other men in country, nor in language,
nor in manners. They have no cities to them
selves, nor use a peculiar tongue, nor lead a
singular life. They are scattered among Greek
and barbarian cities alike, just as each has had
his lot assigned him ; in their dress, food and
customs they are like the rest of the world,
they marry and have children."* Their devo
tions seemed essentially social. It could not be
otherwise with a worship the chief rite of which
was Holy Communion. The Catacombs prove
that the assembling together was a necessity to
them ; in after times the Apostolical t Constitu
tions make it one of the ten commandments of
the new law, that daily the morning dawn
should find the faithful in church, and that
after their work, in the evening they should re
pair thither, as even now French villagers say
their evening prayers together in the parish
church. We know from St. Athanasius that
Ep. ad Diog. 5.
t Lib. ii. 36w
VI INTRODUCTION.
they passed long nights together in their vast
basilicas singing psalms and hymns. Their
duties lay in the world ; and as members of the
Catholic Church they seemed planted inevitably
in the very heart of the world. The proximity
of priests seems a necessity to a catholic. Yet
lo ! a strange phenomenon. There is a rush
towards the desert as now to the gold fields of
California. Men and women go out from civi
lized life into the wilds. They are not misan
thropes ; they have met with no disappoint
ments ; no physical force drives them, for the
time of persecution is over ; they are not weary
of life, for many are too young. Their apparent
duty and their taste alike bid them stay in the
city ; yet some strong counter-attraction draws
them into the solitude. Here is evidently
some enthusiasm, which is not for their fellow-
creatures. The love of man is not the rul
ing passion of Christendom. The secret of this
mighty exodus is a passionate yearning for
union with God.
Mystical theology is an essential part of the
Christian religion, for it is nothing else but the
science which regulates the intercourse of man
ivith God. The moment that we know that
God has come down from heaven and unites
closely to Himself all who choose to receive
Him, at once numberless questions rise within
us, and crave for a science to answer them.
Is this union sensible or not ? Can we
be conscious of it? By what faculty can we
INTRODUCTION. v
embrace our God ? Is it intellect, or will, or
both ? or some unknown undiscovered power,
not yet catalogued by psychology ? Does
He communicate Himself through some secret
unknown channel, and set up His throne
in some hidden depth? Does He manifest
Himself to our feelings, and if BO, which are
real and which are false ? Is His love equally
distributed to all, or are there some who are
called and attain to a closer union than others ?
All this evidently calls for a science, and what
is more, its possibility is plainly its justifica
tion. If it be possible for the soul to be
united to God, then evidently it is right for the
soul to put itself into the requisite condition
for that union, since it could not be possible
unless God willed it. Unless God stoops to
the human soul, it can never reach Him. Ho
must make the first advances or it could not
be united to Him ; and as soon as He moves
towards it, it becomes lawful for it to leave all
to seek Him. if Christ calls Follow Me, on
the seashore, then it is right to leave all to
obey His call. The moment that intercourse
with God is real, (which I am here supposing,)
then at once it is lawful. If God is the bride
groom of the soul, then His bride may and
must leave father, mother, brethren and sisters,
and all to follow Him.
It is plain that this science must be an ex
perimental one. It would be impossible to
tell beforehand, bow nnd how far God would
Vlll INTRODUCTION.
please to manifest Himself to the soul. Ac-
cordingly, all definitions of the science
refer in some way explicitly or implicitly
to the experience of the individual. Take for
instance the following descriptions from the
course of Mystical Theology by Joseph of the
Holy Ghost. " First, John Gerson thus de
fines it : It is an experimental knowledge of
God through the embrace of unitive love:
again, Mystical Theology is an experimental
and gratuitous union of the mind with God.
Denys the Carthusian defines it to be a most
secret speaking with God. Lastly, Valgornera
frames this definition out of St. Thomas : It
is a most perfect and high contemplation ot
God, and a love full of joy and sweetness re
sulting from the intimate possession of Him."
All these point to feelings and states of mind
which it would be impossible to describe in
words till they were experienced, and about the
frequency or rareness of which no one could
pronounce, till time had told. There, if no
where else, development was necessary. There
also, as in all other developments of a revela
tion given once for all, is implied a very real
idea apprehended from the first. The ex
clamation of St. Ignatius : " My Love, my
Eros is crucified !" contains a whole Mysti-
al Theology in itself. That thought, with
which the mind of the early Church was per
fectly possessed, that the steps of man s return
to God correspond to the steps of his outgoing
INTRODUCTION. IX
from Him, produced two fruits closely con
nected with each other, devotion to Mary and
Mysticism, sometimes found together, some
times apart. In St. Irenaeus we find the mar
vellous retrospective effect on Eve of the faith
of Mary, the necessary channel of grace to her.*
On the other hand, in the epistle to Diognetus,
quoted ahove, the author, a disciple of the
apostles, holds out to his heathen correspondent
the promise of a mystical state in which man
returns to, nay becomes himself, the old para
dise of God, for in his heart are planted the
tree of knowledge without its poison, and the
tree of life, a blessed place where " Eve escapes
corruption, and a virgin shews her faith. "t
The foundations of all future mysticism were
based by the author of the books of St. Denys
the Areopagite on the same idea of man s
return to the unity of God by reversing the
multiplicity which was his path of depar
ture from Him. Whenever the author lived,
and whoever he was, he certainly gathered
together the Mysticism floating about the
ancient Church, and can be adduced as a proof
of its existence. But I find the best proof of
the influence and the vagueness of early rnysti-
Earn quse est a Maria in Evain recircuiationem significans :
g-Hi a non aliter, quod alligatum est solveretur, nisi ipwe com
pagines alligationis reflectantur retrorsus. St. Ir. 3, 22.
fEp. ad Diog. in fin. The passage is obscure and probably
corrupt ; but the comparison of the Church to Paradise and the
allusion to Mary are plain. For an analogous use of the passive
of < iv* v S. Justini Ajjology 2. 10.
T INTRODUCTION
cal ideas in the three treatises on prayer by
Origen, Tertullian and St. Cyprian. All show
how thoroughly the necessity of prayer had
seized upon the Christian mind, and how new
was the notion to converts from heathenism.
Their language proves that the conception of
intercourse with God in the Christian sense
was as new to the ordinary Roman, as it was
to the Red Indian, who when the Jesuit mis
sionaries appeared in his forests, called Chris
tianity "the prayer." All three show the
same anxiety to make all Christians " pray
always," and the same elementary difficulty as
to how this is to be made compatible with life
in the world. All three are inferior in every
respect to the commonest modern writer on
Prayer, such as Rigoleuc or Segneri, whose
books are in the hands of every one. St.
Cyprian, it is true, abounds in beautiful
thoughts and pregnant principles. " Let hea
venly reading be ever in your hands," he says,
" and the thought of the Lord in your inmost
feelings." Nevertheless, his direction has a
regimental character about it, which belongs to
the African church. If it could be carried
out, we can only say that Christians at Car
thage had very little to do.* Origen howevei
especially has left the impress of his mind on
mystical as on every other theology. It is
strange how few have noticed in that great
V. De Dom. Or. 11. and DC Zelo et lirora 4.
INTRODUCTION. XI
man the same yearning after some state ol
perfection, as we have noticed in other -writers ;
Btranger still that controversy should hardly have
noticed, how this is connected in his mind with
that Mary, of whom elsewhere he had spoken so
hastily. The same application of the words of
Jesus on the cross to St. John, which is so
common in modern writers, and which to many
may have appeared strained, is to be found in
Origen. From these words he argues that
every Christian, in proportion as he is perfect,
is given to Mary as a son. He takes it for
granted that every " perfect Christian no longer
lives, but Christ lives in him ; and since Christ
lives in him, it is said of him to Mary, Behold
thy son, the Christ."* In other words the life
of Christ in us implies that Mary is our
mother. So close is her union with Christ that
no one can be identified with Him without
being her son. The absolute union of Mary
with Him is a necessary premiss to Origen s
argument, the very same as that on which
Grignon de Montfort bases his devotion.
" O my loving Jesus, I turn for a moment
towards Thee, to complain lovingly to Thy
divine Majesty, that so few Christians per
ceive the necessary union between Thee and
Thy holy Mother. Thou art, Lord, ever
with Mary and Mary ever with Thee, and she
cannot be without Thee, otherwise she would
* Com. in Joan. torn. i. 6
Xll INTRODUCTION.
cease to be. She is so transformed by gract,
that she no longer lives her own life. Thou,
Jesus, alone dost live and reign in her."*
In Origen s book on Prayer we find no longer
indeed the same principles with respect to
Mary, but remarkable anticipations of what we
should have been inclined to call modern
methods if we had not seen ttam in him.
His division of prayer is nearly the same as
that in the Brief way of mental prayer t in
Thomas of Jesus, and in that of Father Quen-
tal of the Lisbon! Oratory. There are de
scriptions of states of prayer in him which an
not unworthy of St. John of the Cross. Yet
in this, as in everything else in this great man,
notwithstanding his mighty gifts of intellect,
and the magnanimity of his character, there is
something disappointing, a promise which is
not fulfilled. It is hopeless to expect any pro
gress in prayer in one who uses language im
plying that prayer in the sense of petition
(vrcvis) can only be offered to God the Fa
ther, not to Christ. His hold on doctrine wa.
too slippery, his grasp of dogma too feeble,
his theological insight too vague and undefined
to enable him to pray, like a man, who has a
clear view of the Sacred Humanity as an object.
There could hardly be a distinct image of
* Traite de la Vraie devotion, p. 44.
t Via brevis, c. 3.
J Idea. degl. Esercizi del* Oratorio. Appendix.
De Or. c. 9. 30.
INTRODUCTION. X1U
Christ even on his imagination, since he seems
to have held that the face of Jesus appeared to
vary according to the mind and disposition of
the "beholder.* Speculative and scientific theo
logy was certainly not in his case favourable to
contemplation. Perhaps his Absolute God was
too much of an abstraction, and at times his Su
preme Being too metaphysical, and too destitute
of attributes, to serve as an object for prayer.
His stormy life of struggle and of controversy
was not favourable to the peace of the Holy
Spirit, especially when his strong passions are
taken into account. Nor were the streets of
Alexandria a help to prayer; the many-coloured
stream of life which poured down them, their
motley groups and hubbub of dialects furnished
his impressionable mind with pictures and
sounds, which but too readily turned into those
images (</>aKratcu) of which, in common with all
men of mystic tendencies, he complains with sad
ness. But I doubt whether the catechetical
school was not even worse than the noisy
thoroughfare. I would speak most gently of one
to whom the Church owes so much. Never was
man, more raised above the bitterness and
littleness of controversy than Origen, and there
was a tender piety in him, which is not unusual
in high-minded men, and which has placed his
name by St. Bernard s side in the pages of
medieval mystics, t It seems to me that the
Contr. Cels. lib. 6, 689, &c.
t 8, Bona veil tore de 7, Itio. disp. 4. art. 4
XIV INTRODUCTION.
Saint of Clairvaux must have read the Com
mentary on the Canticles, where Origen cele
brates the marriage of the Word with the soul
His bride. In one place he even anticipates
the devotion to the Sacred Heart, and says that
St. John sought in the depths of that princely
Heart for the treasures of wisdom and science
hidden in Christ Jesus.* There is no doubt
that he had a true personal devotion to the
Eternal Word ; and his very errors are owing
to his attempts to give a scientific basis to the
separate personality of Him, whom he knew to
be true God. Yet there is no true mysticism
without the sharp, clear outlines of the Man
hood of Jesus, and the soul must ever have,
living and moving before it, the scenes of His
life and Passion. The movement of dialectics
is but a poor substitute for the Stations of the
Cross. St. Thomas and Suarez might be
mystics, but I doubt whether the method of the
De Principiis, its headlong plunges into bottom
less depths of thought and bold looking with
unwinking eyes into the furnace of burning ques
tions, could ever have been compatible with even
what we should call daily meditation. We can
discern in Origen passionate cries of the soul to
its God and Saviour, exclamations probably in the
language of Holy Writ, for strength in the fiery
trial of martyrdom, approaching terribly near,
and for help in the hotter fire of temptation.
In Caut. L $$
INTRODUCTION. XV
Yet if we have read aright the life-battle of that
nohle soul, we should be surprised to find much
prayer of quiet. The intellectual gymnastics,
which form his excuse with St. Athanasius,
were no help to contemplation. Three times a
day we know from himself that he prayed, and
he avows his predilection for a quiet corner of
the house, set apart for prayer ; yet he draws
without disapproval an uncomfortable picture* of
Christians standing to pray in the open air ovei
the impluvium of a Roman house or in the peri
style of a Greek one, with eyes fixed and arms
stretched towards heaven ; a position which,
like the cruciform attitude of Tertullian, does
not look as if the prayer could last very long.
From all this it follows that the mystical life
existed from the very first, and, on the other
hand, that few distinct rules had been given for
it. It is held out to DiognetuB by his Chris
tian correspondent. It is the " most sweet
rest" offered to Tryphon the Jew by St. Jus
tin, f Even the restless mind of Tertullian
longs after " the school of quiet" I in that fran-
ticly savage pamphlet in which he bids a final
farewell to the bar, and assumed the pallium
for a cassock. Yet if we listen to the terms of
boastful contempt in which he speaks, we augur
ill for his vocation. " I owe nothing to the
forum, nothing to the field, nothing to the
senate house. I pay my respects to no one in
Be Or. 270. t Dial. 8. J Magisterium quietis. de Pallio.
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
XVI INTRODUCTION.
the morning, I take not to the stnmp, I hang
about no law court, I snuff up no stink of
gutters in the forum, I fawn at no bar, I thump
no benches, I throw no law into confusion, I
roar out no pleading, I am neither judge, nor
soldier, nor king ; I have given up the world.
My one thing needful is with myself. A man
has more enjoyment in solitude than in public
life." If Ravignan or Lacordaire had left the
French bar in this spirit, St. Sulpice would
have suspected their vocation. It was not to
Tertullian, nor to Origen, nor even to St.
Athanasius, that God entrusted the task of
being the Rodriguez of the ancient Church.
There is hardly a page of the " Christian Per
fection" which does not cite some story or
eome saying of a hermit of the desert.
It shewed a tremendous consciousness of
strength in the Church, and a confidence in the
loyalty of her children, to allow them to go out
into the wilds and lead a solitary life. The enor
mous majority of the monks were laymen, nor
generally speaking were even the abbots priests ;
yet so secure was the Church that the necessity
of belonging to her and obeying the one visible
body was a first principle with them, that she
allowed them to stray into the desert, and to
plunge into all the dangerous depths of con
templation. It was not till long afterward3
that the yells of the wild Egyptian monks, dis-
1 orbing the propriety of councils, showed the
necessity, which afterwards produced St. Column
INTRODUCTION. XV11
ban and St. Benedict. Meanwhile the soli-
caries were left to win their own spiritual ex
perience. The first pioneers in the wilderness,
the pilgrim fathers of the wilds, communicated
their spiritual feelings to each other, and in
structed their successors. We ourselves in our
daily life, our temptations, our struggles, our ex
amination of conscience, our mental prayer, are
following the lights held up to us by the saints
of the desert. Not only St. Benedict and St.
Teresa, but even ordinary Christians are living
at this day on the record and experience of
many a fight with the devil and many a lonely
midnight prayer in the wilderness. Christian
mysticism is quite different from any other,
though mysticism exists everywhere in all
races, however cold and matter-of-fact, in all
religions, however false ; and these peculiarities
of Catholic mystical life are to be seen in all
their essential outlines in the men and women
whose lives are here presented to the reader.
A short account of their peculiarities will both
show the amount of gratitude, which we owe to
our forefathers in Christ, and how their lives
bear practically upon ours.
As in Germany, while philosophy was run
ning its course of speculation and mysticism
from Kant to Schelling, the hands and feet
of Catherine Emmerich, the Addolorata and
Maria Mori were dropping blood, so while
St. Paul, St. Antony, St. Macarius and Arse-
nius were leading their wondenul lives in
XVlll INTRODUCTION.
the desert, in the same country and at the same
time Plotinus and Hierocles were lecturing,
and Hypatia was bewitching Alexandria with
her eloquence and her beauty. There is, how
ever, a much more direct connection between
the schools of Alexandria and of Nitria, than
between the mysticism of Jacobi and Schelling,
nd the ecstatics of Munster and the Tyrol.
Neoplatonism was a doctrine of which the end
and object was union with God; and though
their God was impersonal, yet their system was
& real mysticism, the climax of which was ex-
taey. Porphyry declares that Plotinus often and
especially four times when they were together
was raised to a state of ecstatic intuition of the
Sovereign Good. " As for myself/ he adds, " I
have only been united to God once in my forty-
eighth year." "Eunapius writes," says Car
dinal Bona,* " of Jamblichus, that he was some
times raised ten cubits from the ground. Por
phyry, in his life of Plotinus, tells us mar
vellous things of his contemplation ; Proclut
also, in hia books on the Theology of Plato,
and Plotinus himself in many places, speak
much of extasy and of abstraction from the
things of cense, in a way not contrary to the
maxims of Christian wisdom. Again, the
autnor of the Heavenly Wisdom according to
the Egyptians, thus writes of himself: I
often, when engaged in mental contemplation,
Via. Comp 8, 4.
INTBODUCTIOS.
seem to leave my body and to enjoy the pos
session of the Highest Good with marvellous
delight." Where did this system of union with
God differ from that of St. Antony ?
1. Heathen mysticism at its hest, when
cleared of magic, witchcraft, Canidian drugs and
general devilries, was an intellectual system ad
dressing itself to the choice spirits of the human
race and leaving vulgar uninteresting souls in
the mire. I do not mean to say that Platonic
ethics were not lofty, nor that in practice
Hypatia s life was not spotless, nor that prayer
and love were not taught to be necessary instru
ments, in order to fulfil this great aspiration of
the human spirit to its God. Science and in
tellect, however, were absolutely necessary con
ditions for the attainment of this object. A
man must have gone through the whole field
of dialectics, have mastered the ens unum in
multis, have proved that multiplicity is essen
tial to reason and all its products, have seen
r .he last duality of thinker and thought, of
subject and objeot, expire with the extinction of
personality, before the great act of union, extasy,
can ensue. But no Platonic logic is neces
sary for the Christian life. The Christian mya
tic is not made of finer clay than his neighbour :
the common red earth of Adam with the com
mon human soul is quite enough with the grace
of God. The spirit bloweth at its own sweet
will and urges on pure hearts and simple minds.
The Saints of the desert are made out of such
XX INTBODUCTION.
men as the illiterate St. Antony, Paul the
Simple, Moses, the negro robber, and Mary the
sinner of Alexandria. This has been its
tharacteristic in every age. Brother Egidius
could boast that by God s grace he could see as
deep into the abyss of love as Father Bonaventure.
The highest phenomena of Christian mysti
cism appear to this day in the soul of a poor
village girl in the Tyrol, who has learned no
science but that which can be gained at the
foot of the crucifix. But this fact by no means
gives us the measure of the essential difference
between the two systems. I have been speaking
here of that part of the mystical life which is
xiot essential to it. Instead of being the aim
of Christian life, extasies and raptures are not
even a necessary portion of it ; nay, if they are
aimed at or desired, in the smallest degree, ever
BO indirectly, the whole life is vitiated, and if out
ward symptoms of them occur, they are neces
sarily false. So little are they necessary, that
in some races, they hardly ever occur For in
stance Ireland with all its virtues has not pro
duced a mystic, for very many centuries ; and
even its earlier Saints differ to an extraordinary
degree, from those of Italy or France. The
Celtic race has in this sense very little mysticism.
But the gulf between the Museum and Thebaid
IB not to be measured by the fact that in the
one case, extasies were the rare reward of pain
ful intellectual endeavour, in the other they
came unbidden and unsought to the unlettered
INTRODUCTION. *X1
christiap girl or mechanic. It would be more
true to say that all Christians without exception
are in one sense called to union with God. The
following passage deserves to be well pondered
by all of us. " Because there are very many
of us who wishing neither to learn, nor to
observe the rules of Christian perfection handed
down to us by Christ, excuse themselves from
the appearance of despising them, by assert
ing that those rules concern those who are
shut up in cloisters, and are free from the carea
of the world, I will now shew clearly how
vain and false is their persuasion, that this
error may be destroyed, and the truth made
clear. It is most true that Christian life may be
divided into two states, the secular and reli
gious. Both, however, though by a different
route, tend to the same end, and as far as the
practice of virtue, contempt of the world, poverty
of spirit, and love of the cross, the condition of
each is identical, with this only difference, that
religious being bound by the ties of solemn
vows and rules, are obliged more strictly to
perfection than those who live in the world.
In other respects, one and the same way of life
is required of both, one and the same Gospel
has been preached to both. Since God com
mands nothing but charity, forbids nothing but
self-love, there is no difference as far as that is
concerned, no exception of persons. Our
Saviour has commanded that no one should
speak an idle word, or he will have to reader an
XXii INTRODUCTION.
account of it at the day of judgment. No one is
to be angry, no one to give way to wrong
desires ; here is no distinction between the
monk and the married Christian. In the same
way, when He says, Blessed are they who
mourn; woe to those who laugh now; when He
taught us to pray always, to renounce all things,
to hate our life, to deny ourselves, to bear in
juries patiently, to enter the narrow gate, He
makes no exception in favour of any member of
the human race. When Paul the Apostle writes
to all Christians, even those who are married
and have children, does he not exact from them
all the discipline of the monastic life ? Hay
ing food and raiment, he says, let us be
content. What could he require more of an
anchorite ? Were not Peter and James writing
to all Christians when they exhort them to be
holy, perfect, wanting in nothing ? When
Christ said, Be ye perfect, as My Heavenly
Father is perfect ; He spoke to all the faithful,
to whom He appointed the highest aim of sanc
tity, that all we who are called and are sons of
God, should strive after the perfection of onr
Father. There is, therefore, a great necessity of
sanctity laid upon all Christians, lest they
should be excluded as degenerate children from
their Father s inheritance."* This is a very im
portant passage ; the modern type of a worldly
Catholic would not have been considered safe
Bonae. Principia Vita. Christ, c. 6.
INTRODUCTION. XX111
when that was written. He existed, doubtless ;
but he would not have considered himself safe.
This perfect self-satisfaction is our characteris
tic. We enjoy this world not viciously, but
without reference to God, and think ourselves
quite sure of heaven though we make no attempt
at the perfection of our state, and hardly any
prayer, though we give but scanty alms, and aim
at no interior life of intercourse with God. Such
a man or woman would have been thought half
a heathen by St. Antony, and would have been
pitied as in a dangerous state, for the call to
some kind of perfection would have been con
sidered as involved in Christianity itself.
2. Not only does it appear that some sort of
intercourse with God is held out to all Chris
tians in general, and that perfection belongs to
no state in particular, but it is also true that the
first steps in the spiritual life are the same in
all. Any one who has read the life of St.
Antony, must have been struck with wonder,
and perhaps feel some kind of disappointment,
on reading the apparently commonplace and
matter-of-fact instructions, given by him to his
monks. After years spent in the desert, his
first discourse to his disciples is in a great
manner made up of such sentences as these :
" Of what profit is it to seek things which we
cannot take away with us ? Why ihould we
not rather acquire those things which we are able
to take away with us, such as prudence, jus
tice, temperance, fortitude, intelligence,
XXIV INTRODUCTION.
charity, love of the poor, faith in Christ, meek
ness, hospitality." A strange list this of vir
tues for a monk of the desert, but a stranger
result for days and nights spent in prayer,
fasting, and vigils, in utter solitude in the
depths of the desert. Very unromantic plati
tudes those, when we remember the speaker
and his audience with the scene around them,
St. Antony and his monks, with his cavern for
a background. Unromantic, perhaps, but most
necessary for monks and all Christians whatso
ever. It was the announcement, that before man
can attain to the unitive life, he must pass
through the purgative and illuminative. Chris
tian virtue is the beginning, middle, and end of
the cloister, and of perfection in general. Many
a soul dreaming about perfection, might profit
by St. Antony s speech. To many such, we
would say, Madam, keep your temper, and give
alms. St. Antony knew human nature well
when he bade his monks disbelieve the devil,
if the evil spirit promised to reveal to them
the moment of the rising of the Nile. Human
nature aims at the supernatural, and despises
the commonplace, forgetting that the superna
tural is often very commonplace in its outward
aspect. Moreover, however sublime may be the
prayer of the saints, however wonderful their
intercourse with God, the first steps in prayer
are identical for the saints and the most ordi
nary amongst us. All begin with meditation,
and go on through affective prayer. With
INTRODUCTION. XXT
patience and perseverance, ail souls can go a
certain way, a considerable way in prayer, with-
ont trenching on the really supernatural. Or
dinary grace will carry you through many stages
of prayer without landing you in those heights
of passive contemplation which require extraor
dinary help. The fact is, that there is no gulf
between the ordinary and the supernatural in
prayer. The soul of a saint passes on through
unconscious and undistinguishable steps, just as
the old year melts tranquilly into the new,
without any sound breaking the silence of mid
night. Theologians even differ as to where the
precise point begins, when the ordinary ceases
and the supernatural prayer begins. For in
stance, Cardinal de Laurea looks upon acquired
contemplation as within the compass of ordinary
grace : " I seriously warn novices and the
faithful, who are inexperienced in spiritual
thoughts and prayers, not to be frightened
when they hear of contemplation, as though it
were a hard and difficult thing, yea, morally im
possible, and only conceded to anchorites by a
most singular favour of God. This is not the
case, if we speak of common, or acquired, or as
it is commonly called, natural contemplation, for,
with respect to the subjects who are capable of
contemplation, St. Gregory says, that persons
of every sort, of both sexes and of all conditions,
are capable of contemplation, if they are in
structed. And St. Bernard and St. Bonaven-
ture say, that unlearned simple persons are
XXVI INTRODUCTION.
most apt for contemplation. Of infused or
supernatural contemplation, of course it is true
that it does not belong to all of every state, and
of a common order, but only to very few who
are perfect, or on the way to be perfect. As,
however, nil the faithful, if they are instructed,
are capable of meditation on the objects of reve
lation, so, if they are instructed, they are capa
ble of common or acquired contemplation, be
cause the transition from meditation to con
templation is in the regular order of things. It
is enough for my purpose at present to touch
upon the easiness of common or acquired con
templation."* It is plain, then, that the prayer
of the saints of the desert, in its ordinary state,
was not so far removed as to be useless to us.
We may parody the words of the poet, and say,
"One touch of grace makes the whole world kin.*
It is therefore with no antiquarian curiosity that
we gaze down into the hearts of those old her
mits. Their fragmentary sayings, their simple,
pious, almost humorous utterances are indeed
remarkable, if only as waifs and strays from that
great ocean of the past, flung up on the shore
oat of the depths where so much has sunk for
ever. Even as men we listen with interest to
those voices of the dead, and love to think of
those uncouth hermits, and of Mary of Egypt
wandering about the solitude of Moab covered
with her long, black, rusty hair. She, too. waa
I..iurea. do Or. Christ : Op. 3. c. L
INTRODUCTION. XXVli
A veritable child of Eve, with her heart full of
the memory of life s sorrows and sins, and her
eyes no longer lit up with the wild light of the
delirium of vice and of Alexandrian orgies,
but glowing softly with the blessed peace ol
conscious forgiveness. They were no stargazers,
no idle dreamers, these hermits of the wilder
ness, but the first teachers of the spiritual
life. They went out into the desert, conscious
of no grand aim, led by the spontaneous impulse
of their simple hearts, with no reflection on
self, but wishing to obey literally the words of
Christ. They had no views, no high ideal
before them of what they themselves would
become. They anticipated no contemplation,
they sought for no particular prayer. The
desert was their purgative life, their novitiate.
They committed themselves quietly to God s
guidance, aud let His Spirit carry them whither
soever He would, living day by day on whatever of
temptation, of desolation, or spiritual sweetness
it pleased God to send them. They chatted
simply together of their experiences, and thus
they planted for ua the landmarks of the Chris
tian life. They examined their consciences,
they had their directors, and to this day
their prayer is held out to us as a model. At
times it took the shape of what we should
now call meditation, as in the case of the monk
who records his thinking on the crucifixion/
Bosweide, lib. vi. 659.
XXV111 INTRODUCTION.
and of Abbot Piemen who meditated on tho
sorrows of Mary, but in general it appears to
have been principally the prayer of aspira
tion or of ejaculation. Their prayers were
Car less regular and methodical, more impulsive
and less self-restrained, more instinctive and less
dependent on reflection than those recommended
in ordinary books of devotion. They would have
agreed with St. Philip, who taught an old woman
mental prayer by bidding her dwell on the words
of the Pater Noster, and with St. Teresa, who
gave the same advice to her Carmelite Sisters.
In general, the prayers of saints and even of
medieval writers are more antique than those
now in common use. Listen to another Car
dinal and monk. " Verily Christ the Saviour
taught us this mode of prayer by His example ;
for in the garden He repeated over and over
again, My Father, if it be possible, let this
cup pass from me, nevertheless not My will but
Thine be done. Thais, once a sinner, was
taught by Abbot Paphnutius to pray continually,
My Creator, have mercy on me/ Cassian
in his collations recommends the frequent use
of this little verse : God, hasten to my help.
Many such things are found in the lives of the
Fathers. Abbot Isaac saw the prayer of a cer
tain monk rise while he was eating, like fire in
the sight of God. Another monk, while he waa
conversing with others, made a hundred and
three ejaculations. Abbot Macarius, when some
asked him about his prayer, answered : It
INTRODUCTION. XXIX
is not necessary to speak much in prayer, but to
spread out your hands frequently, and say,
4 Lord, as Thou wiliest, and knowest, have
mercy on me." Moses, the Ethiopian, onoe a
robber chief, made fifty prayers a day ; Paul, the
monk, three hundred; a certain virgin seven
hundred. Theodoret relates that Simeon Stylitea
made numberless acts of adoration a day, BO
that a bystander counted sometimes one thou
sand two hundred and forty-five."* Here Car
dinal Bona evidently holds up the prayers of
the desert Saints as a model to the modem
Christian. St. Simeon on his pillar wa&
not so very unlike either in his work or his
interior, the Cure d Ars in his parish church.
And if you descend into the ranks of ordi
nary, commonplace Christians, it will not be
hard to find out that there is much in their
spiritual life which connects them with the old
desert Saints. Their temptations were the
same. The noon -day devil walks about the
streets of London, and the drawing-rooms of
Mayfair, as he made his rounds in the desert.
The cell of the modern nun is not more i/ae
from his visits, than the cavern of the wilder
ness. It is for this reason, that the records of
the temptations and struggles of the ancient
monks are so valuable to us. They are precioui
for the tempted, and precious for all who have to
<ieal with souls. It would be well if we priests
Bona. Via. Comp. 6.
IXX. INTRODUCTION.
knew more of the mystical theology to be
learned in the pages of Rosweide ; and if
superiors of religious houses studied the gentle
ness and sweetness of the abbots of the deserts,
and remembered that they are fathers arid
mothers of individual souls. If it be true that
there are dangers of illusion in the study of mys
ticism, it is also true that there is greater danger
in the ignorance of it. God s dealings with
souls are very marvellous, and it needs not to be
a saint to feel the crucifixion of His operations.
The tediousness and the weariness and disgust
of the monotony of the spiritual life which
makes up what is called acedia, and appears so
often in the pages of Cassian and Moschus,
are not confined to the banks of the Nile.
It is even true that, in some of the earlier stages
of that life, there are anticipations of the pains
which, in an infinitely greater degree, saints
have suffered. After narrating some of the
most terrible trials of the life of the Ursu-
line Mary of the Incarnation, suffered while sho
was teaching the savages in Canada, Father
Charlevoix adds : " All this account is very
instructive, and if those who are tempted were to
behave as she did, they would spare much
trouble to themselves and their directors also.
It is not rare to find even in persons but little
advanced in the spiritual life, states of miiid
such as we have described. It is not always
God who acts immediately on* the soul ; He has
only to let the tempter have his way. Even
INTRODUCTION. XXXI
natural disposition has much to do with it*
The design of God in allowing it, is to humble
the soul. What the soul has to do is to practise
patience, to keep silence, and to be humble and
submissive."* It would be well also if the
director was patient as well as the penitent;
and he would be patient, if he knew more of
the ways of God even from books, and respected
the work of God in souls. We should do well
to remember the advice of Abbot Apollo to the
monk, who was himself tempted because he had
been harsh to his brother : " This has happened
to thee because you drove into despair the youth
who was attacked by the evil one, and whom
you ought to have anointed for his fight with
the devil by words of consolation. You never
thought of our Lord s words, break not thp
bruised reed."t Alas ! poor reeds ! terrible
sufferings are often inflicted on souls because
we are too much hurried away by the tumult of
life to pray, or to think, or to study anything
whatsoever, far less the science which the old
monks taught us in the solitude and silence of
the desert.
3. A third characteristic of Christian spiritu
ality is what is called the interior life, and I dwell
upon it principally because it gives me an op
portunity of noticing the influence of the desert
on Christian doctrine. It is sometimes said
* Yie de la Mere M. de 1 Inc. book 5 p. 2>
+ Roiwide lib. 5. p. 673.
INTRODUCTION.
that all doctrines whicb are subjective, ncl have
to do with the analysis of man, his states of
mind, and his relations to grace, are modern,
and were little considered in the ancient
Church. * It seems to me that those ancient
Christians were far more like ourselves than i*
commonly thought, and this part of the subject
will enable me to point out both the likeness
and the difference between them and the modern
Catholic.
Let us begin by quoting a description of the
interior life from a well-known writer. " The
interior life consists in two sorts of acts, viz., in
thoughts and affections. It is in this only
that perfect souls differ from imperfect, and the
blessed from those who are still living on earth.
Our thoughts, says St. Bernard, ought to be
ever following after truth, and our affections
ever abiding in the fervour of charity. In this
Of all theories about the early Church, none is so uffen
flsve as that which affects to pomi oat ttie precise moment.
when certain ductriues were supposed to be taught for the first
time, because the errors which denied them first brought them
into prominence, Mr. Ffoulkes, for instance, tells us that
Pelagianism was a heresy born out of due time," (Christen
dom s Divisions, p. 69,) which means a heresy inconvenient for
Mr. Ffouike s theory according to which heresies and truths
ought to arise at certain times and in certain places. Thera
are a good many heresies which labour under the same mis
fortune as the Pelagian. We can scarcely beliere our eyes when
! * same author actually writes as though the individual Christian
first arrived at the consciousness of the possession of a conscience
in the 16th century under the auspices of Luther. (Ibid, pp. 96,
182. (Let us trust that the estimable and industrious author really
Attached no meaning whutaoever to his words.
INTRODUCTION.
manner, onr mind and heart being closely
applied to God, being fully possessed by God,
in the very midst of exterior occupations we
never lose sight cf Him, and are always
engaged in the exercise of His love. The
essence of the spiritual and interior life consisti
in two things : on the one hand in the opera
tions of God in the soul, in the lights that
illumine the understanding and the inspirations
which affect the will ; on the other in the co
operation of the soul with the lights and move
ments of grace. One of the occupations of the
interior life is the examining and ascertaining
particularly three sorts of things in our souls.
First, what comes from our own nature, our sins,
our evil habits, our passions, our inclinations, our
affections, our desires, our thoughts, our judg
ments, our sentiments : secondly, what cornea
from the devil, his temptations, his suggestions,
his artifices, the illusions by which he tries to
seduce us unless we are on our guard : thirdly,
what comes from God, His lights, His inspira
tions, the movements of His grace, His designs
in our regard, and the ways along which He
desires to guide us."* It is plain, then, from
this passage that what is called the interior life
consists in the substitution of heavenly thoughts
for evil or natural thoughts. It means that it
is reasonable and right for a Christian to aim not
only at keeping God s commandments and doing
Lallemant, Spiritual Doctrine Jfingliah translation, p. 209.
TIXJ7 INTRODUCTION.
works, but also at a continual thought of
God s presence, and a constant obedience to the
movements of grace, as the supernatural spring
of our actions instead of following merely natu
ral and simply human feeling. That this can
never be perfectly realised in this life is certain :
but that it should be aimed at as partially pos
sible, that without fanaticism, without singu
larity, without crushing nature it should be
possible so to penetrate and imbue it with the
life of God that it should seldom move alone,
this is an idea, to speak humanly, as peculiar
to Christianity, as novel and original as Tran-
substantiation. That it was a totally new notion
to a converted heathen is perfectly manifest.
Immersed in the outer world, which poured
itself into him through his five senses, and
ever fed his imagination with the many-coloured
images of a life without restraint, and the
thinly-disguised outlines of dangerous forms,
he never progressed eveu as far as the notion of
an indoor existence or a home. The idea of
a heavenly life within himself would be utterly
onintelligible. I doubt, whether, even now,
outside the Church, it has progressed as far as
to be even a dream. The use, for instance, of
the word recollection, is as thoroughly Catholic
as confession or absolution, nay, it is even
more exclusively Catholic, for it has nothing
to do with either ritual or vestment. Within the
Church it is the great distinction between the
vorldly and unworldly Christian. In proportion
INTRODUCTION. XXXV
as our faith thoroughly seizes hold of us, we are
recollected and filled with the thought of God.
I suspect that the worst times of ecclesiastical
history, such as those which immediately
preceded the great modern heresy, were those
in which the proportion of worldly Christians
was greatest, that is, of Christians on whom
their faith sat, like an external thing.
This idea of the interior life was principally
brought out by the hermits of the desert. The
real doctor of the wilderness, who reduced their
religious practice to theory was St. Macarius,
and his homilies preached by him probably in
the church of the monastery of Scete, after he
was ordained priest, in the year 340, furnish
us with as good a notion of the inward life of
the members of that Libyan solitude as the
sermons of St. Bernard give us of that of the
Cistercians of Clairvaux. There we find the
doctrine of original sin brought out with a clear
ness which rivals St. Augustine, while his
descriptions of states of the soul remind us ot
St. Teresa, or Henry Suso.* The greater part,
however, of the teaching of the saint relates to
the establishment of the interior life as described
For instance, for original. sin v. Horn. xt. with the beautiful
description of Jesus entering into the utmost depth of the heart
(0vf ***<*) and xii. For supernatural states Horn. viii.
Some expressions, e. g. Horn. xv. 22, have been accused of semi-
Pelagianism, a heresy quite foreign to the saint s whole spirit.
It is true, however, that a curious tract on Baptism in Gal-
landius, Tom. 8, ascribed, I know not with what reason, to Mark,
a later hermit, has a very Pelagian look.
INTRODUCTION
by Lallemant :* " In this do true Christians "
he says, " differ from the whole race of men,
and the great difference between the two, as we
have said, consists in that the intellect and
reasoning power are ever occupied with heavenly
thoughts, and contemplate the noble things of
eternity through the participation and communi
cation of the Holy Spirit. They are super-
naturally born of God, and are reckoned to be
sons of God in reality and power. They have
attained to a state of unshaken tranquillity, of
quiet and of rest, through many struggles and
troubles and much length of time, and are not
tossed wildly as in a sieve, or flung about by the
waves of restless and empty thoughts. They
are greater and stronger than the world in that
their mind, and the thought of their souls are in
the peace of Christ and in the love of the Holy
Ghost. For not in outward shapes and types
does the speciality of Christians consist, though
many think so, and in consequence men are
tike the world in their intellect and reasoning.
There is an earthquake and a tossing, a faith
lessness and confusion, an unquietness and a
trembling in the thoughts, just as though they
were not Christians, but simply men like others.
On the surface and in certain outward practices
they are not heathen. But in heart and mind
they are bound by the chains of earth, for they
have not the rest of God and the fear of tbt
Hum. T.
INTRODUCTION. XXXV1J
Spirit in tLeir interior life. They have never
sought it by prayer from God, and have nevei
believed it to be possible. *
A homily this which might have been delivered
with effect elsewhere, to the courtiers of Con
stantinople, or the ladies of Antioch ; indeed it
would not be out of place if addressed to worldly
Catholics of all generations.
While, however, it is plain that the interioi
life of a Christian of the fourth century does
not differ from the Christian life of the nine
teenth, it is certain that there are differences in
the modes recommended at different times for
the practice of the interior life. It is certain
that in our time there is a far more frequent
reference to the details of the Life of our Lord,
especially to His Passion, a far more minute
analysis of His feelings as Man, and a deepei
entrance into the joys and sufferings of His
Sacred Heart than in the first ages of the
Church. That these were never wanting in
any age is proved by a few instances which
have already been given from the saints of the
desert, and could be proved by passages from
early writers. Nothing can exceed the tender
ness with which St. Clement* appeals to all
that Jesus had suffered for Christians, and
how His words were received into their bosoms
and inmost beings, and His Passion ever before
their eyes. St. Justin has written words quito
1 ad Cor. 2. and Ep. 2, 1.
XXXV111 INTRODUCTION.
modern in his appreciation of the interior suf
ferings of the Heart of Jesus in His agony, as
if he had made his meditation upon them in
the morning.* "For in the records which I
say were composed by His apostles and those
who followed them, it is written that His blood
tiowed like great drops of blood, while He was
praying : Let this cup pass from Me, if it be
possible. It is plain then that His Heart was
trembling, and His bones likewise and His
Heart felt like wax melting within Him, that
we might know that His Father willed that His
own Son should in very deed go through such
passions for us, and that we should not say
that being the Son of God He did not feel the
things which happened to Him. M Again,
Origent speaks of the image of the wounds ol
Jesus impressed on the minds of Christians.
It would be absurd to suppose that the Passion
had no influence over the feelings and persever
ance of the saints of the desert, when St. Ma-
carius exhorts them to bear their hard life by
the thought that they must be crucified with tho
Crucified One, and that the human soul which la
the bride of Christ must suffer with her Bride
groom. In the same place he bids them remem
ber Him "who as a mark of insult lore the crown
of thorns on His Head and endured spittings,
Dial, com Tryph. 103.
t Cont. Cels. lib. TI. 636.
INTRODUCTION. XXXI X
buffets, and the cross/ * Nevertheless it is
generally the glorious rather than the suffering
Christ who appears in the early Church. In
the visions of martyrs, Christ appears splendid
and radiant, and their dreams were peaceful
and full of beautiful poetry. St. Stephen saw
Jesus standing in glory at the right hand of
God. " In the midst of my cruel torments,"
says St. Victor, " I invoked the merciful Sa
viour ; and lo ! all at once I saw Him carrying
ia His hand the heavenly sign of our redemp
tion. And He said to me : Peace be with thee,
Victor. Fear not, I am Jesus, and it is I wbo
send suffering and pain to My saints." Saint
Marianus sees lovely meadows, planted with
dark cypresses and pines, and drinks a cup of
(delicious water from a cool stream. Children
come crowned with roses, and present a palm to
the martyrs, bidding them welcome to the hea
venly banquet. It seenis as though amidst theii
terrific sufferings God sent them visions of glory
to sustain the fainting flesh. In exhortations to
martyrdom, the sufferings of Christ are not so
prominently put forward as the joys of paradise.
How unsatisfactory is Origen, in his address
to martyrs, when he accounts for the Agony oi
Jesus ! how eloquent when he speaks of throw
ing off " this mortal coil," and of the sight of
the Eternal Word! Tertullian, in his Ad
Martyras, does not mention the Passion once.
Uom. xii. 6.
x l INTRODUCTION.
St. Cyprian speaks of the Passion in his exhor
tation, but far more of the Maccabees.* la
early writings the Passion appears almost
always as an element of triumph. Never are the
most ancient Fathers so explicit and peremp
tory in their assertion of the Godhead of Jesus
as when they speak of His cross. The Patri-
passian heresy would have been impossible, if
the Church had not constantly and unequivo
cally declared the sufferer on the cross, to be
absolutely and in the strictest sense the God
who created all things. St. Clement and St
Ignatius speak of the Passion of God. Ter
tulliant forgets his usual ferocity in the beauti
ful treatise on the flesh of Christ, to speak
eloquently and lovingly of his " crucified God."
The taunts of the heathen about the dead
malefactor under Pontius Pilate by a sort of
natural reaction forced Christians to be proud
of His ignominy, and to forget the agony of
shame in the intensely human soul of their
suffering God. The awful pains of the flesh
were hidden, in the blaze of the grand achieve
ment of redemption. It seemed to them a
glorious thing, worthy of a God, to come down
from heaven to reunite them to God, to save
them by an act of self-sacrificing love, from the
He uses a traly African topio of consolation when he thus
represents the feelings of the Maccabees: " How great a relief
was it in their martyrdom, how vast, how immense a consolation,
daring their tortures, not to think on their own sufferings, hut U
prophesy the torments of their torturer."
t D* Caint Christ) , i. 5
INTRODUCTION. x
empire of Satan, from sin and passion, and to
work a moral renovation on the earth ; and the
splendour of this victory of the Godhead served
to throw a veil of glory over the poor suffering
Manhood. They knew that He was Man, and
we know that He was God, even when we entei
most deeply into His human pains ; but in
their case the earthly shame was swallowed up
in the grandeur of success. " The Son of God
was crucified," continues Tertullian, " I feel
no shame precisely because it was shameful."
Some even pushed the feeling to an excess, nnd
shock us by maintaining that the Sacred Hu
manity was the reverse of beautiful. The Vir
gin and Child were an object of devotion in
Christianity long before the cross. Our Lady is
often seen in the catacombs, the cross never.*
Nearly the earliest form of the symbol of sal
vation appears in triumph on the Roman eagles
or in the jewelled cross of the old mosaics.
Something of the same feeling appears in the
hermits of the wilderness. It was perhaps also
owing to a reaction against the Arian heresy
that the homilies of St. Macarius are full of
the Godhead of Christ. The union of our souls
with the Godhead through the instrumen
tality of the Sacred Humanity forms the
essence of his interior life. The Manhood ia
Wherever it appears, De Bossi says that it is the work of
comparatively recent hands. Martigny, Dictionnaire. Art Croix.
The Tau, I believe, is sometimes found at a somewhat earlier
period.
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
Xiil INTRODUCTION.
rather according to the beautiful expression of
Clement of Alexandria, " The breast of the
Father," to which we poor fallen mortals
attach our lips and receive the stream of God s
life within us. Jesus appears at times on His
cross in St. Macarius, as we have seen, but
most frequently it is the sweet image of Him
at whose feet Mary Magdalene sat, and the
thought of whom draws delicious tears from
the eyes of those who contemplate Him.* The
object of their love, their desire, their burning
affection,! was the same as that which we have
before our eyes, Jesus yesterday, and today,
and the same for ever ; but the point of view
from which they regarded Him was somewhat
different. They rather considered the victory
of the Man-God than the battle and the suffer
ing. It was reserved for a later age to enter
more deeply and minutely into the details of
the Passion, and to make it the basis of their
interior life. The pale face of the Man -God,
and His arms outstretched in agonized love
upon the cross, and His hands and feet dripping
blood, have sunk more and more deeply into
the heart of suffering humanity. The figure of
our crucified God has long been the central
point around which have moved all the pro-
foundest feelings of our souls.
The stigmatized saints, the wayside crucifix
Horn. xxv.
rit xi/;< Hora. xv. 1
INTRODUCTION.
and the mystery-plays of the Tyrol are all iu
their way proofs of what I mean. The visions of
modern mystics are far different from the joyful
scenes which cheered the Martyrs. Jesus
Sweating blood, or scourged at the pillar, or
staggering under His cross has replaced the
same Lord, appearing in His glory to the Saints
of the early Church. For this many subjective
reasons may be given. I cannot help thinking
that our hearts are more tender than those of
the converts from that old Greek and Roman
world. Classical poetry sings of the straight
forward joys and pains of the old Adam, but
it has far less minute analysis of feeling,
of sorrow and sadness than ours. Domestic
affections, the product of Christianity, have
refined and deepened our emotions, and given
them a greater capacity at once of tranquil joy
and of sensitive sorrow. This may be one
reason why we enter more deeply into the suffer
ings of Christ. Again, there was in that young
Church, with the world all before it, a certainty
of prompt success which now we cannot realize.
"Was not the day of judgment coming soon ?
Was not the reign of justice to begin and
Christ s kingdom to appear ? Why waste time
in mourning over a world which must so soon
come to an end ? It may be that the nearly
expected approach of the end of the world and
the consequent triumph of the Church con
tributed to render the hearts of those first Chris
tians of the Roman world less sensible to suffer-
INTRODUCTION.
ing. As the Church grew older, Christians
entered more minutely into the feelings of their
Lord. There is a far more modern aspect, for
instance, in St. Gregory Nazianzen. In one
of his most beautiful orations, he tells his
people that he had been in retreat by the sea
shore, and how he had enjoyed the sight of the
waves, and even the pebbles and shells and
seaweed on the beach. He then turns to the
Passion of our Lord, and after going through
its details, he enters more deeply into His
mental sufferings, and reminds his hearers that
God must have the preeminence in suffer
ing, because dishonour was worse for Him to
Dear."* And now, that the Church has struggled
on through fifteen fresh centuries of sin and
sorrow since Constantino, we have learned to
sympathize more with the agony of His soul,
and with all that the anticipation must have
cost Him. Certain of final success, we are
certain also that successes on a grand scale
are few and far between. His kingdom is not
yet come. In the meanwhile, individual suffer
ings and public miseries are rife, and we feel the
want of the Cross and the crucified One more
intimately than did the first Christians. We
rush to the Heart of Jesus for sympathy in
desolation and sorrow. The real reason howevei
of the difference probably comes from Christ
Himself. Not only do we seek His sympathy
Or. 26.
INTRODUCTION. S.Iv
but He seeks ours. To Him martyrdom is a
triumph, while the sins of Christians are a
Bhame. For this reason He comes to ask us
to feel for and with Him. He appears to modern
Saints under all the indignities of the Passion.
He would have us realize the fact that His
Godhead spared Him no pang, but added
poignancy to all His sufferings. It only made
flesh and heart more keenly alive to physical
and mental pain. The consciousness of infinite
greatness only gave Him a profounder sense of
shame under indignity, and unbounded loving-
ness only made the disappointment of unre
quited love more unmitigatedly bitter. Be
cause His Person was divine, all the sinless
feelings of our nature were in Him intensi
fied, and possessed a strength even beyond
those of us ordinary men, with all our egotism;
and this served to enhance the pain of His
unreserved self-sacrifice by raising to an un
limited degree the sensitiveness of His suffer
ing Heart. There is something awful in the
shame of God, and modern visions are meant
to teach us that the accumulated shames of
centuries were felt beforehand by Jesus, in His
Agony and on His Cross. And not only
shame, but the pain of all other human feelings
formed a part by anticipation of His bitter cup.
Hence, all woes have ever run to hide themselves
in His Sacred wounds. Hence, time has only
enabled us to realize better how much it cost
Jesus to redeem us. Hence, though St. Teresa
INTRODUCTION.
like St. Macarius, bids us look for the presence
of God in our own hearts, yet she also warns
us never to lose sight of the Sacred Humanity.
Hence, though the object on which our interior
life is fixed is the same Jesus, God and Man,
who occupied the minds and hearts of the
hermits of the desert, yet there is no dead
monotony in the life of the Church. The
heavenly figure which appeared to Martyrs and
Saints in the primitive ages has gained in
clearness and in beauty, in tenderness and
pathos through the lapse of time. It may be
that the spiritual state of the Saints of the
desert coincides with those more advanced stages
of mystical theology, when the union with God
is greater and images fewer. The spiritual stato
of St. Macarius, of course, is more like that
of St. John of the Cross than like those earlier
stages of prayer, which we find in ordinary
spiritual books. Nevertheless, even in the high
est modern Saints, we hear more of the Sacred
Humanity than in lives of the Saints of old.
Even in the advice, given to the common run
of Christians, the same difference is observable.
The following passage, from one who has been
supposed to exaggerate the possibility of union
with the Godhead, will fitly close this part of the
subject, and illustrate the contrast between the
ancient and the modern Church. In Tauler s
imitation of the life of Jesus, the following rules
are given for keeping up the sense of the pre-
eence of God. "A man must contemplate the
INTRODUCTION.
Bufferings of Our Lord. He must imprint them
upon his heart. Through them he will learn
how he must avoid all which is not God, how he
must exercise himself in every virtue in order to
arrive at God. Through the contemplation of
our Lord s Passion, God pours a strength into
him, by which He draws him to Himself with
power ; and this is the effect of the force which
lies in the sufferings of Jesus. And when a
man earnestly turns himself towards the thought
of the Passion and dwells in it, God reveals to
him the fruit of His suffering, which is so great
that it flows out upon and around the man,
and he is thus forcibly drawn through the rush
ing of grace towards God. The mighty stream
seizes on all things and hurries them along in
its strength, and in like manner it happens to
a man, who diligently contemplates the Pas
sion. The flow of grace bears him along out of
himself, back to his first origin, the God from
whom he came. On the contrary, he who gives
himself to good works without any such applica
tion of his interior to the thought of the Passion
of our Lord, has his face indeed towards God,
but often stands stock still or even retrogrades
instead of advancing ; while they who occupy
themselves with the sufferings of Jesus, do not
walk but run as fast as men who have enemies
behind them. They never stand still, they
never go backwards, but ever without intermis
sion advance forwards. This however comes
not from their own strength, but it is heavenly
INTRODUCTION.
power lent them through the contemplation of
the Passion of our Lord."*
4. There is another characteristic of the
mystical life of which little appears in the
following pages. I mean the devotion to the
Blessed Virgin. We can hardly conceive an
identity hetween ourselves and the monks of
old, unless we find in them some traces of
what is now considered to be essential to the
very notion of the spiritual life. Let me say
something upon this suhject before I conclude.
We hear a great deal about the practical sys
tem of devotion to our Lady, which is sup
posed to be perfectly modern, and which is over
and above the dogmatic decrees of the council of
Trent. That there is such a system we readily
admit ; it is not explicitly contained in formal
documents, but it is preached by parish priests
in their sermons, taught by nuns to girls who
are about to make their first communion, per
vades the whole life of the Church, is sucked
in by Catholics with their mother s milk, sur
rounds us all like an atmosphere and is breathed
in with every breath we draw. To this we must
submit or we are bad catholics, and keep our
selves aloof from the mystical life of the Church.
In point of fact a practical system of some kind
over and above authorized formulas there always
must be, because our faith is too vast and mag
nificent tc be expressed in words. Kow it if-
Kachfolge, 1. 123.
INTRODUCTION.
precisely to this fact, that I wish to draw atten
tion ; if there must have heen such a system iii
the Church from the first, what was it ? how
far especially did it appear in the mystical life
of the Saints of the wilderness ? has it utterly
perished ? did it contain anything ahout Mary ?
If it can be made out that in the early Church
there existed a system, in its leading fea
tures like that which shocks the sensibilities
of men who eliminate Mary from the Christian
life, it renders their position more unten
able and illogical than ever. I am willing to
allow at once that the practical system of the
Church has developed ; but by development I
mean nothing vague or indefinite. Some writers
speak of development as though they believed
in a theological transmutation of species ; as ii
one doctrine could come out of another utterly
different in kind. Others write as though the
process of development was a contest, the result
of which has been that, by a sort of natural
selection, the strong doctrines outlived the
weak, as though the truths thus developed
were only connected together by historical
sequence, without any internal cohesion. On
the contrary, doctrines were delivered whole, and
their growth is a process of evolution by which
the hidden harmony of the parts is rendered
visible, though all those parts were previously
taught or implicitly held. The development
consists in bringing to light by reflection, what
1 INTRODUCTION.
vas spontaneously believed before. It is the
unfolding of an idea, which was given whole.
Christian truths were thus planted whole like
the trees in Paradise ; they grew, they unfolded
blossoms and they developed into fruit, but they
never sprang from seed. If the principle is to
be of any scientific use, we must not be content
with indistinct germs, any more than we could
hope to satisfy a man who asked for an oak, by
showing him an acorn. Can we then by any
fair use of recorded facts shew the existence of
any practical system of devotion to our Lady,
floating about the ancient Church, and espe
cially about the cells of the desert? It would
not be surprising if we could not discover a ves
tige of it. There is no difficulty whatsoever in
showing that on state occasions, four hundred
years before the division of the East from
the Catholic Church, sermons were preached by
St. Proclus or by St. Cyril of Alexandria, which
prove that the doctrine of Christendom was then
what it is now. The practical system however
of an age gone by is precisely what is most
perishable, because it is not contained in docu
ments. Fifteen hundred years hence, it is
very unlikely, that one Garden of the Soul will
remain, while the canons of the council of
Oscott have a chance of being preserved in some
future Hardouin. Grand dogmatic treatises re
main to reveal the great truths, which occupied
the then religious world, but history is silent
INTRODUCTION. 11
about the prayers, and the aspirations, and the
special devotions, and the spiritual reading of
the layman, and about the sermons of the ob
scure priest, at the time when the Nicene council
met. Is there however anything which will
render it perfectly conceivable that a Hail Mary
or something like it might have been said in the
desert ? Let us begin with what is certain.
At the end of the sixth century, there is no
doubt whatever that the devotion of a monk of
Palestine to the Blessed Virgin was precisely
what it would be now. John Moschus, ac
companied by Sophronius, afterwards patriarch
of Jerusalem, set out on a voyage in which ho
visited the principal monasteries of the East,
about the year 578. He tells us stories which
read like pages from the Glories of Mary, and
which prove that the cells of hermits had images
of the Blessed Virgin with the Infant in her
arms, that they prayed to her, and burned can
dles before them. In one case Abbot John the
Anchorite, who lived in a cavern, twenty miles
from Jerusalem, when about to go on a pilgrim
age to the Holy Cross, or the relics of the
Saints, used to pray thus to the Blessed Virgin :
" Holy Lady, Mother of God, since I am about
to travel a long way, take care of thy lamp and
do not let it be extinguished, for I am going
away trusting to have thy help for a companion
of my way." The story goes on to say that the
Lmp continued to burn miraculously in hi?
Hi INTRODUCTION.
absence. Another story* is told of a hermit on
the Mount of Olives, whom the devil tempted to
put out of his cell an image of our Lady with
the Holy Child, and to whom Abbot Theodore
said that he had better commit any sin than
cease to adore Jesus Christ, God and Lord, with
His holy Mother. In another place, our Lady ap
pears in a vision to a monk who had a volume of
Nestorius in his cell. I am not defending the
truth of these miracles, though I see no reason
to doubt them ; I bring them forward to prove
that in the sixth century the devotion of the
monks needs no application of the principle of
development to prove its identity with that of the
nineteenth. We have not advanced much since
then. And these facts throw light on others of
the same period. t In the year 555, on the 4th
of June, St. Simeon Stylites the younger, sol
emnly erected his pillar in the presence of the
monks of his monastery and called on our Lord,
His mother, and the holy angels to witness the
truth of the words which he then spoke. The
Bme saint wrote to the Emperor to complain
This story is in Rosweide, p. 368. It is not found in the
Greek, published by Cotelerius. That MS. however, omits
many other stories, and the passage is quoted in the second
council of Nicsea, with the observation that heretics had muti
lated the codex. Tbe controversy about images had already
begun during the Monophysite controversy, Xenaias and Severus
having declared against them iu the beginning of the sixtii
century. Several stories in connection with thai controversy
appear in Moschus.
f Assemani, quoted by Marin, lib 9, 22.
INTRODUCTION. Hi!
of the destruction of an image of our Blessed
Lady. The thought and the name of Mary
must evidently have been in his mind, and have
cheered him throughout his marvellous mystical
life.
I, however, go much further than this. It ia
quite plain that so great a devotion could not be
of recent growth. It springs up before us all at
once as a grand river. Even if its course was
unknown to us, so wide and so full a stream
must have passed through many lands, and its
fountains must be sought for in a distant country.
Let us trace it upwards as far as we can. About
the year 480, some monk in Palestine wrote a
narrative of an event, which took place on the
Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, probably in
the year 383, the conversion of Mary of Egypt.*
In the time of her sinfulness she endeavoured to
enter the church of the Holy Sepulchre and found
herself repelled by an invisible force. She lifts
up her eyes and sees an image of our Lady over
the porch, and she bursts out into the following
prayer : " Lady and Virgin, who didst bear
the Word of God according to the flesh, I know
that it is neither reasonable nor decorous that I,
BO foul with sin, should look on thine image,
who wert ever a stainless virgin ; nevertheless,
since thy Son became man to save sinners,
help me in my desolation, order the door to be
opened even to me that I may adore tLe holy
* V. the proofs in Bollandists, April 2
liv INTRODUCTION,
Cross," It is no wild conjecture, then, that the
cry, " Lady, lady, forsake me not," which she
afterwards used, must have been ever on Mary s
lips during her long wanderings, in the desert.
Again, in October, of the year 367, St. Gregory
of Nazianzen narrated in one of his first sermons
in his new church at Constantinople, that St.
Justina invoked our Lady and was heard.
Evidently, St. Gregory, himself a monk, was no
stranger to devotion to Mary, though his great
works may contain no further invocation of her.
The next example carries us back to the first
ages of monaclnsm. About the year 355 a
young Egyptian of fifteen, conversed with St.
Antony, and afterwards became well known as
Abbot Poamen. One day, we cannot now tell
at what period of his long life, he fell into a
state of extasy ; and when he was coming to
himself, Abbot Isaac bent over him and said
to him : " where wert thou ?" He answered :
" my mind was where the Holy Mary, the
Mother of God, stood weeping at the cross of
the Saviour, and I was all the while wishing
evermore to weep like that."* These words aro
the first chords of the Stabat Mater stealing
over the Church in the desert, like tho music
from the fabled statue at the dawn of day. It,
was a nearer approach to modern devotion
than the words of St. Ambrose : I have heard
* Cotel. p. 62 l i
INTRODUCTION, I?
of Mary standing at the foot of the cross, but
not of her weeping.*
Now let me connect the monastic devotion
to Mary with the common spiritual life of the
Church before I have done. We have seen in
the passages quoted from St. Iren-seus an 1
Origen the two ideas on which the modern
devotion to Mary rests ; in the former we have
found what may be called its hypothetical
necessity, that is, its necessity on the sup
position that God willed to make the redemp
tion of mankind correspond to its fall. In
Origen we have seen howtliat devotion is personal,
that is to Mary as to a person, who stands to
our individual soul in the place of a mother
Did these ideas develop, that is bear fruit,
become living parts of the spiritual life of
Christians, and spread into the practical sys
tem of the Church in the fourth and fifth
centuries, at the tjm when St. Athanasius,
St. Gregory, St. Batfil, and St. Chrysostom
were alive? I believe that, necessarily few
and scanty as are the relics of such a system,
the deeper we dig into the buried remains of
antiquity, the more we shall be convinced of its
existence. There are several instances of what
I mean, which have been too lately discovered
to be generally known. Let me begin with
two, about which I can only speak second-hand,
DP Ob. Val
hi INTKODUUl ION.
because I am ignorant of the language* \n
which they are written.
Nothing can be a better index of the mind
or Christians than their popular hymns. Tho
vernacular hymns sung, for instance, all over
England may be considered as a very practical
test of the trains of devotional thought, and the
imagery peculiar to our people. Now it so
happens that a Protestant missionary has lateb
brought to Europe the hymnal of Jared, a
hymn-book of the Abyssinian Church. Some
of the hymns are very ancient, and are anterior
to the time of the Eutychian heresy. Here
we have the words which burst from the lipa
and hearts of the children of the Abyssinian
Church before the work of St. Frumentius
was corrupted by the Monophysite heresy.
En one of the hymns* we find the Arch
angel Gabriel clothed in the purple gar-
* It is carious that in Monophysite art r-ngels were always
painted white, and purple was especially excluded, v. 2, Council
jf Nica. The hymnal seems thus to contain hymns written,
before Abyssinia became .M unophysite. From the close connec
tion between Alexandria and Abyssinia I should think that that
heresy must have been making its way in tlie latter country
from the time of Timothy the Cat, that is from the fifth on
through the first half of the sixth century. Severus came to
Alexandria in 518. When it is said that Abyssinia was converted
in the sixth century, Nubia is meant In Diluian s Catalogue
tue accounts about Jared are very confused, but pp 32, 50, he is
deigned to lite reign of Elesbaan an i his son, in ihe beginning
of the sixth century. The hymn, however, may be earlier that:
Jared, who was a compiler. Dilman assigns the hyiuus to latr
dates, but says that the book contains fragmeuta perautiquu
I judge of the date of this hymn chiefly by internal evidence.
The translation is by the Rev. J. M. liodwell, a learned orientalist
INTRODUCTION. v
ments of which Severus the Monophysite had
stripped the angels; while the hymn to our
Lady, to which we refer, could never have
eprung from a heart which disbelieved in the
two natures of her Son. Men and women in
Axoum in the sixth century did not essentially
differ from what they are in London, and as
our English hymns are sung by many a
labourer and workwoman in courts and gar
rets, so we may be sure that the Abyssinian
poor carried home from church the hymns of
Jared to cheer them in their labours in the
fields or at the loom. No hymn, however, sung
at the Oratory could surpass in glowing ex
pressions that sung in Abyssinia. It reads
like a portion of the Litany of Loretto, of which
it anticipates many invocations. " Our Mo-
Jier," it says, " and the Mother of our Lord,
Angels with pen of gold shall write^thy praises;
Jhou art the bush, which was truly called Holy
of Holies ; thou art the light, the treasure-
house of the Word ; Mary, pray for us." She
is called the mother of martyrs, the ark which
contained the law, the gate of salvation. There
is evidently a personal devotion to Mary at work
in the hearts of the faithful.
I now go back to an earlier time and to a
different country. It is strange that, as if to
reward the faith of the Church in the declara
tion of the Immaculate Conception, testimonies
previously unknown are springing up which
prove the fact asserted in the Bull that it
Ivlii INTRODUCTION.
formed part of the original revelation of Chris
tianity. Voices are reaching us from various
parts of the ancient Church, which bear witness
to the identity of the spiritual life of their
people with our own. A schism, of which all
record had perished, desolates the church of
Edessa, and St. Ephrem could appeal in a
popular hymn or rhythmical discourse to the
Immaculate Conception, as a doctrine to which
all hearts would respond. He pleads for indul
gence to our Lord on behalf of the afflicted
Church in these words : " Truly Thou and Thy
Mother are the only beings who are beautiful
altogether and in every respect ; for there is no
spot in Thee, Lord, nor in Thy Mother any
stain."* When we remember St. Ephrem s
clear views of original sin, and his reverence
for the souls of baptized infants who died with
out actual sin, these words are perhaps the
V. Carmina Nisibena, published last year at Leipsig by Dr.
Bickell, from a MS. in the British Museum. The editor s ob
servations, p. 28, are as follows: Probatione vix eget Ephraemum
hoe loco S. Virgini iimnunitatem non solum ab actuali, sed etiam
ab origin ali peccato tribuere. Adscribit enim ei talem sanctha-
tem, quiim cum solo Christo participat, quaque omnes reliqui
homines carent. Alias autem Ephraem semper primum locum
conccdit infantibus qui post baptismum sine peccato actuali
vita decesserunt, eosque omnes sanctos honure et dignitate supa-
rnre contendit. (Cf. iii. ed. Rom. 300, c. 582, hymn. Nis. 65,
23.) Si ergo de actuali tantum peccato ageretur, Maria Virgo non
sola prseter Christum hoc immunitate gauderet, sed in eundem
eum infantibus post baptismum mortuis ordinem releganda esset.
Cceterum notandum est hanc doctrinam apud Ephraemum, eo
niajus astimandum ease, QUO clarius et accuratius idem peccattun
original c doceU
INTRODUCTION. Ill
clearest testimony, which has reached ns from
antiquity, of its belief in the perfect immaculate-
ness of Mary s conception. Unless she were in
the grace of God from the first instant of her
existence, her stainlessness could not he paral
leled with our Lord s, nor could she stand
alone with Him in solitary purity, unshared by
a single human being. The nineteenth cen
tury has not improved upon the fourth. Who
dictated the words, which had lain hid for more
than a thousand years in an Eastern monastery,
and which have just come to light from the
British Museum ? He was a monk, at once
of the desert and the city. We have in one
breath the witness of the wilderness and ot
the schools. Strange combination of the her
mit and the modern Benedictine, St. Ephrem
issued from the wilds, and became the master
of a wide-spread theological school. Like
everything else supposed to be of late growth
in the Church, scientific theology began fai
earlier than is thought. Even Rome, which
the shallow imagination of historians had
supposed to be, from the earliest times,
the very home of mental stagnation, has
been lately discovered to have possessed a
school in the second century.* Alexandria and
Antioch each formed a separate scientific cen
tre, more or less Greek in its origin ; but the
university of the far east was Edessa. There
V. Eageman. Eomische Kirche 10&
It INTRODUCTION
was the chief seat of the genuine oriental
Church, with the least admixture of the Greek. - -
There was the point where Christianity came
in contact with all the philosophies and reli
gions of the East, Buddhism, the worship of
fire, the doctrine of the good and evil principle,
and the tradition of the Brahmins. It was one of
the earliest centres of Christianity, and its
fame for science was almost equal with its
faith. In the second century the Bible was
translated there, and its version was used by
all Christians who spoke the Syrian tongue.
The capital of the ancient kingdom of Osroene,
it was a light to countries where Christianity
is now unknown or disguised under the tenets
of miserable sects. It was over its school that
St. Ephrem presided, and his influence ex
tended to Armenia, Parthia, and even through
Syro-Persian merchants to the coast of Malabar.
Though the Persian school at Edessa was pro
bably distinct from his own, yet Persia also knew
his name and felt his power. He represented
the doctrine of St. James of Nisibis, whose
favourite disciple he was, who was one of the
fathers of the Council of Nicaea, and whom he
is said to have accompanied thither. On his
deathbed he could appeal to Jesus by all the
moving details of His Passion to bear him
witness that he had only taught the doctrines of
the apostles. But he was far more than a monk
and a doctor. He was a popular preacher, and
his hymns were sung all over the east. He
INTRODUCTION. Ixi
was within the walls of Nisibis when it was
besieged by Sapor, and his songs cheered the
hearts of its defenders and celebrated their
victory, when the broken troops of the hea
then turned away baffled from its walls. Never
was hermit more popular. Gentle, courteous,
loving, he entered into conversation with
all, even the most degraded women. A man
of the people, he shared their danger in war,
wept over all their sorrows, and suffered with
their sufferings. He fearlessly attacked the
selfishness of the Roman government in devas
tating the country for fear of the Persians. By
his hymns, however, above all, he leavened the
minds of the people. He wrote them and set
them to popular tunes, in order to counteract
the heretical songs of Bardesanes and Harmo-
dius. He formed a choir of young girls to sing
them, and thus they penetrated into the homes
and domestic life of his countrymen. He ex
hausts all the imagery of an oriental imagina
tion to express his own tender feelings towards
the Mother of God, and make the love of hei
sink deep into the minds of the people. He
taught them the power of her prayers with
God: "But most of all," he prays to God,
"again and again I entreat and adjure Thee,
that Thou wouldst put down the monstrous
enemy of the human race by the prayers
and merits of Thy Mother." "To Thee,
Lord," he says, " together with the sweet smell
of sacrifice, we offer the merits of the most
INTRODUCTION
blessed Virgin Mary." " Jerusalem the
blessed, may thy gates be open to all and shut
out none ; may our prayers and supplications bo
admitted before the throne of the Lamb by the
intercession of the Virgin Mother of God and
of all the blessed, and may they obtain mercy
and pity."* His teaching was not lost upon
the Syrian Church. In the beginning of the
fifth century, St. James of Sarug t taught the
Immaculate Conception. Even the Nestorian
heresy, which overwhelmed the East like a
deluge, could not obliterate it. In the 13th
century, a Nestorian hymn declares Mary to
have been sanctified in the first moment of her
conception. It is perfectly plain from all this,
that in the early Church the doctrine of Mary s
greatness was not a sterile idea, but was reduced
to practice. " Parthians and Medes and Elam-
ites, and inhabitants of Mesopotamia," were
Ed. Rom. III. 481, 487, 532.
t Quoted in BickelTs preface to St. Ephrem s Carmina Nisibena,
p. 80. The passage quoted from the Carmina Nisibena throws light
on many others which previously seemed obscure. Let any one
read Rhythm 8. 41., in my old friend Mr. Morris s beautiful and
learned translation; I am sure that "bride by nature" will be
interpreted by any unprejudiced person of the Immaculate Con
ception. It expresses a privilege which she alone possessed.
Other holy women were brides, she alone bride by nature. Again,
the antithesis is to our Lord s miraculous conception " not by
nature;" surely the corresponding "nature" must mean a
natural conception. The reference to $vru w W is quite irrelevant,
tit. Cyril there means by participation of the divine nature ; while
the Syriac (according to the translator) means "by the estab
lished course of things"
INTRODUCTION.
taught the value of her prayers. If we invoke
the principle of development, it is not on
account of any deficiency of proof. That
development is not a progress from doctrine to
practice, but from a less to a more extensive
practice. Devotion to Mary is now more widely
spread and more universal : it is not more
intense or more practical. That St. Athanasim
Bays comparatively so little about the subject,
proves that our Lady was not so prominently
put forward at Alexandria in his time ; but it
does not prove that in his day the Immaculate
Conception was unknown, nor that in other
parts of the Church devotion to her was not as
great and as practical as in the nineteenth cen
tury, since his contemporary, St. Ephrem, is as
clear as St. Alphonso Liguori. The only legiti
mate conclusion to be drawn from the facts is,
that the practice of Alexandria was, as far as
our present knowledge extends, less like our
own than that of Edessa. At the same timt
I see nothing incredible in the notion that the
faithful who crowded around the pulpit of S.
Athanasius invoked our Lady, when they heard
their great pastor call her the All-holy and the
Godlike Mary.*
* >*> <* and Siai,\f. In an author whose every word is theo
logical, like St. Athanasius, the word is peculiarly remarkable
Compare F. Newman s translation, p. 422. It occurs in a frag
tent of a commentary on St. Lake, published sinse Moutiaucoa
fey GaUandius, torn. 6. p. 187.
1X1V INTRODUCTION.
Again, there is a class of literature of which
sufficient use has not as yet been made ; I mean
spurious and apocryphal writings. It is con
sidered enough to banish a work from contro
versy, if the Benedictines have declared that it
does not proceed from the pen of the author,
whose name it bears. If however its age can be
ascertained, a book may be an unexceptionable
witness, without being an authority. We have
been too apt to look upon individual fathers as
authorities in doctrine, which they are only to a
limited extent : even St. Athanasius is more
valuable as bearing testimony to what was
taught by the Church in his day, than as a
teacher. It is no paradox to say that a name
less writer may be a better witness of the popu
lar system of the Church. It would be absurd
to suppose that works like those of that great
paint in general, his treatise De Synodis, for
instance, represent the common spiritual read
ing of the faithful at Alexandria. Just as the
Golden Legend in the middle ages was certainly
in the hands of the faithful to an incalculablo
extent more frequently than the Summa of St.
Thomas, so we may be sure that an apocryphal
Gospel was popular in the early Church, in a
sense in which St. Augustine was not. Many
of these writings were perfectly orthodox, and
represent legends which were current among
Christians.* Though the Church always pro-
* V. instances of the use made by various Fathers of the apoo
fyphal writings in Nicolas, Etudes sur lea Evangiles Apocrjrphes.
INTRODUCTION. 1x7
tested against their being Scripture, yet they were
often tolerated till the decree of Gelasius ; and
the number of manuscripts which are preserved,
and the traces of their contents which remain
even in medieval legends, are proofs that they
were widely spread. We may therefore safely
assume, that in some of them we possess books,
which represent a popular system in the early
Church. One of them has just come to light,
which is pronounced by Tischendorf to have
been written not later than the fourth century,
though it may have been composed even earlier.*
It is an account of the death of the Blessed
Virgin, written in the form of a narrative
put into the mouth of St. John. Its doctrine
is perfectly orthodox, and it contains throughout
ft singularly straightforward assertion of the
absolute Godhead of Christ, yet without
any of the theological terms which were pecu
liar to a later period.! In this book we find
p. 293. See again the remarkable reference to the Gospel accord
ing to the Egyptians in S. Clement Ep. 2. St. Jerome says of St
Barnabas, " Unam ad cedificationem Ecclesiee pertinent-em ej isto
lum composuit, quae inter apocrypha legitur."
V. Tubingen Quartalschrift for 1866, 3rd part "As for the
wfais of the whole work, there is no imperative ground to put it
with Wright and Ewald as late as the latter half of the fourth
century, for Wright s arguments respect only the Syriac, not the
original Greek. Even Tischendorf supposes that the writing may
very well be older than the 4th century." Thus the passages cited
from these documents are probably older than St. Ephrem.
* Compare for instance the unequivocal o rS, x*v 9i?, ixx&ri,
*:.-, applied to Christ, with the most suspicious passage
either of Origen or attributed to him in the commentary on
INTRODUCTION.
the whole doctrine of the intercession of oar
Lady. She prays on her deathbed that Jesus
should grant help to all who invoke her name.
The answer of our Lord is : " Rejoice, and let
thine heart be glad, for every grace and gift
has been given to thee by My Father who ia
in heaven, by Me, and by the Holy Ghost.
Every soul calling upon thy name shall not be
ashamed, but shall find mercy and consolation,
help and confidence both in this world and the
world to come, before My Father who is in
heaven." Accordingly, after her death, a sick
man, by the command of St. Peter, cries out,
"Holy Mary, Mother of Christ our God, have
mercy on me," and is cured. In a document
belonging to the same cycle, the very manu
script of which is of the 6th century, it is said
that "the blessed one was holy and chosen by
God from the moment that she was conceived
in her mother s womb."* I do not think that
there is any extravagance in the assertion that
Mary entered into the spiritual life of the men
who wrote and read these books ; nor should I
be at all surprised to hear the Ave Maria coming
from their lips, nor even to find in their souls
devotion to her name and her heart.
St. John 2, 50-51. On the other hand, uur Lord ia not eyen
called the A^ytf much less ipu*ffio(. This appears to me to provn
the antiquity of the document, and perhaps its Homan origin.
?. Hagemun, Eomisehe Kirche, 102.
* I quote from the German translation in the Tubingen nnar-
Ulechrift for Ib66. v. aleu Jouinal of Sacred Literature for Ib65.
INTRODUCTION.
One more instance before I have done. There
is no stranger collection in all literature than
the motley one, called the Sibylline Oracles. No
one, of course, imagines that they are what
their name indicates that they claim to be.
They are the productions of men of the most
various creeds at very different times, shel
tering under the Sibyl s name descriptions of
contemporary events. Jew, heretic, and Chris
tian, have contributed to the motley assemblage
of heterogeneous poetry. It looks like a vast
tesselated pavement made up of fragments of
various mosaics, all thrown together, where
arabesque patterns, the most grotesque, are
cemented together with tragic masks and frag
ments of graceful forms. It reminds us of a
discordant concert, where the organ s solemn
tones mingle with the wild roll of the barbaric
gong and the crash of oriental cymbals. The
strangest heretics stand side by side with faith
ful Catholics. But whoever is the writer, or
whatever his creed, we have at least the passion
ate outburst of genuine feelings, which agitated
human breasts in the 2nd and 3rd centuries of
our faith. We have the savage exultation of the
Jew that the day of vengeance is at hand ; and
we have the hopes and the fears, the joy
and the despondency of Christians. The wounds
of Jesus, and the crown of thorns, with the de
tails of the Passion, appear sometimes to console
Christians under persecution. Much more fre
quently, however, the poems dwell on the ap
ixviil INTRODUCTION.
preaching judgment and the consequent triumph
of the Church. As we have heard the prelude
of the Stabat Mater in the desert, so we find the
germs of the Dies IrsB in the famous Sibylline
acrostich of the name of Christ. But, amidst
all the terrible images of the day of doom, and
the scarcely disguised triumphant expectation of
God s vengeance on the heathen, there is one
image of peace and compassion which breathes
a pitying charm over the awful picture. It is
that of the pure Virgin, who, at the Archangel s
bidding, received her God in her bosom, and to
whose outstretched hands, pleading for mercy,
Christ granted a space for repentance, even to
the Pagan. Evidently, in the age of martyr
dom, Christians would have found nothing
strange in the intercession of Mary.*
I trust that I have said enough to show the
bearing of such books as that here presented to
the public on the history of the Church, and the
use which we can draw from them for our own
spiritual good. The more we study that ancient
Church, the more we shall be convinced of what
our faith has already told us, that we are abso-
* In the Sibylline oracles, the words **t<)tH>i ayi and equivalent
expressions are constantly recalling. The prominence of our Lady
is easily explained il we remember that those poems were written
with E#aias and the Jam redit et Virgo of Virgil s Eclogue before
the eyes of the authors. Evidently this personage is our Lady,
fur she is the Virgin who conceived and bore a Son, Her virgi
nity was absolutely necessary to distinguish our Lord s birth
from others o common in mythology, for the birth of a god was
no new idea t<> heathens. The lines referred to in the text are
assigned by If. Alexandra in his excellent edition of the Sibyl*
INTRODUCTION.
lately one with it. This is true, not only in
great dogmas, but also in our life and practice.
I hope that I have already elsewhere shown that,
if we take into consideration the actual practice
of the ancient Church, its conduct in the confes
sional was hy no means so different from ours,
as the mere study of the canons might lead us to
suppose. Something has been done in these few
pages to point out the same fact as to our inte
rior life, though volumes might be written upon
the subject. The lives of the desert saints
may thus be useful in regulating our own life.
The insight, which is here given into these
peaceful solitudes, may help us to correct the
tendency to over-activity, which penetrates even
into our very religion. The railroad pace of the
world hurries even good Christians along with
it, and they fling themselves into schemes of
active benevolence, in a way which is often inju
rious to their interior life. It produces a com
bined restlessness and languor, a physical ex
haustion of nerve and brain, which is very peri
lous. Never did Christians want more prayer
than now, for the world is all in confusion, and
the time is out of joint, and before we attempt
to set it right, we had better begin with our-
line oracles to the year 187, the girth of the reign of Commodu*.
They also appear in the second book, which however was written
Drobably in the reign of Deems. The words are :
Kai TST irtf jc^ii !**; rt fftfttrtr ir nt/rit
ETTX >i( c.*v*iv ux.ra.ti.xi r,Ur i aixir
, %<{ *f6<rv ifyir.f viii. 355.
xx. INTRODUCTION
selves. All is floating and uncertain. Land
marks, intellectual and political, are torn up
and men are drifting they know not whither
Nothing will save us from danger but an intel
lect, a heart, and a mode of life, entirely one
exteriorly and interiorly with the ever-living
Church of Christ. There is no possible Chris
tian life but in the old path of mortification
nd prayer. Along this path the saints, in
every age, have borne their cross. Throughout
all its various forms, sanctity is still identical,
nor do I see very much difference between St.
Simeon Stylites on his pillar, and the Cure d Ars
in his cramped confessional. May they obtain
grace for us to follow them, if not in their heroic
penance, yet at least in their interior life, in
boundless charity for our sinful and suffering
brethren, and their burning love for Jesus and
Mary.
Nor can I finish my task, without turning to
you, who are attempting to renew outside the
Church the monastic system, which except
within her pale can only be stagnant or awfully
perilous. Not in a spirit of ridicule, but of the
profoundest pity do I think of you. While
my whole soul revolts with indignation at the
presumption of those who without mission,
without jurisdiction, without the requisite
gifts, presume to take upon themselves the
guidance of souls, I feel the deepest com
passion for those, who are their victims and who
are on their way with them to the inevitable
INTRODUCTION.
ditch. To us who are looking on, it seems
nothing less than a judicial fatuity to put
oneself under the guidance of men, who never
speak of a sacrament, without betraying a con
fusion of thought, which shews them to be inca
pable of seeing clear into any theological ques
tion whatsoever. How dare they touch the keys
without a semblance of jurisdiction ? With
what face can they urge any one to make a
confession when they inform the penitent
that after all the misery and the agony of the
avowal of guilt, forgiveness might have been
cheaply purchased without it ? How can they
pronounce an absolution which they themselves
loudly assert to be unnecessary ?* But, above
all things, I am struck with wonder at their
presumption in pronouncing on vocations.
It is just such tricks as these played before
high heaven, which make the angels weep,
when they see rash men rushing in where
they would fear to tread. A Catholic priest,
with the tradition of eighteen centuries at
his back, with the living Church to guide
and to check him, trembles when he has to
pronounce on a vocation, and when he meddles
with the spiritual life of a soul, redeemed by
the blood of Christ. He knows well that
* It is evident from Dr. Pusey s correspondence with tho
Times that he does not consider absolution, even where it could
be had, as necessary to forgiveness. He has thus incurred by
implication the anathema of the Council of Trent, Seas. rif.
Can. 6.
INTRODUCTION.
nature can take the semblance of grace, and
that not all who desire the most perfect life
are called by God s Holy Spirit. Alas, poor
souls ! when at the bidding of some Anglican
clergyman you have given up all the dearest
ties of life, and entered into a mock convent, or
taken unauthorized obligations, what guarantee
have you that one day you will not discover,
when it is too late, that you have made an
irremediable blunder ? When, under the mono
tony and the labour of wearing work, a Catholic
nun at times feels fainting and overpowered,
what will become of you, poor sheep without a
shepherd, or, what is worse, with sham sacra
ments and false guides ? May God, in reward
for your goodwill, bring you into the true fold,
before you fall into the hardened sobriety of
hopeless pride, or the terrible delusion of false
mysticism.
It only remains for me to say a few words on
the work now translated. Its author is the
Countess Hahn-Hahn, long a well-known Ger
man writer. She was not originally a Catholic,
and was only converted at an advanced age.
Married very young, it is commonly known
that her marriage was not a happy one, and
she spent a great portion of her life in travel
ling about Europe, as well as in countries
which at that time were but little visited, es
pecially by ladies. She first became famous
by her H Letters from the East," a book which
INTRODUCTION. Ixxiil
attracted great attention by the boldness and
originality of her views, the vividness of her
descriptions of scenery, and the beauty of the
style. She has also written many novels, said
to be distinguished by striking sketches of
character, life-like dialogues, and a total ab
sence of plot. She was converted to the Ca
tholic Church by the excellent Bishop of May-
ence, Mon signer von Ketteler. Since her
conversion she has lived a devout and solitary
life in a convent at Mayence. Notwithstanding
her advanced age, her mind is active as ever,
and she has been employed in writing works
which are very deservedly popular. Her novels,
one of which has been translated in the
Month, are beautifully written and well con
ceived, though the dialogue is at times rather
garrulous, and the artistic faults as well as the
excellencies of her old writings are not absent.
Besides works of fiction she has written a series
of books on the History of the Church, one of
which is now presented to the reader in an
English dress. She has embodied in it many
of the beautiful descriptions of scenes visited
by herself and published in her earlier works,
as well as a great deal of information on heathen
as well as ecclesiastical subjects. Though it
is not free at times from the fault of prolixity,
and though her expressions are not of course
always as accurate as if she were a theologian,
yet it is by far the fullest and best picture of
the primitive monks which has appeared in
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
INTRODUCTION.
English. To take but one instance, the life of
St. Simeon Stylites contains circumstances
which, as far as I know, will hardly be found
elsewhere in the language.
We are indebted for the excellent and careful
translation to a lady whose accurate knowledge
of languages is a guarantee for its fidelity.
The Oratory,
Fm,t of St. Agatha.
SOLI DEO GLORIA.
CHKISTIANITY IN FBEEDOM.
THE Emperor Constantine, as the instrument of
God, delivered from outward oppression, and de
fended from heathen persecution, the faith which
the Son of God brought down from heaven for the
redemption and salvation of mankind, which He
sealed with the miracles of His life and death, and
which He ordained for the safe keeping and pro
pagation of an institute whose holy constitution He
had Himself in His divine wisdom arranged and
established. But this faith did not take its place
amongst other religions as merely of equal birth
with them ; it laid claim to the spiritual govern
ment of the whole world, as being the only
one revealed by the Eternal Wisdom itself, and
therefore possessed of the sole right to it. Other
religious systems those of the Egyptians and of
the Greeks, of the Indians and of the Persians,
as well as of the Komans, and even that of the
Israelites belonged always to their own country,
and their own people ; they were separated from
one another by mountains and rivers, bounded by
diversity of language, and confined by the various
modes of thinking of the nations that adhered to
them. The deity which was worshipped on the
southern coast of the sea was unknown on its
2 CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOAJ.
northern coast ; and there stood on the western
slopes of a mountain temples and altars whose
rites were strange or despised on the eastern ones.
Nations took a kind of pride in this very thing,
that their gods were the gods of their own land.
The likeness of God in which they were created
was defaced in them, because they had fallen
away from eternal truth, and the impress of grace
had given place to that of nature. As all their
powers of mind, of will, and of feeling, took root
in this natural soil, they sank into a state the
opposite to that of grace ; they created their own
gods, and created them such as in all times
egotism without faith creates them, for self, for
its own ends, for its own wants and inclinations.
These idols were images of the godless interior of
man, and man served them under the delusion
that they served him in return that they granted
him their power and their protection, and that
they defended his own home, while to foreign
peoples and lands they were hostile and threaten
ing. Had he been obliged to share the gods of
his own country with another people, he would
have considered it prejudicial to his possessions,
and destructive of his rights. These trivial, nar
row-minded divisions had developed into the ex
treme confusion of polytheism, and had reached
their greatest excess when the Son of God became
man in order to transform this pitiable dismember
ment into blissful unity, and to make all peoples
and nations of the earth now and for ever the chil
dren of one Father, and the worshippers of one God.
The religion of Jesus lay claim to one attribute
which for four thousand years had never yet been
claimed ; it was divinely infallible, it alone bestowed
salvation, and therefore it was not to be restricted
to any one time or nation. For to all men, and in
every time, Christ spake, " I am the way, the truth,
and the life ; " the way that you must follow, the
CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM. 3
truth that you must receive, the life that you are to
enjoy to all eternity. The first centuries showed
what an echo these words found in the hearts of
men ; for during them was fulfilled the prophecy
of Christ, " If I be lifted up from the earth, I wiU
draw all things to myself/ This attraction was
so powerful and so universal, that instead of being
extinguished and repressed by the lives and deaths
of the martyrs of those three first centuries, it was
enkindled and animated by them. At the end of
those three centuries, Christianity had triumphed
over heathenism.
But it did not follow that each individual Chris
tian had, in union with his divine Saviour, " over
come the world." The preference openly shown
by Constantine for Christians, the outward privi
leges with which he favoured them, the great re
spect which he expressed on every occasion for
bishops and priests, his care for the worthy celebra
tion of the divine mysteries, the extraordinary
generosity with which he raised the houses of God
to the highest pitch of magnificence all this con
tributed to induce many to join a religion which
so powerful and so wise an emperor valued thus
highly. For he always considered himself, and
announced himself to be a Christian although he
was not baptized, 1 because the opinion was then
prevalent, that baptism should only be adminis
tered on the deathbed for fear of the misfortune
of losing the grace of baptism by sin. Constan
tine spoke and acted as a Christian, though not
always as a perfect one, and this was sufficient to
cause many to follow his example. They had
formerly worshipped the heathen emperors as gods,
they had cursed and persecuted according to their
every caprice and humour, and had acknowledged
1 There are, however, some grounds for the supposition that
Constantine was baptized long; before the end of his life by Pope
Sylvester.
4 CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM.
no higher rule of faith than their will. The im
mense revolution of ideas which now changed the
inmost hearts of many, affected others only out
wardly, and led them merely in form along the
path trodden by Constantine. The example of
those in power works in wide circles, but it is im
pressive and attractive only in proportion to the
holiness of him who gives it. Therefore streams
of men now poured into the Church of Christ, who
remained ignorant of her nature, who moved only
on the surface of life, and never reached the trea
sury of graces nor attained the object for which
graces enable us to strive.
But the elder Christians who had become con
fessors through the hardships of the days that
were past, and who had come out of the great
tribulation, rejoiced and praised the wonderful
works of God which He had done for them in the
world, till lately so heathen and so hostile. Many
thousands of them came forth from the mines of
Numidia, from the quarries of Upper Egypt, from
the mountains and forests of Asia Minor, from the
deserts of Arabia, where they had lived in banish
ment or voluntary exile, to return to their homes
and families, to their own hearths and the beloved
sanctuaries of their religion. After a separation
of years, the father once more beheld his children,
the husband his wife, the friend the companion
of his youth, and the priest and bishop were re
united to their beloved flocks. Many of the con
fessors bore upon their bodies the marks of the
sufferings which they had undergone on account
of their constancy in the faith ; they were one-eyed,
or they had been lamed in the knee-joint with
heated iron to make flight impossible for them,
and so sent to work in the mines. Others had be
come gray and infirm through sickness, ill-usage,
and unheard-of privations, But this caused them
to take part all the more joyfully in the exultation
CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM. 5
of their brethren in the faith ; for they could say
with the Apostle St. Paul, " I am not ashamed ;
for I know whom I have believed." l They had
experienced with him that " though our outward
man is corrupted ; yet the inward man is renewed
day by day." 2 They knew that the genuine
Christian life is always outwardly Passion- week,
and inwardly Easter, a daily death and resurrec
tion ; and that " the present tribulation, which is
light and momentary, worketh for us above mea
sure exceedingly, an eternal weight of glory." 3
An earthly reflection of this glory was now shining
upon the world: the truth had triumphed, the
truth was worshipped, and men considered it a
happiness and an honour to be counted amongst
its worshippers. And because their joy was di
rected to heavenly things, it was pure, and free
from rancour against their former persecutors, and
from over-estimation of self in the present tri
umph. For it was not they who had wrought the
triumph, but it was the fulfilment of the prophecy
of the holy Psalmist, King David. " The kings
of the earth stood up, and the princes met together,
against the Lord and against His Christ. Let m
break their bonds asunder, and let us cast away
their yoke from us. He that dwelleth in heaven
shall laugh at them : and the Lord shall deride
them. Then shall He speak to them in His an
ger, and trouble them in His rage. And now,
ye kings, understand; receive instruction, you that
judge the earth. Serve ye the Lord with fear, and
rejoice unto Him with trembling. Embrace dis
cipline, lest at any time the Lord be angry, and
you perish from the just way/ 4 These few words
contain a brief prophetic sketch of the fate of the
Church in the first centuries. Then the Emperor
Constantine began to " understand," and the war
1 2 Tim. i. 12. 2 2 Cor. iv. 1G.
3 2 Cor. iv. 17. 4 Ps. ii.
6 CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM.
came to an end, which his predecessors had carried
on against the everlasting God, to their own pre
judice and infamy.
The historian Eusebius, Bishop of Cesarea, an
eye-witness of those times, relates that the Chris
tians sang with delight the hymns of David, in
which, fourteen centuries before, he had prophesied
the conversion of the world. " Sing to the Lord a
new canticle : sing to the Lord all the earth. De
clare His glory among the Gentiles : His wonders
among all people." 1 "The Lord hath reigned, let
the earth rejoice." 2 "The Lord hath made known
His salvation : He hath revealed His justice in the
sight of the Gentiles. He hath remembered His
mercy and His truth toward the house of Israel.
All the ends of the earth have seen the salvation
of our God." 3 For Christianity did not now enter
the world as a stranger, unauthenticated and un
announced. A solemn succession of heralds had
preceded her, and her first promulgation sounded
in paradise when the Lord God himself awakened
a distant hope in the hearts of the two most miser
able of the human race as He spoke to the serpent,
" I will put enmities between thee and the woman,
and thy seed and her seed : she shall crush thy
head, and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel/ 4
Thenceforth the hope of this Messias, this Deli
verer, who was to tread the serpent under foot,
spread through the whole race of the people of
Israel like a vein of pure and shining gold in the
hard and dark rock. Thenceforth the inspired
prophets, whose clear sight penetrated beyond this
world and rested on the divine promise, revived
by their predictions the sparks of hope often
too feebly glowing in a ^people who preferred
sensual idolatry to faith in a Redeemer, and
consoled the better part of the nation by the
thought of the brighter times that were to come.
1 Pa. xcv. * Ps. xcvi 3 Ps. xcvr. 4 Gen. iii. 15.
CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM 7
"For they strengthened Jacob, and redeemed
themselves by strong faith/ l Then Isaias spoke,
pointing out the coming of the Messias. "The
Lord himself shall give you a sign ; behold a vir
gin shall conceive, and bear a son, and His name
shall be caUed Emmanuel, God with us." 2 "Send
forth, Lord, the Lamb, the ruler of the earth." 3
He said to the faint-hearted, "Take courage and
fear not ; behold, God himself will come and will
save you." 4 And he exult ingly sang, " For a
Child is born to us, and a Son is given to us, and
the government is upon His shoulder, and His
name shall be called Wonderful." 5 Then he
mourned over the " Despised, a man of sorrows,
who hath borne our infirmities and carried our
sorrows ; He was wounded for our iniquities, He
was bruised for our sins, He was offered because it
was His own will." 6 Again, He broke forth in
triumph, " Arise, be enlightened, Jerusalem
for behold darkness shall cover the earth, and a
mist the people ; but the Lord shall arise upon
thee, and His glory shall be seen upon thee." 7
The prophets all spoke in this manner, invariably
pointing out the coming of the Messias, and even
its minutest circumstances. More than five hun
dred years before Isaias, David had said, " They
have dug my hands and feet, they have numbered
all my bones, they parted my garments amongst
them, and upon my vesture they cast lots/ 8 And
the nearer the fulfilment approached, the more
precise was the prediction. Daniel, " the man of
desires," calculates the coming of the Lord accu
rately, under the form of weeks. Aggeus cries,
" Thus saith the Lord of hosts : Yet one little
while and I will move the heaven and the earth,
and the sea and the dry land. And I will move
1 Ecclus. xlix. 12. 2 Isa. vii. 14. 3 Isa. xvi. 1.
4 Isa. xxxv. 4. 5 Isa. ix. 6. Isa. liii. 1-5.
7 Isa. Ix. 1,2. 8 Ps.xxi. 17-19.
8 CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM.
all nations: and the desired of all nations shall
come . . . and I will give peace." 1 And Zacharias
asks, " What are these wounds in the midst of
thy hands ? " 2 But Malachias, the last of these
holy seers, exclaims, "Behold He cometh," 3 and
the voice of the prophets ceased with him. The
heathen heard with amazement of these things, of
this marvellous connexion of the present with the
past, of the destinies of man with the designs of
God, of these prophecies, all of similar nature,
which fell from so many different lips, in the
course of thousands of years, and, unconfused by
the storms which disturbed and ravaged nations
and kingdoms, and undeviating in the midst of
the deep immorality in which mankind was wear
ing itself away, announced a powerful Saviour, a
Kedeemer for the whole world. And many of the
heathen embraced the faith in this Kedeemer from
deep conviction. What grace began, science car
ried on, in order to win souls in all ways for the
spiritual kingdom. Lactantius the African, the
tutor of the Emperor Crispus, wrote several works
in Ciceronian Latin, in which he enlightens the
ignorance of the heathen, clears away misunder
standings, points out the road to the truth, and
strengthens and encourages those who are already
following it. He explains thus the final end of
man, and the object of his existence. " The world
was created that we might be born. We were
born that we might know the Creator of the world
and ourselves. We know Him that we may wor
ship Him. We worship Him that we may receive
immortality in reward for our sacrifice, because
the worship of God requires from us the offering
up of all our powers. We are endowed with im
mortality that we may, like the angels, serve for
ever our sovereign Lord and Father, and form for
God an everlasting kingdom." The Christian
1 Hag. ii. 7-10. 3 Zech. xiii. 6. 3 Mai. iii. 1.
CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM. 9
Cicero, as he was accustomed to be called, on ac
count of his refined and winning eloquence, died
about the year 330. At the same time Eusebius,
Bishop of Cesarea, one of the most learned men
of his time, or indeed of antiquity, wrote two
ivorks in the Greek language upon the " Prepara
tion for the Gospel/ and the " Proofs of the Gospel,"
which form together one whole, wherein are con
tained more full and convincing proofs of the
divinity of the Christian religion than are to be
found in any other book of Christian antiquity
that has come down to us. The dark sides of it
are the errors against orthodoxy of the learned
bishop. He was prevented from penetrating be
yond the surface of things by a certain dryness of
understanding which often accompanies learning,
with its compilations and its comparisons, but
which is opposed to the flight of the soul and the
abstraction of the mind in an invisible world and
its divine mysteries, of which the kingdom of
grace and of redemption is the most sublime.
This was the excuse of the assent given by this
renowned writer to the erroneous and degrading
idea of the Son of God which is branded with the
name of Arius. The fundamental doctrine of
Christianity, the mystery of the three Persons in
God, was sealed to him. The man of knowledge
should be in an especial manner a man of faith and
of prayer, lest he should be deprived of the choicest
fruits of his intellect.
Whichever way the spirit of paganism turned,
it encountered adversaries instead of support. On
the throne, the Emperor Constantino and his
family ; in the world, the most eminent, the most
respected ; in science, the most learned. The
idols had fallen in spite of emperors, they would
fall still more readily when no imperial hand was
stretched out for their support. Christian ideas
and opinions pervaded daily life: marriage was
10 CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM.
raised to the dignity of a sacrament, to a figure of
the union between Christ and His Church, there
fore sanctified and indissoluble. What a civilis
ing influence would this alone exercise over all the
relations of life ! For by this woman was placed
by the side of man, on the same footing, and with
equal privileges. She ceased to be a thing which
could be bought, which could be forsaken and
resumed. The benediction of the priest blessed
the covenant which two redeemed souls made in
order to form themselves and their children, the
children of God, for the kingdom of heaven. The
whole education of the children was transplanted
into another soil and a different atmosphere when
the mother ceased to be considered as a thing or
as a slave. The child inherited its share of advan
tages in the reinstatement of woman in her lost
rights. The child that had also been looked upon
hitherto as a thing or a slave, the possession of it*
father, which he was at liberty to repudiate and to
slay, was considered and treated as a creature of
God, and became a member of an institution
which Christianity alone has produced, namely,
the family ; and as such it had its rights, its
claims, and its duties.
Slavery was too deeply interwoven into ah 1 the
habits of ordinary life to be suddenly and univer
sally uprooted. The slaves formed the majority
of the population, and being without property or
possessions, had neither the means, nor in many
cases the power or the capability of procuring an
independent livelihood. It often happened that
when rich people were converted to Christianity
they gave their slaves their liberty, and the neces
sary means of subsistence. But others either could
not or would not do this. This gave occasion to
the great bishops, the renowned teachers in the
Church, to insist with fiery zeal upon a purely
Christian relation between masters and slaves,
CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM. 11
upon the education and training of the latter, and
even upon their emancipation. This zeal was so
successful that a series of laws was enacted in
favour of the slaves, those very slaves who, two
years before, were trodden under foot by their
heathen masters like very worms. The sunshine
of the new era also brought forth into sight the
holy blossoms of brotherly love. Works of mercy
had been at all times the favourite occupation of
the Christians, but hitherto, on account of perse
cution, they had been hidden in the darkness of
the dungeons and the catacombs, or confined to the
privacy of their own houses. Christ, the Judge
of the world, will one day reward or condemn
souls, will lead them into the kingdom of heaven,
or banish them into everlasting fire, according to
the works of mercy they have accomplished or
neglected, and by no other rule. 1 How zeal
ous therefore would the Christians be to prepare
for the day of judgment now that the field for
this holy activity was open to them, bearing in
mind the promise, " Blessed are the merciful
for they shall obtain mercy/ 2 Refuges for pil
grims, and hospitals for the sick and plague-
stricken, were established; orphans and foundlings,
of which there were so many amongst the heathen,
were cared for; and institutions for tending the
infirm, the crippled, and the aged, took their rise.
The bishops suggested these things, and the faith
ful carried them out. Immense sums, and even
whole estates were given in this way to Christ in
His poor. Holy people, both men and women,
did not content themselves with sacrificing their
goods and possessions, but they gave themselves
up to the service of our Blessed Lord in His suffer
ing members, and laboured humbly and devotedly
in the hospitals. In smaller places where the laity
did not possess the means, pious bishops turned
1 2I;itt. xxv. 2 Matt. v. 7.
12 CHRISTIANITY IN FREEDOM.
their own houses into hospitals and refuges, or
tenderly took the needy to live with them in order
to perform services of love towards them, and
thereby to participate in the blessing which God
has pronounced upon such deeds. St. Augustine,
Bishop of Hippo, ate at the same table with the
sick. The holy Pope Gregory the Great waited
daily at table upon twelve poor men. The
legend relates that a thirteenth was once found
amongst them, and that St. Gregory recognised in
him with surprised humility our Blessed Lord
Himself. At that time the doctrine of the meri-
toriousness of good works had not been called in
question by the assertion that good works should
be done without any regard to merit, which is
equal to saying without any love of God. For as
the Son of God has expressly said that He will
give " life everlasting" to the "blessed of His
Father" who have fed Him in the hungry an<
covered Him in the naked, it follows that those
who perform good works with a different inten
tion from the hope of a reward in everlasting
life, with which He wills they should be per
formed, do not believe in the Son of God, do not
love Him, and consequently do not love God.
And in what does this reward consist ? This He
also answers with the promise, " I myself will be
your exceeding great reward." And " He who
has promised is faithful." No Christian doubted
that these precepts and promises proceeded directly
from the Heart of God, and therefore that they
would conduct those who faithfully followed them
back to the Heart of God. Hospitality was also
lovingly exercised in honour of the Divine Stran
ger upon earth. To guard against its abuse, it
was the custom that each wayfarer should exhibit
a certificate from his bishop, so as to be able
everywhere to prove himself to be a member of the
Catholic Church. The richer churches showed
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP. 13
sympathy to the poorer ones, and sent them assist
ance, a liberality which the Roman Church exer
cised to the greatest extent of all. In one word,
wherever suffering, infirmity, or want showed
itself, there was the hand of love ready with its
helpful deeds ; and this was the first use which
Christianity made of its youthful freedom, begin
ning thus its dominion over the world.
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
DURING the last and terrible persecution, which is
called the persecution of Diocletian, because it was
begun by that emperor, although it continued to
rage many years after his abdication, innumerable
churches were destroyed or laid waste. Their
restoration and solemn public dedication was the
cause of much holy rejoicing on the part of the
Christians. For not only did the population of
each place, with their bishop and clergy, thank
fully and joyfully celebrate this great festival, but
crowds of the sympathising faithful poured in
from all sides, and bishops from the neighbouring
dioceses, and sometimes even from great distances,
hastened thither to take part in it. Now, what
was the real cause of all this interest? What
was the joy which united all these hearts? Is
a magnificent building, are marble pillars and
golden chalices, even though they be destined to
noble uses, are they worthy of such rejoicings ?
Oh, no ; the real reason is widely different.
In the portion of the Apocalypse, which is
annually read at Mass on the feast of the conse
cration of the church, it is said, " Behold the
tabernacle of God with men, and He will dwell
with them." l And in the gospel for the same day,
1 Apoc. xxi. 3.
14 CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
" He was gone to be a guest with a man that was
a sinner." l It was this, it was the faith in the
mystery of the Keal Presence of God in the Holy
Eucharist in the midst of sinners, the faith in the
hidden and gracious life and tarrying of God with
the children of men. Hence the churches were
holy and solemn places, and men looked upon them
as truly the houses of God, because He Himself de
scended upon the altar in order to be near to help
His redeemed, but yet so feeble children. The
hearts of Christians full of this faith overflowed
with joy that " the hidden God/ 2 under the mys
tical veil of the sacred Host, took possession of the
earth, and raised His Calvary and His throne on
each altar. A church would be a meaningless
building without the mystery of the Keal Eucha-
ristic Presence. For the fields and the woods, or
the peaceful chamber, would be more fitting places
in which merely to think of God or to speak of
Him than a confined and empty space. But " the
King of Glory entered in," and " the princes lifted
up their gates," 3 and His visible Church stepped
joyfully forth from the catacombs into the adoring
world. In the Real Presence and the visible
Church, man found the complete satisfaction of his
twofold wants as a spiritual and a corporeal being ;
and faith, the most sublime faculty of his soul,
found its Object, and could accomplish its desire o!
offering to this Object the most perfect expressions
of adoration. Catholic worship so immeasurably
rich to the mind, so ineffably sweet to the heart,
unfolded itself around the holy sacrifice of the Mass
like a glorious flower out of the bud which had
waited three hundred years in the catacombs for its
development. Interior religion could now venture
to show itself outwardly. It is soul-stirring and
exciting as no other is, and must possess a thou
sand means of animating to the observance of the
1 Luke xiz. 7. 2 Isa. xlv. 15. 8 Ps. xxiii. 7.
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP. 15
commandments in order to work upon all ; for it
must, in a deeper sense than that in which the
great Apostle speaks of his own ministry, " become
all things to aU men," and draw down the powers
of a higher world upon the earth in the celebration
of its mysteries. Hence this indescribable exul
tation in the consecration of the houses of God
which were now raised again from their ruins or
newly built, larger and more sumptuous than
before. Eusebius gives a description of the festi
val held on the occasion of the consecration of the
new church at Tyre, which caused a commotion
in the whole of Palestine.
Tyre lies on the coast of Syria to the north
of Mount Carmel, and Cesarea, the bishopric of
Eusebius, to the south of it. Two or three days
journey divided the two cities, which were both
full of the magnificence and luxuries collected
by oriental riches and Koman love of pleasure,
although Tyre had long ago lost the power she
possessed in former days as the capital of the
Phoenicians. Cesarea is now a gigantic heap of
ruins, and in Tyre the prophecy of Isaias is ful
filled, " Thou, Tyre, shalt be forgotten, that
wast formerly crowned," 1 for she has lost her very
name, being called Sur. She has also a more silent
and forsaken appearance than any other city on
that coast, because entirely destitute of the gardens
which luxuriantly and smilingly surround almost
every other oriental town, causing each one to as
sume more or less the aspect of a bright and
friendly oasis in the desert, green and shining amid
the ^ yellow sand and rocks like an emerald in a
setting of gold. Such are Beyrout and Sidon on
this side of Lebanon, and such beyond it is " the
heavenly-scented Scham," as Damascus is named
by her poets. But Tyre lies all bare and desolate
on a promontory of the coast.
1 Isa. xxiii. 15.
1 G CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
The riches and good taste with which the Chris
tians built the houses of God is evident from Euse-
bius s description of that church. A lofty portico,
which was visible from a great distance, and seemed
to invite all to enter in, led into the eastern side of
an open and spacious court, surrounded on all sides
by covered colonnades. In the middle of the court
were fountains, which served partly for ornament
and the cooling of the air, and partly for ablutions.
Opposite the outward portico there were three doors,
the middle one very high and majestic, being the
entrance into the church. The doors themselves
were of bronze, beautifully and artistically orna
mented. The interior of the church was divided
by two rows of lofty columns into three naves, so
called because they typified the bark of Peter. The
middle nave, which was higher and broader than
the side ones, corresponded with the largest door
way. At the other end of it, raised by a few steps,
and shut off by an extremely beautiful screen, was
the choir, with the altar in the centre. The wall
behind it was built in a semicircle, and called the
apse. The bishop s throne stood there, and the
raised seats for the clergy were ranged on each side
of it, all tastefully carved. The canopy was of cedar,
also richly carved, and the floor was composed of
slabs of marble of various colours and designs.
The walls were inlaid with mosaics. Light and
air penetrated within by means of windows pierced
above the columns of the nave, and closed with fine
lattice-work instead of glass. Lesser doors in the
side aisles led into the sacristy, where the holy
vessels and the priestly vestments were kept, into
rooms where the catechumens were instructed, and
into the baptistery where the font stood, which in
those days, owing to the custom of complete immer
sion, was no mere vase, but a large bath sunk in
the ground. The church with the buildings apper
taining to it, and the court, were moreover enclosed
CHKISTIAN WORSHIP. 17
with a wall to keep off as much as possible all
worldly disturbance. With the exception of this
wall, the church of St. Clement s at Korne is to
this day a faithful model on a smaller scale of that
church at Tyre, of which there is not a vestige
left; and indeed the present form and arrange
ment of our churches has remained on the whole
such as Eusebius described it fifteen hundred
years ago.
Heathen temples, which were generally small,
because not destined to contain many people at
a time, were sometimes changed into Christian
churches ; but the large roomy buildings called
Basilicas, used for the administration of justice,
were more frequently taken for the purpose. Hence
the name of Basilica was conferred upon all the
larger churches. The usual form was the long
triple nave, but the cruciform plan came gradually
into vogue, that is to say, the fabric was enlarged
on each side between the choir and the nave so as
to form transepts. Sometimes, although very rarely,
the octagonal form was used for churches, but more
commonly for baptisteries, which were also built
quite round, and being separated from the church,
formed small and richly decorated independent
edifices.
Outside the entrance doors, which were called
the great" or " royal" doors, were the vestibules,
supported on pillars, where the catechumens, the
penitents, and the unbelievers remained during the
celebration of the Divine Mysteries. The faithful
were in the nave, the two sexes being separated
from each other, and amongst the women, in a still
further division, were the consecrated virgins and
widows. At the side of the choir, or sometimes in
the nave itself, was the Ambo, a raised platform,
from whence spiritual lectures were read. The
choir, sometimes called also the presbytery, was
raised more or less above the nave, but always
B
18 CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
divided from it by a barrier, and it was entered by
none but the clergy.
^ Besides the throne at the back of the choir, the
bishop had another especial place, a raised plat
form by the altar, from whence he addressed his
instructions to the faithful. In the larger churches
there hung over the detached altar sometimes a
canopy, and sometimes a representation of the Holy
Ghost in the form of a dove. Lamps perpetually
burned as a symbol of the everlasting glory and
worship due to the unchanging God.
On account of the heathen idolatry of images,
the early Christians had none in their churches lest
they should be dangerous to recent converts, or
awaken misconceptions in unbelievers. The faith
had been so much concealed during the long perse
cution, that its symbols were more eloquent to the
Christian mind than actual images. There were,
however, a few in the catacombs. After the over
throw of Paganism the fear of the profanation and
misunderstanding of images also disappeared, and
the first place amongst them was taken by the Cross,
which from being the token of malediction and
of extremest punishment had become the emblem
of salvation and of love. It not only shone over the
altars and upon the walls of churches it not only
adorned private dwelling-places but it towered over
the roofs of houses and the masts of ships ; it was
planted on the summits of lofty hills ; it surmounted
weapons, and everywhere reminded Christians upon
earth of their vocation to suffer for the things of
God, and, by suffering, to enter with Christ into
everlasting glory. Every possible honour and vener
ation was shown to this symbol of redemption, and
hence the heathen reproached the Christians with
being worshippers of the Cross, which only proved
that they could charge them with no greater crime.
Soon arose also images out of Bible history, images
of Christ, of the blessed Virgin Mary, of the Apon-
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP. 19
ties Peter and Paul, images of the martyrs in the
churches dedicated to their memory ; and holy
Fathers of the Church and pious bishops urgently
recommended this custom, because images were an
excellent means of instruction, especially for those
who could not learn from books. Amongst these
holy men were Gregory of Nyssa. Paulinus of Nola,
and Pope Gregory the Great The latter mentions
as one of the customs of his time, (he died in the
year 604,) that of prostrating themselves before the
Cross, go completely had the fear of idolatry dis-
ippeared. Votive images, that is, gold or silver
models of healed limbs, or other representations of
the redress of suffering, were accustomed to be hung,
as early as the fifth century, in the churches of the
martyrs to whose intercession the cure was attri
buted.
In the fourth century Rome already possessed
forty basilicas. Seven of these were built and
adorned by Constantine himself. The principal
and the most ancient of them is St. John Lateran.
The Lateran palace had formerly belonged to the
Eoman family of that name, and latterly to the
Empress Fausta, Coustantine s second wife. A
basilica was now built next to it ; it was for several
centuries the residence of the Popes, in which many
councils were held. In our days there reigns a
marvellous stillness around this basilica. The
whole of ancient and modern Rome lies behind it ;
nothing worldly approaches it ; and from its gigantic
vestibule the eye gazes uninterruptedly over the
melancholy campagna towards the blue outline of
the Alban and Latin hills on the eastern horizon.
Attached to this basilica was a separate baptistery,
dedicated like all others to St. John the Baptist,
and from him the church received its name. To
honour the grave of the Prince of the Apostles in
th.3 catacombs of the Vatican hill, Constantine built
the basilica of St. Peter on the ruins of a temple
20 CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
of Apollo. He also built that of St. Paul on the
spot of his martyrdom, on the road to Ostia ; that of
St. Agnes, together with a baptistery , at the request
of his daughter and his sister Constantia, both of
whom had been baptized by Pope Sylvester. Thei?
that of SS. Peter and Marcellinus, in which hk
mother the Empress Helena was buried ; that of
St. Lawrence, on the road to Tibur ; and lastly, that
of Santa Croce in Grerusalernrne, which received its
name from a portion of the Holy Cross preserved
there. This basilica is also in a very retired situation,
not far from the Lateran. Constantine bestowed
upon these churches, estates situated in Italy, Sicily,
Africa, Egypt, and Asia Minor, which brought
them a yearly income of about 25,000. The church
of SS. Peter and Marcellinus possessed the whoLe
island of Sardinia, that of St. Peter houses in Tyre
and in Alexandria, and lands at Tarsus in Cilicia,
and on the Euphrates. Besides this, the East was
bound to provide them annually with 20,000 pounds
weight of the most valuable spikenard, balsam, sto-
rax, cinnamon, and other aromatic substances for
their censers and their lamps. Costly oils and frank
incense burned in golden lamps and thuribles, and
golden chalices were used at the Holy Sacrifice.
Massive silver candlesticks with wax lights sur
rounded the altar, and even the chandeliers sus
pended from the roof were of silver. Nothing was
too beautiful, too rich, or too precious, to be employed
in honour of the mystical celebration in which the
Blood of Christ was ever being newly offered to the
Father as an atonement, and flowing over the souls
of men for expiation and sanctification.
It is evident from ancient documents that there
was at this early period a certain order of prayers
and solemn ceremonies, a liturgy, of which the
Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is the origin and centre,
and that its nature was the same in all the churches
of the various countries and nations. This is
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP. 21
shown, for instance, in the First Apology of Justin
the Martyr, (A.D. 167,) where he gives a succinct
account of the Holy Sacrifice, which in essentials
was exactly the same as it is in our time. Longer
or shorter prayers, some invocations, single acts,
or a different order of them, made certain exterior
varieties in the several liturgies which were used
by individual cathedrals, and which received the
name of the founder of the Church, or of its most
renowned bishop. Thus at Jerusalem and in Syria
the liturgy of St. James was used ; in Alexandria,
that of St. Mark ; in Constantinople, St. Chrysos-
tom s ; in Milan, the Ambrosian ; and in the East,
various others. In Spain the Mozarabic was used.
The Kv^man one was derived from apostolical tra
dition. It is certain that the most important and
most sacred portion of the Mass, the Canon, has
remained unaltered in its present form, even down
to its very words, ever since the fifth century, and
that there has not been the smallest change in it
since the time of Pope Gregory the Great. This
holy doctor put the "Our Father" in another
place, and inserted the prayer, " Give peace in our
days." This Canon has been inseparable from the
Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the living Sun of this
world, for more than twelve hundred years, in all
the length and breadth of the Koman Catholic
Church.
The public Mass, which was intended for the
whole congregation, was offered by the bishop
assisted by the priests and deacons, and the people
took an actual part in it at the oblation and the
communion. The oblation was the offering of the
bread and wine required for the Holy Sacrifice,
the consecrated portion of which was consumed at
the communion ; that not consecrated was laid
aside for the clergy and the poor, or in some places
blessed, and distributed to the laity as a token of
Christian love and fellowship when they no longer
22 CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
received daily communion. The bread thus
blessed was called bread of eulogy. This custom
of carrying round blessed bread cut into small
pieces, and distributing it in the church on Sun
days at the end of the service, has been retained
in some places ever since. The oblation included
also certain first-fruits, which were brought by the
faithful during the Mass, and blessed by the bishop,
but only those which had some connexion with
the altar and the sacrifice, such as fresh grapes,
corn, oil, and incense. Those who brought them
gave their names in writing to the deacon, and
the priest remembered them in the secret prayers.
In the sixth century the custom of these oblations
became confined to Sundays only, and in the
seventh it was altogether discontinued in the
West, because the priests had then begun to pre
pare the unleavened bread for themselves. Offer
ings of money then took the place formerly occu
pied by these gifts in kind.
Private Masses were also said by a single priest,
without any communion of the laity, in small
chapels dedicated to the martyrs, in country places,
in private houses, and, in times of persecution, in
the prisons. When Bishop Paulinus of Nola was
lying on his deathbed, he caused an altar to be
erected, and Mass to be said by his bedside. Votive
Masses for particular intentions, for the salvation
of souls, for the cessation of rain, for averting un
fruitful seasons, or to thank God for some parti
cular benefit, were frequently said. So likewise
^-ere Masses for the faithful departed, which were
always repeated on the anniversary of their death,
and with an especial office. The whole life of a
Christian stood in such close and intimate con
nexion with the faith, that he sought the sanction
of the Church for each act of his existence.
Masses in honour of the memory of the martyrs
on the days of their triumph, at which selections
CHKISTIAN WORSHIP. 23
from the acts of their martyrdom were read, and
sermons preached in praise of them, came very
early into use, and, soon after, similar Masses in
honour of other saints. If the Object of the wor
ship of the Catholic Church were not in Itseli
worthy of the adoration of angels and men, hei
most ancient liturgy would be entitled to venera
tion as a sacred thing, which has passed unchanged
through the vicissitudes of so many centuries and
races.
Before the invention of bells in the seventh cen
tury, the stroke of a hammer upon metal called
the faithful together, both to the Holy Sacrifice of
the Mass, and to the prayers in common in the
morning and evening. Every one obeyed the call,
and quietly took his appointed place. The Mass
was divided into two principal parts, the Mass of
the catechumens, and that of the faithful. Pagans,
Jews, penitents, and even heretics, might be pre
sent at the first. It began with psalms sung by
the people, either altogether, or divided into two
choirs, with antiphons and responsories. The
bishop or priest prepared himself to approach the
altar by a general confession of sins, and the psalm
that was sung as he ascended the steps was the
Introit of our present Mass. Then followed th-
supplication for mercy, the Kyrie eleison, which &
well befits the children of the earth, especially be
fore they venture to sing in the Gloria the praises
of the All-holy. Next the bishop greeted the
people with the Pax vobis, " Peace be with
you ; " and, as their spiritual father, gathered to
gether in one short prayer, the Collect, the wishes
and prayers of all, and offered them up to the
Heavenly Father, concluding with the invocation
of the Son of God. The bishop then proceeded to
his throne, and the lector ascended the ambo and
read the lection out of the Epistles or the Old Tes
tament, and sometimes also out of the writings of
24 CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
very holy men; but this last was discontinued
after the fourth century. At the end of the lec
tion, a psalm was sung called the Gradual, and the
deacon read a portion of the Gospels. The people
rose to listen to it with great reverence, and the
bishop, either from his throne, or standing at the
altar, interspersed explanations and practical re
marks, or preached a separate sermon.
This brought the Mass of the catechumens to a
close. At a summons from the deacon the unbe
lievers and penitents withdrew from the nave of
the church into the vestibule, the doors were shut,
and the profession of faith recited ; for the sub
lime mystery which God was about to accomplish
by means of His priest could be comprehended
only in the light of this faith. Those who were
present, being inflamed with the love of Him who
became incarnate in order to make all men bro
thers, greeted each other with the kiss of peace in
this way. The bishop embraced the deacon, and
the deacon his neighbour, and so on, each one
embracing whoever was next to him, which was
rendered practicable by the division of the sexes,
and the great humility which prevailed amongst
Christians possessing rank or position. Here took
place the oblations on the part of the faithful,
which have been before alluded to, out of which the
deacon and the subdeacon selected what was neces
sary for the communion, and the bishop recited the
offering of the propitiatory sacrifice, which was to
be consummated by the consecration. After the
offertory, the deacon presented water for the wash
ing of hands to the bishop, who then recited the Se
cret, usually a supplication to God that He would
mercifully accept the offerings, and that He would
Himself render the faithful worthy to offer to Him
an acceptable sacrifice. In the beautiful Preface
he exhorted the faithful to raise their hearts to God,
(Snrsum corda,) and to worship and praise with all
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
{he heavenly hosts His infinite majesty, omnipo
tence, and glory which He causes to shine forth to
our salvation in the inscrutable mystery of His
love. This most suhlime hymn, changing with
the feasts and seasons of the ecclesiastical year,
ended with the seraphic song Sanctus ! Sanctus !
Sanctus ! in which all the people joined. After
the invocation of the angels, who are present in
adoration at the most Holy Sacrifice, the Canon,
the most important part of the Mass, began with
prayers for the whole of the Church militant, in
which the name of the Pope was mentioned first.
Then followed the invocation of the Church
triumphant, of the blessed Virgin, the Mother of
God, of the Apostles and Martyrs, that their love
and intercession might procure help and protec
tion in the conflict. After this the bishop pro
nounced the consecration of the bread and wine,
with the words spoken by Christ himself, in which
dwells the power of the u Word that was with
God and was God," 1 and the transubstantiation
is accomplished. At the elevation the bishop
raises on high the Sacred Host and the holy
chalice in turn, bends his knee, and adores the
living Victim present on the altar, while the
people throw themselves upon their knees, and
worship. In this sublime moment the Church,
impelled by the love which dwells in a mother s
heart alone, remembers her dead, who have de
parted in the grace of God, and who are waiting
for heaven in the sufferings of purgatory. The
first supplication of the priest is for them he be
stows upon them the first drop of the Blood of the
Lamb. Surely never did love for the dead find a
stronger or more touching expression. And now
that all the children of the Eternal Father who
are indeed divided in their separate abodes of
heaven, earth, and purgatory, but most intimately
1 John L
26 CHRISTIAN WORSHIP.
united by sanctifying grace are, as it were,
assembled together by the priest, that each may
receive their share in the sacrifice, he recites the
Pater noster, implores mercy from the Lamb of
God, (Agnus Dei,) makes a humble preparation,
and receives the communion. The ejaculation,
" Behold the holy of holies," to which the people
answered " Amen/ preceded the general giving of
communion. After the bishop or priest the clergy
were the first to receive communion, and always at
the altar, then the ascetics, monks, and nuns, and
after them the remainder of the faithful received
it at the rails of the sanctuary.
The priest who distributed the communion said
to each person, either " May the Body of Christ,"
or " the Blood of Christ," or " the Body of the
Lord keep thy soul. Psalms were sung during
the communion. Then followed a thanksgiving,
the blessing of the people by the bishop, and the
dismissal, spoken by the deacon, (missa, dismissio,
hence, Mass.) At the public celebration of the
Eucharist communion was generally given under
two kinds, but it was always believed that the
whole substance of the sacrament was perfectly
contained in one alone, as the Apostle has already
said, " Whosoever shall eat this bread or drink/ 1
&c. It was permitted in times of persecu
tion, or on long journeys, especially by sea, or
to hermits in the desert, and to monks in their
retired cells, to take with them the Eucharistic
Bread, for there was then no fear that the Body of
the Lord would be less reverently handled or con
sumed out of Mass than it would have been during
it. This custom unmistakably expresses faith in
the Keal Presence under one kind only. The pious
awe and reverence of the faithful caused them
voluntarily to receive communion fasting ; but
this custom was soon made an ecclesiastical pre-
1 1 Cor. xi. 27.
CHRISTIAN WORSHIP. 27
cept, in order to obviate all possible occasions of
dishonour. Besides this, prayer six times a day,
if possible in church, was required of the faithful,
by the ancient Apostolical Constitutions. 1
At cock-crowing, on account of the returning day;
at sunrise, to praise God for the new day ; at the
third hour, because our Blessed Lord was then con
demned to death; at the sixth, the hour of His
crucifixion ; the ninth, that of His death , in the
evening, in remembrance of His rest in the grave,
coupled with the thought of each one s eternal rest
after his life is happily ended. When the first
love of the great mass of the people for their Ke-
deemer grew cold, their fervour in prayer gradually
diminished also. But the Church did not, there
fore, by any means relinquish this demand, she
only confined it to those who had dedicated them
selves by preference to a life of prayer, the clois
tered of both sexes, who have to say certain prayers
together in the choir of their church at the canoni
cal hours, to canons and prebendaries, and finally
to all the clergy, beginning with subdeacons, who
are bound to the recital of the Breviary, not in
common, but each one separately. Thus was the
incense of prayer to rise uninterruptedly through
the ages of the redeemed world before the heavenly
throne of God, simultaneously with the offence of
sin, and to surround the mystical throne of God in
the tabernacle. Faith in the mystery of the Heal
Presence brings with it continual prayer, for love
speaks to its Beloved.
1 In the very early times the Church was governed not by
written laws, but by the tradition of the apostles and of theii
first and most noted disciples. The six first booka of the
" Apostolical Constitutions are the oldest work in which are
described the laws, regulations, and customs of the Church, the
duties of clergy and laity, religious ceremonies, the service of
God, and the feasts and doctrines of the faith. The author waa
probably a Syrian bishop or priest, who lived towards the end
of the third century. The form is the same as that of the
Apostolical Epistles.
23 FEASTS AND FASTS.
FEASTS AND FASTS.
THE ancient doctors of the Church, such as Origen
and Clement of Alexandria, look upon the Chris
tian life as one continual festival, not indeed as
one of those which are kept by feasting and worldly
indulgence, but as a day of holy joy, because the
night of sin has been overcome by redemption,
because reconciliation with God has brought peace
and true joy to the soul, and because from this joy
no one is excluded who does not voluntarily sepa
rate himself from God. For Ibis the angels sang
on the holy night of Christmas their song of
jubilee, " Glory to God in the highest, and on
earth peace to men of good will." l The Prince of
Peace, as Isaias had named Him, had come into
the world, and brought down with Him from heaven
peace and joy, which are enumerated by St. Paul
among " the fruits of the Spirit." 2 But in order
that the Christian might the more surely be the
figure of Christ, and the more perfectly bear the
image of the heavenly man, as Christ had borne
the image of the earthly, 3 it was necessary that
he should suffer himself to be continually pene
trated and sanctified by the saving mysteries of
Christianity, and that he should imitate the
Saviour, contemplating His life step by step, and
dwelling in this contemplation. For this reason
particular times were set apart as festivals, which,
like faithful messengers of religion, returned every
year, unceasingly announcing the work of redemp
tion, and by their attractive festivity enkindling
and animating the sensual nature of man, and pre
paring his soul for the everlasting feast of heaven.
The festival which returned the oftenest, because
it could never be sufficiently celebrated, was Sun
day, or, as it was more commonly called, the
1 Luke ii. 14. s GaL v. 22. 3 1 Cor. xv. 49.
FEASTS AND FASTS. 29
Lord s-day, (Dominica?) which was dedicated even
in apostolic times to the remembrance of the Be-
surrection of Christ. On that day work was not
permitted, and all the infirmities and miseries of
this earthly life were banished from the mind, foi
it commemorated the triumph of the eternal life.
The case was very different on Wednesday and
Friday. The day on which Judas betrayed the
Lord, and the day on which the Lord died on the
Ooss, were observed by fasting till three o clock
and fervent public prayer. They were called Days
of the Stations, days on which the warriors of
Christ kept watch at their posts. In Kome the
remembrance of these days of the stations is still
kept up. There is daily in Lent, and frequently
during the rest of the year, a station, that is, a
devout assembly of the faithful in certain churches,
as arranged by Pope Gregory the Great. The
prayers recited in each church on that clay are en
riched with an indulgence.
The most ancient festivals were those of Easter
and Pentecost. The groundwork of Christianity
was Christ crucified and Christ glorified. From
that foundation arose the practice of the imitation
of Him, which entered in a thousand ways into
the life of the faithful. A period of penance, of
long and uncertain duration, now restricted to the
forty days fast of Lent, (Quadragesima?) preceded
the celebration and contemplation of the suffer
ings and death of our Lord in the " great week,"
as it was called. The universal characteristics
of the ecclesiastical fast were the late hour of the
one meal, which was not taken till sunset, and
the abstinence from meat and wine j and during
its continuance neither marriage nor christening
festivities were allowed. But the fervour of the
faithful led them to practise still greater mortifi
cations, especially in the East, where it was the
custom to restrict themselves on all fast-days to
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
SO FEASTS AND FASTS.
bread and water, with at the utmost a few vege
tables or dried fruits ; while in the West this
was only the case on Good Friday. They were
anxious, on the other hand, to strengthen and
fortify their souls, and for this purpose there were
continual sermons all through Lent, as, for ex
ample, those preached daily by St. Chrysostom at
Constantinople. A specimen of these is given
us by Origen : " Abstain from all sin, take to-
thyself no food of sin, enjoy not the indulgence of
thy passions, drink not the wine of thy desires.
Refrain from evil deeds and words, and from still
more evil thoughts. Seek not the bread of false
doctrine, and thirst not after a deceitful philosophy
which is far from the truth." It was not suffi
cient that the body should be denied all sensual
delights, the soul was also to be exercised in self-
mastery; and the chief advantage of the morti
fication of the senses lay in this, that it facilitated
the victory in spiritual things by keeping men
constantly in the habit of fighting against the
coarser passions.
Thursday in Holy Week was dedicated to the
institution of the Eucharist, and was therefore in
the morning a day of joy. After the fifth century
the bishops took this day for the consecration
of the Holy Oils for Baptism, Confirmation,
and the Sick. In the evening began the antici
pation of the solemnity of the day of the Holy
Passion, the day of the Cross. All the people
assembled in the church, and the history of the
Passion was read. The day was passed in prayer,
labour, mortification, and fasting, never in repose
from work or in amusement. The prayers for
infidels, Jews, heretics, and schismatics, on that
day, together with the adoration of the Cross,
which follows them, have been in use ever since
the fifth century, and are in perfect accordance
with the mind of Him who died upon the Cross
FEASTS ASD FASTS. 31
for all men, and who prayed for His enemies and
tormentors, saying, "Father, forgive them, for
they know not what they do/ The great vigil
of the festival of Easter began on Saturday even
ing, and lasted till daybreak on Sunday, so that
the faithful remained in church uninterruptedly
for ten or twelve hours. Then came the Benedic
tion of the Paschal Candle, and the Blessing of the
Font, with most beautiful prayers and lessons out
of the Old Testament. This was also the time for
the Baptism of the Catechumens, and last of all, on
Easter Day itself, came the Mass of the Resurrec-
tion. This was truly a day of rejoicing. The
faithful embraced each other with the greeting,
" The Lord is risen. He is risen indeed/ The
neophytes celebrated their own resurrection from
the death of sin, their being born again " of water
and the Holy Ghost," simultaneously with the
Kesurrection of their Redeemer. This rejoicing
lasted not only during Easter week, but the whole
tune till Pentecost, so that Tertullian undertook
to show that the Christians had even more feasts
than the pagans.
The jubilee of the Alleluias rises up afresh on
the day of the Ascension of our Blessed Lord. He
had spent the forty mysterious and gracious days
since His Resurrection with His disciples, and pro
mised to send them the Holy Ghost from on high,
who was to comfort them when they no longer saw
His form or heard His voice amongst them. He
had then so spiritualised them that they did not
look upon the separation from Him with feelings
of earthly sorrow, but in holier dispositions received
it as an additional grace. There lies a veil over
the forty days in the desert which preceded His
appearance in the world as the Messias, and on the
forty days which precede His departure from the
world there rests a veil also. The two mysteries
of the combat in which He overcame +*> world,
32 FEASTS AND FASTS.
and of His supernatural glory, must alike be con
templated and adored in silence and in faith.
After the fifth century, three days of prayer
before the Ascension were likewise occupied in
calling down the blessing of God on the germinat
ing fields and meadows. The whole of nature was
involved in the consequences of sin by the fall of
the first man, so that she could not bring forth her
blossoms and her fruits without the sunshine and
the dew of grace. As man had dragged her down
with him in his fall, he must seek to free her from
the curse by prayer. Mamertus, Bishop of Vienne
in France, was the first who ordained these days
of prayer to be observed with processions through
the fields, in the year 469, after his city had
suffered severely from earthquakes and scarcity.
From thence they spread over the whole of Catholic
Christendom.
Ten days after the Ascension there came the
sweet feast of Whitsuntide, which brings the
fulness of the grace of the Redeemer, the Holy
Ghost, the Fruit of His love. Without the Holy
Ghost there would be no Church, for He is her
soul and quickens her, He is her heart and gives
her the pulse of unity. His coming is the birth
of the Church in the world.
It is peculiar that the Nativity of Christ, the
festival of the sanctification of human nature, the
Mother of all other feasts," as St. Chrysostom calls
it, should be less ancient than the festivals of
Easter, the Ascension and Pentecost. The uncer
tainty of the day of our Lord s Nativity is said to
have been the cause of this. It is supposed that it
was first established in Koine on the 25th of Decem
ber, in order to give a Christian meaning to the
heathen festival in honour of the returning sun,
by fixing on that day the rising of the sun of
Christianity. But before the middle of the fifth
century the feast of Christmas had passed from
FEASTS AND FASTS. 33
the West over the whole of the East. The fast of
the four weeks of Advent, to prepare the sinful
world for the merciful coming of the Lord, shows
in what high honour it was held.
New feasts were added in the course of later
centuries, when the Church was able without
restraint to develope her own proper life, thus com
pleting more and more the circle of holy recollec
tions. But the feast of the Epiphany is exceed
ingly ancient, the feast of the appearance or
manifestation of the Lord, which is kept on the
6th of January, and is dedicated to the joint com
memoration of the three events by which He made
Himself known to the world: the Adoration of
the Magi, who were led to His crib by a star ; the
Baptism in the Jordan, when the heavens opened
above Him ; and the marriage at Cana, when He
worked His first miracle. The love and piety of
the faithful also by degrees assigned their proper
places to the feasts of our Blessed Lady. The
Emperor Justinian, as early as the year 542, com
manded that the feast of the Purification of the
Blessed Virgin should be kept on no other day
than the 2d of February. A few hundred years
later we find on the 25th of March the feast of the
Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin, or more pro
perly the Annunciation of our Blessed Lord. To
these were joined other solemnities on days com
memorating events of importance to Christianity :
such as the remembrance of St. Peter as Bishop
of Rome, which is kept on the 18th of January
under the name of St Peter s Chair ; the day of
the death of the Apostles Peter and Paul on the
29th of June ; the nativity of St John the
Baptist, who shares with our Blessed Lord and His
most Holy Mother, the distinction of His birth
into the world being honoured ; whilst for other
saints and martyrs it is the day of their entrance
into heaven, namely, the day of their death, that
c
?4 FEASTS AND FASTS.
is kept. In short, our calendar, which we care
lessly glance at merely for the sake of the dates,
or because we have something to do on this or
that day, consists in reality of nothing but
memorials of the supernatural life upon which our
daily life should be moulded and arranged.
But as the vocation of a Christian is not to be
fulfilled by a trifling and superficial joy, but
by the supernatural rejoicing of a heart entirely
resting in God, and a life wholly consecrated to
Him, it was necessary that zeal for this sanc-
tification should extend over all the aims and ob
jects of life. Earnest prayer, devout attendance at
the public worship of God, careful fulfilment of the
precepts of the Church as to fasting, almsgiving,
and various mortifications, were only fruits of the
fervour which was an essential element of striving
after perfection. An ardent spirit of penance laid
the foundations of perfection in the minds of
Christians, for it led through the compunction of
repentance to humility ; and humility is the soil,
dark, trodden under foot and apparently insignifi
cant, out of which springs the richest harvest. To
become a Christian does not mean to become on a
sudden inaccessible to sin. No ! certainly not.
The tempter entered into the desert with the Divine
Saviour to endeavour to arouse sensuality, pride,
and ambition even in Him. To become a Christian
means to receive through the Sacraments, and
first of all through Baptism, grace to fight with
sin and power to overcome it. A Christian is still
a man ; and poor, weak human nature is not always
willing to conduct this battle with that vigour and
constancy without which victory is unattainable.
Thus he falls falls through his own fault, through
his rejection of grace, which is always ready to
come to his succour with divine assistance ; and
he falls out of the realm of salvation into that of
eviL The more horror of sin there is in a soul,
FEASTS AND FASTS. 35
the more susceptible is it of the stings of con
science, and the more clearly will it perceive after
its fall the loss of its happiness, and cry out for
salvation from the abyss. Then God hears its
cry of distress, and stretches forth His fatherly
Hand and leads it to the sacrament of penance,
the sacrament of mercy as it should properly be
called ; which is likened by the Fathers of the
Church to the plank which saves from shipwreck.
The necessity of confessing one by one to the
priest all grave sins without exception, secret or
public, was universally maintained, and looked
upon as the groundwork of salvatioa This neces
sity rested upon the Christian faith in the priest s
power of binding and loosing, which has its im
movable foundation in the Holy Scriptures.
" Peace be to you ; as the Father hath sent me.
I also send you." When Christ had said this, He
breathed on them, (the Apostles,) and said to them,
" Keceive ye the Holy Ghost ; whose sins you shall
forgive they are forgiven them, and whose sins you
shall retain, they are retained." 1 He chose for this
action the time after His Rosurrection,when He had
ordained His Apostles and disclosed to them the
deeper signification of His mission and of their
succession to it. The power which the Father had
given to the Son, of the remission of the sins of
men and their sanctification, the Son gave to His
Apostles, and in His Apostles to their successors
also, because the need of remission of sins and of
sanctification never ceases upon the earth. This
power is one of the graces of the priesthood, and
ceases with it as a flame expires when the wax is
consumed. The Catholic priest alone can with
the power of God remit sins.
The earliest teachers of the Church affirm this
necessity of the confession of sins. Tertullian com
pares those who are unwilling to submit to this duty
1 John xx. 19-23.
36 FEASTS AND FASTS.
with the sick who die miserably, because out of
false shame they will not show the hidden wounds
of their body to the physician. The great St.
Cyprian, Archbishop of Carthage, (A.D. 258,) says,
that the mere thought of saving one s life by sacri
ficing to idols is sinful, and therefore to be confessed
to the priest. St. Pacian, Bishop of Barcelona in 370,
warns all against the attempt to deceive the priest,
or to confess imperfectly, and blames those who
have indeed fully confessed their sins, but who will
not submit to the penance imposed upon them.
St. Chrysostom, Patriarch of Constantinople, (A.D.
407,) holds it up as an especial dignity of the priest
that he possesses power not over bodies as the
princes of the world, but one which extends even
to heaven, for what he does on earth by means of
the power of absolving and retaining is valid in
heaven. St. Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan, (A.D.
397,) defends the exercise of this power against the
heretics, as an office committed to priests. St. Basil
the Great, Archbishop of Cesarea in Cappadocia,
(A.D. 379,) writes: "It is with the confession of
eins as with bodily infirmities ; we show the latter
only to the skilful physician, and confess the former
to those alone who can heal them." And St. Gregory,
Bishop of Nyssa, (A.D. 300,) speaks thus : " Show
boldly to the priest what is hidden, and discover
to him the secrets of thy soul. He will have care
alike for thy healing and thy reputation/ 1
Confession of sins was made in various ways;
sometimes publicly either before the assembled
clergy and people, or before the clergy alone, and
sometimes privately to the bishop or to a priest.
Crimes which were known either by their nature or
through chance, and had given public scandal,
generally required public disclosure. Hidden sins
were also frequently made manifest, sometimes
spontaneously, but generally by the advice of the-
priest to whom they were first privately confessed,
FEASTS AND FASTS. 37
when he judged such humiliation to be desirable.
This publicity, however, was urged upon none to
whose interests as a citizen it would be prejudicial.
The public declaration of the gravest sins, such as
apostasy, idolatry, murder, or impurity, was invar
iably followed by public penance, as was also secret
confession at times, according to the advice of the
priest. The practice of penance was not the same
at all times and in all places ; it was most severe
in the second century and at the beginning of the
third. It was then thought a favour for a great
sinner even to be allowed to begin his penance. It
was looked upon as a slow and painful process of
healing, which was to work a serious and lasting
conversion, and to give the sinner the opportunity
even in this life of making the most complete satis
faction possible, and of purifying his soul from the
smallest stains of sin. It was not only to work upon
the sinner himself, but others also were to be deterred
from sin, and filled with the deepest dread of it, by
the example of such heavy penances. Therefore
permission to do penance and thereby to reconcile
themselves with the Church and to receive her
Sacraments was only given to those who demanded
it humbly, urgently, and perse veringly. Until they
had obtained it, their names, if they had committed
any great sin, were struck out of the rank of the
faithful, and they could never take part in the
public offices of the Church. The penance began
generally on the first Wednesday in Lent, with
prayer and the imposition of hands by the bishop
and the whole of the clergy. The penitent appeared
in poor apparel, with his hair shorn, and ashes
strewn upon his head, and with bare feet. If he
were married, his wife must give her consent to his
undertaking to do public penance, for as long as it
lasted he must not only abstain from all pleasures,
but live as a stranger in his own house. Prostrate
on his face on the ground he received the sentence
38 FEASTS AND FASTS.
pronounced upon him by the laws of the Church,
which was to try and purify him, often during a
course of years, with practices of penance, mortifi
cation, and humiliation. If he had to go through
all the four states of penance, he began by placing
himself outside the church in the courtyard, and
imploring the faithful who entered, to plead for
him with God and the bishop. In the second de
gree he was allowed to stand at the doors of the
church in the portico and there to be present at
the prayers, but not at the Mass of the Catechu
mens. The third degree was called the beginning
of penance, the two former being only preparations
for it. The penitent was allowed to enter the nave
of the basilica as far as the ambo of the lector,
to be present at the Mass of the Catechumens,
and to leave the church with them as soon as the
Mass of the Faithful commenced. Immediately
before his release from the third class he received
anew the imposition of hands from the bishop,
and listened on his knees to the prayers which
were offered specially for him. As a penitent of
the fourth class he was allowed to take part in all
the prayers and celebrations of the Church, as well
as to be present at the entire sacrifice of the Mass,
but not to bring any offering or to receive commun
ion. These were permitted only after the complete
performance of his penance, with the solemn appro
bation of the bishop.
No ordinary dispositions would have sufficed to
lead men to such repentance and humble resigna
tion, and induce them to tread so heroically under
foot all pride and self-love. But this holy spirit
of penance diminished very much in the fourth cen
tury, and the inclination to submit to these severe
punishments gradually decreased. Therefore the
public accusations and penances ceased, and like
wise the special office of penitentiary priests, who
used to hear the confessions of the penitents, pre-
THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE. 39
scribe to them the degree and manner of their pen
ance, watch over their conduct, and determine the
time of their transition from one class to another
and finally of their being admitted to holy commun
ion. From that time penitents were allowed to con
fess to a priest of their own choice, and it rested with
their own consciences to acquit themselves more or
less faithfully of the penances which he imposed.
Pope Leo the Great (A.D. 461) propagated this cus
tom, and by means of established rules and laws
prevented its exercise being left to the arbitrary
discretion of each priest ; and from that time secret
judicial confession, which enables the priest to
decide upon the remission or the retaining of sins,
has remained in full use in the Church. The hear
ing of confessions was in the first instance the righf
of the bishops ; but as they themselves were not
sufficiently numerous to supply the demand for
confessors, they bestowed the necessary jurisdiction
upon the priests of their diocese, and in later times
upon the monks also. For this reason priests can
now hear confessions only in the diocese to which
they belong, and in no other without the permission
of the bishop of that diocese.
THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.
WHEN the Eternal Word became flesh, uniting
humanity to His Divinity, He became visible, and
entering upon His own proper dominion over
mankind, He began that battle of the work of
redemption in which He was to triumph by dying
for all, as well as for each individual. Hence
forward, the community which He founded on the
groundwork of the Christian faith, and which re
ceived for its inheritance the prosecution of His
40 THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.
work of redemption amongst men, was to be visible
and militant. The work was to be carried on in
each individual human soul, for whom our Blessed
Lord held in readiness as allies in the warfare all
the powers of the supernatural world, and above
all, Himself. For as the body is not satiated for
ever after having eaten once at the table of the king,
but daily feels hunger and seeks to satisfy it, so
the soul is not saved for ever by the Saviour hav
ing died for her, but that for which He died, sin,
must die also daily in her. This is her warfare.
All and each of us must wage this warfare which
penetrates inexorably into the whole of our earthly
life. Its purpose is the deliverance from evil ; its
aim, the triumph over evil ; its reward, the never-
ending enjoyment of eternal good.
But, in this battle, so important to man, and to
the community of men which is joined together in
the visible Church by the confession of one and
the same faith, all do not fight with strength, per
severance, and good will. The work of redemption
never ceases ; neither does the revolt of the spirit.
Many, perhaps the majority, fall, and some desert.
But the fallen and the deserters can raise them
selves again into the freedom of the children of
God.
In the opposing ranks of the enemy stands the
spirit of evil, and it creates through sin, a bondage
which entails new sins, so that those who enter it
become the bounden slaves of the Evil One, and by
their unbridled passions corrupt their hearts and
pervert their minds. The history of mankind dur
ing the four thousand years between Paradise and
Calvary contains the account of this slavery. The
same slavery in another form has continued through
the centuries after Calvary, and even in the midst
of the visible Church herself. Those of her chil
dren who fall, fight not for the Spirit of God but
against Him; they are not living, but dead members
THE BOSPEORUS ASV THE NILE. 41
of the mystical Body of Christ; but so long as they
do not separate themselves of their own accord
from the revealed faith upon which the visible
Church is built, and reject her teaching, the Church
will wait with forbearance for their conversion
because that faith can save them even in their last
hour, and God has reserved to Himself alone the
right of separating the chaff from the wheat in the
day of judgment.
Two paths which lead to widely different ends
are pursued even by those within the Church ; the
paths of grace and of nature. The one leads in
strife, through ways of probation and of perfec
tion, to union with God, the other leads into the
broad career of self-seeking. The impulse towards
both lies in each man who is born in nature and
born again of grace ; and each has his free choice
which path to follow.
In times of great and general calamity, when
the paltry joys of this transitory life are as it were
encompassed by thorns and bitterness, and none
can find secure rest or enjoy real refreshment, be
cause all are threatened with dungeons, with ill-
treatrnent, with poverty and banishment, with
martyrdom and death ; the mind turns more easily
towards heavenly things, and the most frivolous
natures are impressed with the nothingness of the
goods and pleasures of earth. It is not, then, so
difficult to despise riches and comforts, honours
and distinctions.
But when the tribulation is past, and the first
burst of joy which follows a happy and unlocked
for deliverance is over, then many who have a
secret affection for earthly things fall into a state
of lukewarmness and spiritual debility, in which
the desire of supernatural goods is soon ex
tinguished. They make homes for themselves
in the world, and seek to be comfortable and peace
ful, and to recover all the ease and pleasure of
42 THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.
which they had been
If the religion which had hitherto been oppressed
and persecuted comes to be supreme, to be pre
ferred and praised, if it acquires power and con
sideration, and the outward glory consequent upon
possessing mighty protectors, it no longer works
upon its former followers in all its purity, but
becomes intermingled with baser motives and con
siderations of human respect. These considers
tions were to many of its new followers of thi
first importance, so that if the religion did not
correspond to their private wishes and aims they
troubled themselves very little about it.
This was the case from the time that Christianity
was introduced by Constantine into his imperial
city of Byzantium. The spirit of the world pro
duced all those effects which it generally causes in
those who follow its inspirations rather than the
drawing of the Spirit of God. Immoderate am
bition and thirst of power, haughtiness and pride,
avarice and sensuality, vanity and self-love, pre
sumption and arrogance, took possession even of
the Christians, because, as has been said, each one
has the free choice whether he will serve Christ or
Lucifer. The danger was the greatest on the
throne and round about it, and within the limits
of the imperial influence, because there the tempta
tion to worldliness was the strongest. The mag
nificence of the imperial court, the splendour of
the establishments and buildings of the city, the
marvellous beauty of its situation, and its pleasant
climate, all tended to produce the same effect.
Everything was there congregated which could
dazzle and captivate the senses.
In sailing from the agitated and stormy Black
Sea into the Bosphorus, which winds between
the coasts of Europe and Asia into the Pro-
pontis, (the Sea of Marmora,) there arise in suc
cession pictures, as it were, from a magic mirror,
THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE. 43
each growing more and more beautiful, to the
point where the ancient Byzantium sits enthroned
upon her seven hills, like the queen of two
regions of the world. The city forms a triangle,
one side of which is washed by the waves of the
Propontis, another is bounded by the G-olden Horn,
the harbour formed by a deep bay of the Bos-
phorus ; and the third faces the land where,
beyond the uplands of Thrace, lie the Balkan
Mountains. On this side was the golden gate
through which Constantine and his followers made
their triumphal entries. But Byzantium sank gra
dually lower and lower ; and many centuries be
fore the Turk metamorphosed it into Stamboul, the
golden gate was walled up, lest the people of the
West, the Latins, should enter as conquerors through
it. On the extreme point of the land arose the palace
of the Emperor Constantine, a gigantic and splendid
building, with innumerable apartments, halls, cor
ridors, porticoes, baths, and gardens, which could
accommodate six thousand inhabitants. It was sur
rounded by walls and towers, and formed a small
city within the larger one. This most beautiful
spot is now called the " Point of the Seraglio,
and bears the palace of the Turkish grand seignior
as it formerly did that of the first Christian em
peror. Its pavilions, cupolas, and minarets, built
of white stone, glitter in the sun s rays ; and its
fantastic architecture is chequered and over
shadowed by the thick foliage of large plane-trees
and the dark branches of majestic cypresses. The
whole European coast of the Bosphorus, with its
deeper or shallower bays, rises into hills from the
water s edge, and these hills are covered with a
luxuriant abundance of wood. Oaks, planes, wal
nuts, cypresses, chestnut and maple- trees, hang
from the slopes over the meadows which border
the shore, or dip their branches into the very
waves The Asiatic coast is not everywhere so
44 THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.
luxuriant, being here and there formed of bare
and bleak mountains ; but, on the other hand, it
possesses a jewel of its own, the Bithynian Olym
pus, whose snowy peak glitters in the rays of the
evening sun.
Above this confusion of palaces, houses, and
towers, there rose the gigantic dome of the grand
edifice which Constantine had erected in honour
of the Divine Wisdom become man, the cathedral
of Sancta Sophia, " that wonderful building in
which even now the dogma of Christianity, in
terwoven with the fervent mysticism of the early
ages, and penetrated by the glowing faith of the
Fathers of the Church, is still quite unmistak
able." i
A prodigality of riches was expended upon
it, and the Emperor Justinian made further ad
ditions, when the building had suffered from
an earthquake. It is said that on that occa
sion a holy relic was built into the walls be
tween every tenth stone. The doors were made
of cedar, inlaid with ivory and amber ; the walls
were covered with holy pictures and histories
worked in mosaic and let into the marble. The
marble pavement shone as brightly as a looking-
glass. Pillars of porphyry, alabaster, verd antique,
and granite, formed galleries above the side aisles.
Silver lamps in the form of boats, in which the
light was ever burning, hung from the roof. Trees
of silver, with lights for fruit, sprang out of the
marble floor. The canopy above the ambo bore
a cross of gold of a hundred pounds weight, orna
mented with diamonds and pearls. Above the
screen which shut off the choir, were twelve
columns overlaid with silver, and between them
silver statues of our Blessed Lord, His most
Holy Mother, four prophets, and four evangelists.
The altar stood in the choir upon a base of gold,
1 Orientalische Briefe, Sept, 1 843:
THE BOSPHORTTS AND THE NILE. 45
and the front of it was a mass of precious stones,
pearls, and gold, pounded into pieces, and melted
together. The bishop s throne was overlaid with sil
ver and gilt, and golden lilies surrounded the silvel
canopy. Immeasurable riches were stored in the
treasure-chamber : 6000 candlesticks of pure gold ;
seven crosses of gold, each weighing one hundred
pounds ; 42,000 chalice veils, embroidered with
pearls and jewels ; twenty-four copies of the Gos
pels bound in gold, each of two hundred pounds
weight ; chalices, thuribles, and vessels innumer
able and of indescribable costliness ; 950 ecclesi
astics performed the services in this House of God
Such was Sancta Sophia, the pride of the emperor,
the joy of the faithful, the treasure-house of art,
the jewel-casket of Byzantium, until the 29th day
of May, in the year 1453, when Sultan Mohammed
II. rode into it on horseback, and exclaimed, at the
foot of the altar, in a voice of thunder, " There is
no God but God, and Mohammed is his prophet."
Then the Divine Wisdom had to give place to a
human delusion, and the Lamb of God to dis
appear before the " Kismet/ or fatalism, of Islam.
Then the holy sign of the Cross was effaced wher
ever it did not happen to be overlooked ; and the
mosaic pictures on the walls and dome were plas
tered over with whitewash, which contrasts coarsely
and glaringly with their marble frames. But there
exists, even to this day, among both Christians
and Mohammedans, a saying which expresses the
belief that Islam will not always reign here su
preme. It is as follows : " When the Turks took
possession of Constantinople, a pious priest was
saying Mass in the Aja Sophia. 1 At the moment
of the consecration, the bearer of the evil tidings
entered the church, and the priest prayed with
great fervour, May God preserve the holy Body
1 Aja, from the Greek agia, holy. The Greeks call the
Blessed Virgin the " Panagia," the all-holy.
46 THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.
of the Lord from profanation/ Suddenly the wall
enclosed both Host and priest, and they will both
reappear unharmed on the day in which Constan
tinople shall be recaptured by the Christians."
Constantine prepared his own grave in the
Church of the Twelve Apostles. This church,
where the head of St. Andrew was venerated, was
also built with lavish magnificence. It was adorned
with porphyry statues of the twelve Apostles, at
whose feet Constantine desired to be buried, in
order clearly to express his reverence for their
sanctity, and his confidence in their intercession.
The profane buildings of the city were all in
the same style of exuberant grandeur: wherever
the eye turned, it rested upon marble, porphyry,
and bronze. The marble was furnished by the
quarries in the neighbouring island of Procon-
nesus in the Propontis, which gave to that sea
its second name of the Sea of Marmora. The
porphyry, alabaster, and granite came from Egypt
and the Levant, and the timber from the immense
forests in the Bosphorus, and from Taurus in
Bithynia. In this respect also the situation of
Byzantium was unusually favourable. The Forum
of Constantine, which was surrounded by halls
and courts of justice, containing many porphyry
statues, had for its centre, like the Forum of
Trajan at Rome, a column of porphyry eighty-
seven feet high, encircled with golden laurel leaves,
and surmounted by a statue of Constantine. It is
now a ruin, destroyed and calcined by fire, whose
remains can hardly be kept together even by
eramps of iron, and which is shown to travellers
under the name of " the burnt pillar." In the
great circus, where the chariot-races were held,
Constantine assembled the most celebrated works
of art out of the temples and public places of the
most opulent cities of his empire. The four
bronze horses, the work of Lysippus, which now
THE BOSPHOBUS AND THE NILE. 47
stand over the porch of St. Mark s church at
Venice, and which formerly adorned the port of
Athens, were among its chief ornaments. Home
alone was obliged to contribute sixty of her finest
statues, Egypt one of the most magnificent of her
obelisks, made of a single piece of rose-coloured
granite sixty feet high, and Delphi gave the memo
rial of the victory of Platasa, three snakes entwined
together, bearing on their heads the farfamed
Delphian tripod. In one word, the riches, the
art, and the splendour of the whole world were
laid under tribute to Byzantium, nor were Constan-
tine and his followers less careful for the well-
being of the city, than they were for its glory and
its magnificence. He erected enormous granaries,
in which the corn of Egypt was stored, and after
wards distributed gratis to the people; noble
aqueducts, which brought water from the moun
tains of Thrace ; numerous tasteful fountains,
which distributed the water into all parts of the
city, and baths luxuriantly furnished, and free
of access to all. In short, with all these tri
butes from Kome, Greece, and Asia, there en
tered into Christian Byzantium a certain luxurious
element, derived from heathenism, which was all
the more dangerous to Christians, because it was
so novel. Hitherto they had hardly been allowed
to live, and now they were transplanted into the
midst of all the enjoyments of life, with the full
security of being able to avail themselves of them.
And the great mass of the people chose rather to
live in luxury, than to tread the " narrow way
which leads to eternal life."
However, amid this mass, there were always
holy and noble souls, who were not dazzled by
earthly goods, nor taken captive by earthly happi
ness; and some saints, the favourites of God,
were found even amongst those born to the purple.
For if the kingdoms of light and of darkness meet
48 THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.-
in every hnman breast, their limits will not be
clearly defined in the general working of the world.
The threads of life cross and touch each other,
>nd a gold thread may be interwoven with the
black ones.
Thus was fulfilled in Byzantium the prophecy
which Isaias spoke to Jerusalem, the type of the
Christian Church: "Thus saith the Lord God,
Behold, I will lift up my hand to the Gentiles,
and will set up my standard to the people. And
they shall bring thy sons in their arms, and carry
thy daughters upon their shoulders. And kings
shall be thy nursing-fathers, and queens thy nurses:
they shall worship thee with their face toward the
earth, and they shall lick up the dust of thy feet." 1
Isaias also prophesied another blessing for the
kingdom which Christ should found, and this was
fulfilled in the desert, on the banks of the Nile :
" The land that was desolate and impassable shall
be glad, and the wilderness shall rejoice and
flourish like the lily. It shall bud forth and
blossom, and shall rejoice with joy and praise :
the glory of Libanus is given to it, the beauty of
Carmel and Saron. For waters are broken out in
the desert, and streams in the wilderness. And
that which was dry land shall become a pool : and
the thirsty land springs of water. In the dens
where dragons dwelt before, shall rise up the ver
dure of the reed and the bulrush. And a path
and a way shall be there, and it shall be called the
holy way : the unclean shall not pass over it, and
this shall be unto you a straight way, so that fools
shall not err therein. No lion shall be there, D.or
shall any mischievous beast go up by it nor be
found there, but they shall walk there that shall
be delivered. Everlasting joy shall be upon their
heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and
sorrow and mourning shall flee away." 2
1 Isa. xlix. 22. 23. 3 I*a. xxxv. 1-12.
THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE. 49
A greater contrast can hardly be imagined than
that between the smiling shores of the Bosphorus
and the peaceful and monotonous banks of the
Nile. The Bosphorus is all motion and variety ;
the sea with its ever-changing play of colours, with
its ships and its boats, with its storms and its calms ;
the projecting and retreating coasts, with their
hills and woods, rocks and green meadows, the
abundance of light which spreads over the scene
such a magnificence of colouring, that nowhere
else do the waves look so blue, the foliage so green,
the islands so purple, the snowy mountains so
rose-coloured, the dwellings and houses so dazz-
iingly white, or the morning clouds so brilliant ;
while yet they all blend and melt into one an
other through a thousand shadings. But in the
Nile there is a calm repose and uniformity in
its whole course from south to north, from the
Great Cataracts on the borders of Nubia, (the an
cient Ethiopia,) past Assouan, (formerly Syene,)
by Thebes, Memphis, and Cairo, till it empties
itself into the Mediterranean Sea, not far from
Alexandria, forming the Delta at its mouth. The
entire landscape, from the twenty-second to the
thirty-first degree of latitude, is perfectly level, and
of only two colours, the yellow sand of the desert>
and the verdure of the fields. The Lybian moun
tains in the west, smoothly shaped, and the Arabian
ones in the east, gently undulating, all without
points or peaks, lie outstretched on either side.
And the palm, that peaceful tree, stands upright
and motionless with its coronal of leaves, like a
slender column with a capital, and introduces no
disturbance into this majestic repose of nature
with which the solemn sublimity of the ancient
works of art, of the temples and the pyramids, per
fectly corresponds. What value it has in the eyes
of European merchants or agriculturists, whether
the soil could be turned to account or cultivated,
D
50 THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE.
are questions which belong to a different province.
The Deculiarity of Egypt, and Egypt is nothing
more than the broad bed of the Nile, with its
characteristics of solitude, uniformity, sadness, and
silence, is attractive and grand, grand as the mys
terious form of the sphynx which lies embedded in
her sand. This great uniformity is caused by the
Nile flowing almost in a straight line during its en
tire course through Nubia and Egypt, from south to
north, by the absence not only of other rivers but of
even a single tributary stream, and because the
hills both on the right and left banks lie very nearly
in the same direction as itself. It is only on the
borders of Nubia and Upper Egypt, above Assouan,
that the river has to force its way through a high
bank of granite which crosses the desert from west
to east, whose quarries would now supply as
fine materials of syenite and red granite, as they
did in the days of Constantine, if they were not
disused. There the Nile forms what are called
the Lesser Cataracts, which are not, however,
waterfalls, but only rapids formed between cliffs
and massive blocks of stone, round the islands of
Philae, Elephantine, and Bidscha, with their mag
nificent ruined temples. Assouan lies under the
twenty-fourth degree of latitude, and below it the
quiet course of the Nile is never broken.
Its regular yearly overflow is no devastating and
destructive inundation ; towards the end of June
it slowly begins to rise, sometimes more and some
times less perceptibly, but never suddenly or
quickly. Through its rising the canals are filled
which are dug from its banks into the country,
and from which smaller canals and furrows branch
out so as to spread the water as far as possible over
the soil and render it fruitful. In the early part
of October the Nile has generally reached its
height, and has overflowed in many places so far
as to form immense ponds. Then the water is
THE BOSPHORUS AND THE NILE. 51
stationary for some time, and is carefully and pro
vidently carried by sluices from one place to an
other. Then follow quickly, one after another,
the sowing, the growth, the ripening, and the
harvest. Towards the end of the winter the Nile
retires back into its bed, and in April and May
universal drought again prevails. Without the
artificial system of canals from the Nile, and with
out its regular rising, the cause of which science
has not hitherto discovered, all vegetation would
cease, and the cultivation of the country would
be impracticable, for it possesses neither streams
nor rivers, and very few wells of tolerable water.
Bain hardly ever falls : at Alexandria, only about
ten times in the year, at Cairo three times, in
Upper Egypt perhaps once in ten years. In
days of yore this system of irrigation was much
more perfect and more widely spread than it is at
present ; Egypt was then the granary of the Ko-
man Empire, and had seven millions of inhabi
tants. Now, it counts only two millions and a
half, and yet it supplies with corn the two
holy cities of Islam, Mecca, and Medina. Its de
sert-like character, however, was even then con
spicuous, the moment cultivation ceased. De
serts surrounded villages and even towns, but the
largest lay between the right bank of the Nile and
the Ked Sea, in the province of Thebais. It was
principally there that the second prophecy of Isaias
was to be fulfilled. Byzantium became the repre
sentative of the sensual element which pervaded,
and still pervades Christianity, and which may be
disguised under the semblance of refinement,
genius, prudence, or knowledge. The Thebaid
became a general expression of the spiritual ele
ment of Christianity, whose fairest fruit is the
state of perfection.
52 THE ANCHORITES.
THE ANCHORITES.
THE state of perfection is a thing which the world
finds it very hard to understand, and yet which is
very easy of comprehension when we reflect that
the Divine Founder of Christianity was Himself
perfect, that He requires His perfection to be
imitated, and that by the gift of His grace He
renders this imitation possible.
The anchorites were not merely lowly Christians
who retired for a time into the forests and the
wilderness, lest they should not be able to endure
the tedious torments of the persecutions, which
had been in force since the middle of the third
century, under Valerian and Decius, and for fear
they should fall away from the faith ; not merely
pious Christians, who fled for ever into solitude
from the dangers and attractions of the world ;
not merely a counterpoise to the sensuality of those
who were full of pride and self-love, evils which
quickly grew up when the world was once more at
peace, and the fear of bloody edicts had passed
away; but they were the representatives of the
supernatural aim of Christianity, and had received
their direct authorisation from the words of our
Blessed Lord : " Be you therefore perfect as your
heavenly Father is also perfect." As the natural
man feels himself impelled to wish for the goods
and pleasures of earth, and claiming to share in
them as his right, calls it happiness ; so is it the
right of the spiritual man who lives according to
the laws of grace, to be allowed to despise these
things. The former feels himself drawn to the
world by a thousand allurements, and bound to it
by a thousand ties, and this bondage is pleasant to
him ; but to the latter it would be painful, because
a higher union would suffer if he were to turn his
soul towards the world and its happiness. He
THE ANCHORITES. 53
does not say, " I will renounce and sacrifice every
thing in order to drive the world from ray
thoughts ;" but he feels no desire for it, and there
fore has nothing to renounce ; the world is nothing
to him. Neither does he say, " I will now think
only of God and eternity and never more of men,"
but his soul is so filled with God and heavenly
thoughts, and images, that it finds nothing in
earthly things to attract it : nor does he say,
" Now I will suffer for the love of God ;" but he
loves God, and if suffering comes, he regards it
not, for it is a part of love ; and for him there can
be but one sorrow, not to love God. This is the
fire of love which Christ Himself brought down
from heaven, making the Holy Ghost the source
of this new love, and saying of it, " What will I
but that it be kindled?"
He who lives in a state of grace, can also lead
a perfect life in the midst of the world, sharing
in its joys and its happiness, so long as he " pos
sesses them as though he possessed them not ;"
that is to say, when his heart is not attached to
them. This is shown by the history of the rich
young man in the gospel. When he asked our
Blessed Lord what he should do to have everlasting
life, Christ simply answered, "Keep the command
ments," for the commandments are from God, and
they sanctify life because they remind man of his
holiest duties, protect him from his strongest pas
sions, and remove the possessions of others from
his grasp. But the young man had imagined and
desired something higher than this. Then our
Blessed Lord said, "If thou wilt be perfect, go sell
what thou hast, and give to the poor, and come,
follow me." Thus He did not command, but He
recommended a higher perfection evangelical
poverty. In like manner, He reinstated marriage
in its original sanctity and indissolubility, and
added to it a new dignity by the seal of the sacra-
54 THE ANCHORITES.
ment; but nevertheless, He still more highly
praised virginity, which has no thought but for
the kingdom of heaven ; and He adds with holy
foresight, " He that can take, let him take it."
Thus again He counsels, but does not command a
higher perfection than that of marriage evan
gelical chastity. And He gave, lastly, a third
counsel, not so much by word as by deed that of
unconditional obedience ; for He, the Son of God,
most humbly obeyed not only His heavenly Father,
but in His most sacred Humanity, the least of
men, His creatures, and even those that were His
enemies.
The Church has learnt from her Lord and
Master to give the three evangelical counsels, as
they are called, to those who can only find content
ment in the most perfect deliverance of the soul
from the fetters of the transitory goods of this
world. Who can doubt that there are such souls ?
In all men, without exception, there exists a secret
longing for something better, often misunderstood,
and unconfessed. All men fell in Adam; and
all desire to regain their purer state. In some
this desire is so strong and so overpowering, that
they have no other wish but to place themselves,
as far as is possible here on earth, in that state,
and to live according to the conditions of their
original nature, in the likeness of God. There is
surely many a Christian who, even if it were only
for fleeting moments, has experienced this longing,
and the unspeakable peace and joy which accom
pany it. Why could not this longing be lasting
in the few who fostered it with all the powers of
their soul and supported it by all the capabilities
of their mind ?
In consequence of the sin of Adam, an indescrib
able corruption invaded all the relations of life,
poisoning and perverting them. Originally, man
loved his Creator and all creatures in Him, but
THE ANCHORITES. 55
sin changed a self-sacrificing love into the venom
of selfishness, and the love of the creature sup
planted the love of the Creator. Originally, man
possessed in God all the riches of the exuberant
earth in their fulness, but sin destroyed this happy
community of goods ; and man, having learnt self-
love, wished to possess property also, and prized
it so highly that the more he had, the more he
desired. Originally, man s will reposed on God ;
he was the organ of the Divine will ; but sin
brought him into continual rebellion against God,
and his will, which when it is in union with that
of God, participates in the power, wisdom, love, and
bliss of God, sank when he turned away from God
into weakness, wickedness, misery, and self-will.
That one drop of sin flowed through humanity in
these three wild destructive torrents self-love,
covetousness, and self-will : from them spring all
the desolation in the lives of individuals and of
nations, all the wreck of the moral, spiritual, and
material laws. Then the Incarnate Redeemer
came and crushed the triple head of the serpent,
self-love through chastity, covetousness through
voluntary poverty, and self-will through obedience.
And as He willed to continue His life here below
in His mystical body the Church, He added, by
the three evangelical counsels, a member to this
body, which continues, or at least strives to con
tinue His glorified life on earth, and which is at
the same time an ever-present remembrance on
the part of humanity of its former higher condition,
namely, the state of perfection ; and a never-ceasing
expression of the desire to return to it. He, the
Divine Saviour, and the Church through Him, well
knew that human nature, by reason of its earthly
tendencies, is strongly attracted to the rich and
broad lowlands of life, and that grace will have no
other effect at best upon the majority of men than
that of teaching them how to use, and not to mis-
56 THE ANCHORITES.
use the goods of earth ; therefore He, and the
Church with Him, willed to keep open the path
to ideal heights, to enable those to tread it whose
natures incline to the ideal, because to keep them
back from such heights would be to defraud them
of the rights bestowed on them by Christ himself.
The Church has proceeded in this matter as she
ever does with heavenly wisdom and discretion ;
that is to say, by inspiration. Earthly things
belong to the great mass of mankind, and she
sanctifies their goods and their enjoyments ; but
for those to whom the Holy Ghost has dealt a
larger measure, she praises the heights of a life
of renunciation. Since the first Apostles left
their homes and their goods to follow our Blessed
Lord, to this hour she has ever prized more
highly voluntary poverty for Christ s sake than
the noblest use of the goods of earth. And ever
since the Apostle St. Paul wrote to the Corin
thians, she has held the marriage state to be
holy and indissoluble, but less high than the state
of virginity for Christ s sake. And since the Son
of God, obedient even unto death, died on the
Cross, and daily obediently offers Himself anew on
Christian altars, she has placed humble obedience
for the sake of Christ higher than the wisdom of
ruling well over empires and kingdoms. These
three holy counsels ever silently preach that
through Christ the triple head of the serpent
is to be trodden under foot. The Church has up
held these heavenly maxims with a firm hand,
in every century, unwavering through all the as
saults and wars which from the beginning were
waged against them, for this in common with all
her other teaching has been opposed by error. Some
heretics rejected marriage for all mankind without
exception. Others condemned second marriages.
Some even considered marriage to be instituted
by the devil. Those who held this morbid and
THE ANCHORITES. 57
exaggerated doctrine attacked the simple and
wholesome teaching of the Church with the re
proach that it was not sufficiently strict, whilst
others, sunk in sensuality, waged war against
virginity, and accused the Church which upheld
it of requiring from mankind what was impossible.
But the Church requires from men only what
Christ himself has required, to " keep the com
mandments." Beyond that she only advises what
He Himself has counselled: "And then follow me."
And if she were not to require the one and to
counsel the other, she would lie against the Holy
<jrhost who is within her. That she cannot do.
The secret conviction that to obtain a higher
good, the lower must be renounced, the belief
that an especial blessing rests upon renunciation,
is a mystical instinct which pervades even un-
Christian nations, if they are not kept in spiritual
blindness by complete barbarism. This instinct
betokens a common descent, which has faintly
inherited and transmitted the tradition of the fall,
and of the redemption to be hoped for.
To regain some precious lost good, to purify
self by penance and mortification in order to be
come worthy of this good ; this is the idea of the
Divine mysteries of redemption through the Incar
nation of God which exists in many nations, but
which, without Christian revelation, is frequently
misunderstood and distorted. What we read of
the fearful penances amongst the tribes of Asia, in
China, Thibet, and Hindostan ; of the great law
givers of ancient countries who retired into deserts
in order to withdraw from all exterior things, and
to abstract themselves in contemplation that the
truth might unveil itself before them ; of the wise
women and virgin priestesses to whom supernatural
powers were subject at the price of renunciation ;
all this speaks of one universal attraction to some
thing ideal. This tendency towards the ideal must
58 THE ANCHORITES.
be very strong in mankind, to have kept its place
notwithstanding the fall. The Essenes, a Jewish
sect, who called themselves the disciples of the
prophet Elias, acted upon this idea. They had
renounced all intercourse with the remainder of
the Jewish people, and lived in great numbers in
the neighbourhood of the Jordan and the Dead
Sea, practising celibacy and community of goods,
and cultivating the ground. The Therapeuts in
Egypt; were similar to them, and led a contem
plative life in community. The custom was general
also amongst the Jews of the Old Testament for
parents to consecrate their children, and for young
men and maidens to dedicate themselves for a
stated period to the Temple. They were then
called Nazarites, that is, consecrated to God; and
they lived under supervision in special buildings
in the Temple, where they performed minor ser
vices, were instructed in the Holy Scriptures, and
observed certain practices ; for instance, to drink
no wine, never to cut their hair, and others of the
same kind. The feast of the Presentation, on the
21st of November, marks the day on which, ac
cording to very early tradition, the Blessed Virgin
Mary was brought to the Temple by her parents
as a child, and, being dedicated in an especial
manner to God, became a Nazarite. Parents who
separated themselves from their beloved children,
and children who voluntarily withdrew from their
families, hoped thus to become pleasing to God,
and to participate in His choicest blessings. The
idea of an accepted sacrifice appears everywhere,
though dimly and under a veil.
But when the true Victim had been sacrificed,
when the Lamb of God had been slain, the mist
was cleared away, and all became plain. There
is one sacrifice, namely the pure sacrifice which
the prophet Malachias foretold daily from the
rising of the sun even to the going down; and
THE ANCHORITES. 59
every Christian must henceforward offer himself
up in union with this sacrifice.
The life and death of the faithful of the first
centuries show how thoroughly they compre
hended this, and acted upon it. They all looked
upon themselves as dead with Christ, and buried
with Him in baptism, as the Apostle St. Paul
expresses it. All led a life more or less mortified
and penitential, in which those chiefly excelled
who, whether priests or laymen, were endowed
with especially ardent dispositions, who gave then*
possessions to the poor, practised works of mercy,
often living through humility upon the work ot
their hands, and who became, particularly in times
of persecution, a support and a stay for all who
were in need of advice, consolation, or encourage
ment. There were also, in those early times, great
numbers of virgins consecrated to God. A virgin
who had taken this resolution, declared it publicly
and solemnly in church, took the vow of chastity,
and received from the hand of the bishop the veil
and a golden head-covering called the mitrella.
She lived with her family, but in retirement from
the world, for she was " veiled," that is, hidden in
Christ ; and if any one of them ever had the
misfortune to marry, she became, according to the
expression of St. Cyprian, " an adulteress to Christ ; "
branded and excommunicated by one of the canons
of the Council of Chalcedon, while her husband
was threatened by law with death ; for there must
be no frivolous trifling with the Most High.
Let each one prove himself, let him weigh his
powers, let him not overrate himself, but humbly
draw back from higher things rather than press
forward uncalled. Before he makes his choice, he
has the right to choose his path, and he is in duty
bound to do so with conscientious consideration.
After his choice, he belongs no longer to himself,
but to those to whom he has solemnly vowed fide-
60 THE ANCHORITES.
lity ; whether it be to God, to whom the state of
chastity is affianced, or to man, the spouse who
has been chosen for the marriage state. There
rests upon each choice a corresponding blessing,
and the especial grace of God ; but in return for
this, the fidelity, and together with it the honour
and dignity, of the man, is pledged to God, for
He is the receiver of the vow. Whosoever breaks
it, breaks a covenant with God, cancels his engage
ment with God, and becomes in both cases the
enemy of God ; for the vows differ only in this,
that the one, that of virginity, is offered directly
to God, and the other, that of conjugal fidelity,
indirectly. The heresies which deny any weight or
binding power to the former have very logically pro
ceeded to reject the ever-binding power of the latter,
and have been reduced to declare that marriage
can be dissolved ; and, so far as it lay in their
power, have trodden under foot the sanctity of
their pledged word, and the moral order which
God has established for the earthly happiness and
the eternal salvation of mankind. Earthly pos
sessions and the ties of marriage were the first
fetters thrown off by those Christians who were
called to the state of perfection, in order to be
able to give themselves up unshackled to a higher
spiritual life. As by so doing they renounced all
claims to earthly prosperity, they were called the
Ascetics, that is, the renouncers. They remained
in their own position in the world, because, in
those early times, the world offered them nothing
but death ; and because a martyr s death for Christ,
which leads instantaneously to inseparable union
with Him and to the vision of God, was the hap
piest thing which could befall a Christian.
But the times altered and the world became full
of dangers, especially in the middle of the third
century. The persecution had long been ended,
and external repose had breathed a soft and luke-
THE ANCHORITES. 61
warm spirit into Christianity. The faithful had en
tered into manifold relations with the heathen, had
suffered themselves to be infected by their lax and
easy principles, and becoming feeble and worldly,
had loved riches and comforts, grandeur and pos
sessions, and in short had set their hearts upon these
transitory treasures. Now, when a kind of persecu
tion was raised under the Emperor Deems which
had hitherto been unknown, and which had in view
to exterminate Christianity by forcing its professors
to apostatise rather than by putting them to death,
the inward corruption of many was exposed, and
denials of the faith and apostasies were unhappily
of frequent occurrence; although these were far
outweighed by the heroic courage and faith of the
true confessors. This fearful example produced
important results. If the world was so dangerously
attractive, that its neighbourhood caused infatuation,
and that intercourse with it paralysed the higher
powers of the soul, how much wiser would it be to
withdraw out of reach of its enervating influence,
and to live at the greatest possible distance from
it ! Such were the thoughts of many souls that were
mindful of their eternal salvation, and longed to
escape from the dangers of pride and sensuality
which abound in the world. Others who, soli
tary in spirit, had ever followed an unworldly aim,
felt themselves all the more powerfully attracted
to a hidden life with God as this attraction be
came in the course of time more general. It
was particularly frequent in the East, amongst
nations of rich and fertile imagination, which, when
it is purified and controlled by the faith, supports
the soul in its efforts to ascend, by keeping a
sublime pattern constantly before the eyes. The
Christian ascetics who retired into solitude from the
tumult of the world were first seen in Egypt as
hermits or anchorites. They were the fathers of
the later religious orders which were multiplied
62 THE ANCHORITES.
under various forms with divers rules and constitu
tions, with or without vows. They became, notwith
standing their solitude, the civilisers of their time.
By their intercourse with God, they had imbibed
such abundant light, that they enlightened both
their own and future ages. They were living guides
to heaven, because the things of earth had never
misled them, because their gaze was fixed with
untroubled clearness upon the Author of all being,
and in His light they comprehended the connexion
of all things. The Evangelist St. John, the holy
solitary of Patmos, says of the Eternal Word at
the beginning of his Gospel, " As many as received
Him, he gave them power to be made the sons of
God/;
Children in their father s house are masters at
the same time. The joyful father in the Gospel
says to the eldest son, " All I have is thine." This
was the case with the anchorites. They brought
the spiritual life to wonderful perfection.
To have, and to desire nothing earthly, is not
sufficient for union with God, not even when a man
makes himself poor in order to share poverty with
Christ. Not to be earthly, that is the inexorable
condition; and this abstinence from all that is
earthly can be attained only through daily mortifi
cation of the will, the inclinations, the desires, and
the passions. The body is in itself no hindrance
to familiar intercourse with God and with spirits,
nor to the sight of them; in paradise man saw
God and spoke with Him. But when man separated
himself from God by sin, he lost his heavenly pri
vilege ; and as formerly the soul spiritualised the
body, because through its union with God, it had
dominion over it, so now the body materialised
the soul, after it had lost its supremacy and be
come subservient to the senses. Whomsoever men
serve, by him will they be guided ; they will obey
him alone, and to him they will look for enjoyments
THE ANCHORITES. 63
and rewards. The soul followed its new mistress
so blindly in its thoughts, desires, and purposes,
that it could no longer say, " The Lord He is God/
for it had no other Lord but the evil inclinations
which embodied themselves and extorted worship
under a thousand idolatrous forms. To such ex
tremes had the soul gone, to such low depths had it
fallen. It had voluntarily turned away from heavenly
things to follow sensual enjoyments, of which it
obtained abundance in return, but it lost in equal
measure its capacity for spiritual things. Then
the Eedeemer came, who took upon himself as man
the sins of sensual mankind, and caused Himself
to be nailed to the cross for their expiation, giving
them simultaneously a pledge of redemption, sancti
fying grace, which connected them for ever with
their Kedeemer. This strength continued to dwell
in His followers, and being the fruit of His cruci
fixion, it impelled them, as He had lived a crucified
life, to lead a life of suffering out of love. This
mystery of the Cross is to many a folly and a scandal,
and they neglect it altogether ; to others it is a pain
ful necessity which they imperfectly obey through
fear of hell ; but to many it is the ladder to heaven
by which they attain here below the object of their
desires, and by climbing to a greater or less height,
reach a more or less perfect union with God. For
suffering out of love causes outward uniformity
with the Incarnate God, and restores the inward
image of God. If man wishes to recover his super
natural prerogatives, which sanctifying grace enables
him to do, he must courageously embrace suffering
out of love, that is, the crucifixion of self, the
mortification of sinful nature, the death of the
sensual man. When this is accomplished, the
redeemed can see God ; for God says, " Man shaU
not see Me and live."
To enter into this death depends not upon the
deeds or the strength of man. Out of the many
64 THE ANCHORITES.
who lovingly embrace the mystery of the Cross,
only very few reach the last and highest steps of
the heavenly ladder, although they have faithfully
fought their fight. Such great graces flow freely
out of the hand of God ; and that time may truly
be called happy in which they are poured in the
greatest abundance over souls. The best school
for the crucifixion of self is to be found in the state
of perfection.
Sin had penetrated into the soul through sen
suality, and become its master. Therefore sensuality
must be combated step by step as a fortress is
reduced by famine in order to expel the enemy.
All the indulgence, the effeminacy, and the re
finements of material life, and all enjoyments
flattering to the eye and the ear, all the many
results of culture and civilisation work upon the
soul as damp air upon the strings of a harp ; they
relax and soften it. The body becomes accustomed
to require so much, and to consider so many things
as necessaries, that until all of them are gathered
together no thought can be bestowed upon higher
wants. On the other hand, a different system
arises which begins by striving first to satisfy the
highest needs. Because they are the highest, they
are also the most comprehensive, and the more
they spread the less room do they leave in which
the lower can flourish, so that the latter are
forced by degrees to wither away and die. Our
Blessed Lord had said to the Jews, " You are
from beneath, I am from above/ There must
therefore be one member of His Church which
should ever bear witness that the Lord is from
above. Our effeminate ideas find as great, or
perhaps still greater, difficulty in forming a con
ception of the extreme mortification of the sen
sual man and the complete government of the will,
which was practised by many of the anchorites,
as in realising the torments suffered by the
THE ANCHORITES. 65
martyrs. For, on tfao one hand, the sufferings of
the martyrs were not so long a few days or
weeks, at the utmost some months, and the
struggle was over ; and on the other hand, their
only choice was between a mortal sin, the denial
of the faith, and martyrdom. Therefore they
chose death, as every good Christian must do. But
the anchorites led, of their own free will, a life of
the most painful austerities, daily and hourly
renewed during twenty, thirty, forty, and even
more years, without the alternative of any mortal
sin. They became like " Jesus, full of the Holy
Ghost, led by the Spirit into the desert" 1 And
as the martyrs in Jesus suffered joyfully their
bloody torments and died rejoicing, so the an
chorites bore their unbloody torments joyfully
in union with Him, and led a happy life.
The sharp and prickly thornbush of asceticism
bore for them the beautiful flower of mysticism,
and their life resembled the cactus of Ethiopia,
whose thorny branches produce the enchanting
flower which only opens its fragrant golden cup
at the quiet midnight, and is called the queen of
the night. In the ancient holy anchorites we see
how the mortified man can restore himself to his
original state in paradise, and even here below
regain his privileges ; how he can partially attain
to the goal of the blessed spirits, and become able
to see God ; and how, as our Lord said, streams
of living water shall flow from those who believe
in Him. But penance precedes the kingdom of God,
as the great anchorite St. John Baptist announced
to men.
The histories of the lives of these wonderful
men have been preserved for us partly by the great
doctors of the Church who had been their disciples,
or the scholars of their disciples. St. Athanasius,
St. Jerome, Theodoret, Bishop of Cyrus in Syria,
1 Luke iv. 1.
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
66 THE ANCHORITES.
and Eufinns, the learned priest of Aquileia, occu
pied themselves in visiting the actual spots and
collecting witnesses and accurate information.
Other less renowned, though no less trustworthy
men, followed their example ; so that we possess a
collection of lives of the anchorites which is no less
sublime and edifying than the acts of the martyrs.
It is undeniable that the miraculous aspect of many
of these lives is legendary. For a legend in the
religious world is only a subjective completion and
picturing of the objective truth. So has the
Church, and with her all reasonable people, ever
held it to be. She allows it to rest like the husk upon
the fruit, but prizes the inner kernel of truth
according to its worth. Amongst the old Floren
tine painters there is one called Sandro Botticelli
who painted pictures of incomparable ideal grace ;
but the Mother of God and the Infant Jesus have
always golden hair, not only gold-coloured, for he
dipped his brush in liquid gold and painted their
hair with it in order to express the beauty and the
glory which surrounded them. No one will on
that account deny the worth of Botticelli s pictures,
nor will they believe that the Mother of God
and the Divine Redeemer, in His most sacred
Humanity, had threads of gold on their head in
stead of hair. It is the same with the legendary form
of many historical deeds in the lives of the saints.
The cause of miracles is in God, and the saints
perform them because they stand in the midst of
the kingdom of God which for them has already
arrived. It is only a small territory, and is entirely
encircled by the huge kingdom of this world in the
middle of which we are placed. It is not demanded
from us to scale the lofty heights of holiness from
whence the streams of grace pour down in miracles.
No one can require a dwarf to clothe himself in the
armour of a giant. But it would be ludicrous in
the dwarf to assert that because he could not handle
THE ANCHORITES. 67
the giant s armour, no one else was able to do so ;
and, moreover, that giants did not exist. What
can he who has not fought them know of the
giant combats of those mighty ones? Human
nature is so pliable, so capable of accommodating
itself to persevering asceticism, that we cannot set
bounds to its powers of endurance according to our
sensual feelings of comfort and discomfort. And
if thousands remain on this side of the usual
boundary, and if ten, yea or if only one pass over,
it shows that the boundaries are for the thousands
but not for the whole human race. In the actual
condition of his nature corrupted by sin and born
again in Christ, man can only stand, as it were,
above or beneath himself above himself through
sanctifying grace, or beneath himself through sin,
Those ancient heroes received from grace the wings
for which the great soul of David longed, " the
wings like a dove to fly and be at rest," to rest in
God. Oh, how can he measure the strength
which abounded in them, the light which illumi
nated them, the liberty which elevated them, who
not only has never attempted such a flight, but has
never once even felt the wish to attempt it !
ye ancient solitaries, ye living temples of the
Holy Ghost in the desert, ye are less known and
less renowned in the world than your lifeless neigh
bours, the temples of Luxor, Thebes, and Baalbec.
Every child can tell of the Pyramids, one of the
seven wonders of the world over which your eyes
looked up to heaven, but no one speaks of you who
are the living wonders of the new and redeemed
world. A thousand songs speak and sing of the
statue of Memnon which stands on the borders of
your desert, and which is fabulously said to have
sounded when struck by the rays of the morning
sun, but no voice praises you who sang day and
night the hymn of the glory of the Creator in
His creatures. Deeper than the hieroglyphics in
68 THE DESERT.
the sands of your home are you buried in the
forgetfulness of the world ; but yet the key is not
lost which opens and explains the sublime mysteries
of your existence, faith in redemption through
the Incarnation of the Son of God.
THE DESERT.
IN order to attain to the high spiritual life of the
ancient solitaries, an extraordinary recollection and
withdrawal of the activity of the soul from tem
poral things and from trivial occupations was
necessary. To understand the gentlest word of
God all the sounds of men must have died away,
and in order to be able to turn steadfastly and
tranquilly to Him alone, the dissipating tumult of
the manifold agitations which stir the world must
be hushed. For this reason it was that the desire
of solitude led men towards the deserts of the
East, to Mesopotamia, Syria, Palestine, and Egypt.
Here human dwellings were necessarily confined
to certain spots, because in them alone man s phy
sical existence was possible, and hence those giant
cities of the East, as Nineveh on the Tigris, Baby
lon on the Euphrates, Thebes on the Nile
Thebes, the ruins of whose temples are so colossal,
that beside them the Coliseum is dwarfed, and St.
Peter s appears diminutive Thebes, where, in the
single hall of Karnak, there are 122 columns of 27
feet, and 12 columns of 37 feet in circumference.
These and other towns took advantage, as it were,
of their fortunate situation on large rivers, to
spread themselves out far and wide, and to gather
together in themselves a numerous population.
As far as their jurisdiction extended, in their gar
dens, their plantations, and all that belonged to
THE DESERT. 69
the supplies and requirements of a large and bril
liant city, there reigned the most flourishing culti
vation. But wherever the hand of man arrested
for a moment his labour, and where the water of
the river did not penetrate, there the character
istics of the desert instantly asserted themselves.
Such is the great Syrian desert, from Anti-Leba
non to the Euphrates, at the entrance to which
lies Damascus, with its vast circle of green
orchards, in which walnut-trees, apricots, olives,
pomegranates, and figtrees thrive in indescribable
profusion, watered by the seven branches of the
Barrada, a small river which rises in the caverns of
Anti-Lebanon. Only ten paces from its banks
begins the desert where the sand lies in heaps.
The sands are equally overpowering in what is
called the Lesser Arabian Desert, between Gaza
and Cairo, which extends over the peninsula of
Suez, and can be traversed with camels in eleven
days march, averaging eight hours a day. No
thing is to be seen but sand from the Mediter
ranean Sea to the line of hills which stretches from
Arabia to Egypt. It is not always level, but some
times lies in waves, and there is even a whole
range of hills formed of loose sand, so deep that
the camels sink up to their knees in it. A little
moisture may collect in the rainy season in hollows
at the foot of the hills, where isolated groups of
palmtrees stand in dark contrast with the dazzling
yellow sand, like tufts of black feathers. There is
but one single water station with pure water in
this desert, at Catya, and that is also a palm-
grove. Beyond this there begins an interminable
plain, with firmer soil, here and there covered
with prickly bushes, all dry and gray, which lasts
till you reach Lower Egypt and the irrigation ot
the Nile. There you can stand, as it were, with
the left foot in the desert and the right in a para
dise. To the right you have citron and nabek-
70 THE DESERT.
trees, acacias, sycamores, palms, with reddish-
coloured doves perched upon their waving branches,
fields of sugarcanes, maize, and cotton, all of the
brightest green ; to the left, the dry, hard soil,
which of itself would not bear one blade of grass.
And that which works this striking contrast lies
midway between them, a small canal, which
could be crossed at one stride, and from which
still smaller channels diverge like little rivulets.
The soil is so fertile that it only requires a few
drops of water and some grains of seed to become
clothed with the most magnificent and luxuriant
vegetation. Lower Egypt, especially where the two
arms of the Nile form the Delta, is abundantly
watered, and therefore exceedingly fruitful, and the
desert-like character is driven back. But at Cairo
it reasserts its full rights. Before the eastern
gates is gravel strewn with many-coloured pebbles
and shining quartz, first level and then undulated
as far as the " petrified forest," where, by some
convulsion of nature, large trees, palms and syca
mores, have been dashed to the ground, covered
with a deluge of sand, and turned into stone.
Before the western gates are gardens, terraces,
Elantations, fields, and fruit-trees in abundance as
ir as the Nile, bearing on its bosom Konda, the
island of flowers. Cairo, the Egyptian Babylon, as
it was formerly called, is situated midway between
these two opposite poles of nature. Across the
Nile in the boundless desert stands the city of the
tombs of the ancient kings of Memphis, and the
Pyramids tower above the horizon in various groups,
while the actual Memphis, the residence of the
Pharaohs, is now one vast region of verdant fields,
interspersed with scanty palm-groves and innumer
able villages.
In ascending the Nile the cultivation recedes
and the desert advances, although 50,000 water-
wheels (sakieh) turned by oxen, and assisted by
THE DESERT. 71
countless shadoofs, are in motion night and day to
supply the country with water. The shadoofs are
holes dug to receive the water which men pour
into them with leathern buckets, and from whence
it flows through the trenches. But all these ar
rangements do not suffice, for there are not enough
inhabitants to cultivate the earth. The lower
grounds on the borders of the Nile sometimes be
come morasses, overgrown with rushes, the haunt
of buffaloes ; and by the side of fields where corn,
rape, and beans grow to the height of a man, thert
lie tracts of the most fertile land perfectly waste
for want of hands to drain the marshes and to till
the ground. But what life there is, is of an attrac
tive, pastoral character. " The evenings in Upper
Egypt and Nubia are of matchless beauty. It is
so hot in the daytime, and the sun s rays are
reflected so dazzlingly from the water, the desert
sands, and the calcareous mountains, that you are
unwilling to leave the cabin of the boat in which
the voyage up the Nile is performed. Towards
evening you come out to inhale the mild and salu
tary air. The sun sinks behind the Lybian hills,
which cover themselves with dark blue shadows,
while the rays of light play upon the Arabian
hills as upon a prism, and deck them with the
fleeting hues of flowers, jewels, and butterflies.
Single heights resemble large fiery roses, while the
more extended ones seem like chains of purple
amethysts. Date palms, in groups or garlands, or
in less graceful straight rows, here and there a
single nabek-tree, with its slender branches, or a stiff
dom-palm, and the Acacia nilotica, sprinkled with
millions of yellow blossoms, emitting a tropical
fragrance, intertwined with blue and violet creepers,
whose long wreaths hang in every direction in
beautiful confusion, all this is reflected in the
still waters. The perfume of spring fills the air,
a nameless balmy scent which our fields and woods
72 THE DESERT.
also give out, but in June, and not in January.
Fields of beans, lupins, rape, vetches, and cotton,
are in full flower ; wheat and barley are shooting up
vigorously, forced by the dark rich mould of the gar
dens, and enticed by the warm sunshine. Flights
of wild doves greet you with their cooing from the
branches of the acacias and the palms. Aquatic
birds sit together in swarms on the sandy banks,
here white as marble, there raven-black, and chirp
or scream forth their monotonous song, which they
might have learnt from the uniform murmur of
the waves. At times a large heron flies across
the river, or a pelican dips into it with her heavy
flight, in pursuit of fish ; or an eagle soars slowly
and peacefully higher and higher into the clear
sky, as if he wished to see whither the sun had
gone. For it has set in the meantime, and the red
glow of evening, which illuminated the whole
western sky, has cooled down into a pale blue.
But see, there rises in the south a second ruddy
glow of a rich purple colour, which reddens anew
the fading hills, and lures forth at the same time
the first stars. The glorious Venus shines in the
west, the bold hunter Orion mounts slowly behind
the Arabian hills ; later on, low in the south-east*
appears Canopus, which is never seen in Europe.
Then you travel, as it were, between two skies.
The Nile, now widened into a large lake, now con
tracted to a narrow band, is changed into a dark
firmament, full of softly trembling stars, which
blends into the real heavens. The large and peace
ful stars look down from above, and have none of
the incessant twinkling which they have in our
clear winter nights, as if they were trembling and
shivering with cold. On the banks there is yet
life for some time longer. Fires gleam in the vil
lages, for the position of the hearth is in front of
the door. Bleating flocks of sheep and goats are
driven home ; dogs bark, asses bray, children shout,
THE DESERT. 73
the water-wheel creaks as it turns. The men at
the shadoof sing regularly, " Salarn ya Salam,"
(Peace, peace,) while they fill the buckets in
the Nile and empty them into the channels which
carry the water farther. Loud voices and cries,
and the songs of labourers returning from the
fields, are heard on all sides. The watcher in the
lonely bark passes his time and drives away sleep
by beating the darabookah, a kind of drum. At
length all is hushed, and the freshness of the night
settles down upon the water/ l
These pictures are not to be seen everywhere
upon the Nile. Sometimes, especially in Nubia,
the vegetation on its banks dwindles down to a
narrow strip of bean-fields, which scantily feeds
the population of a poverty-stricken village. Some
times it disappears altogether, when walls of rocks
or boulders line the banks.
In Nubia the desert is increasing to such an
extent, particularly on the Lybian side, that the
gigantic temples of Abusimbil are gradually dis
appearing in the sand. At the Great Cataracts of
the Nile, within the tropics, in the twenty- second
degree of latitude, the desert somewhat resembles
chaos before the Spirit of God had divided the ele
ments. It is a plain, boundless as the ocean, of
tawny sand, out of which rise dark blocks of lime
stone. These blocks, and the undulations of the
uneven sandy soil which the wind raises here and
there, and even the tops of the distant mountains,
which are seen like clouds on the extreme verge of
the horizon, make no variety in this immense plain.
You seem able to see right into the heart of Africa,
but not the slightest trace of waterfalls is to be
detected.
The Nile has apparently disappeared. You are
taken slowly some distance upon a camel to where
the blocks of stone seem to cluster together more
1 Orientalische Brief e^ January 1844.
74 THE DESERT.
thickly. You climb one of them, and stand as it
were upon a cliff, and thousands of similar cliffs
are strewn to the southward as far as the horizon,
like dark islands in the vast sandy sea of the
desert. But that which surrounds them is water
and not sand a broad, shapeless mass of water,
which dashes and curls wildly and confusedly
round them, as the force of the torrent impels it.
Such are the Great Cataracts of the Nile. It does
not look like a river, nor like a lake ; it is a waste
of waters, whose course through the immeasurable
plain is determined only by a slight depression of
the ground, being bounded by the desert on the
east and west. There is nothing here defined and
circumscribed, or possessed of colour or form.
Dull monotony and sullen confusion reign supreme.
The yellow sand, the muddy waters, and the black
stones, roll and tumble about together. There is
no separation or division ; all goes headlong, al
ways on and on, since the earth has had her pre
sent form, and always will go on as long as she
keeps it. Over this aspect of nature man has no
power. He cannot guide such waters as this, nor
govern this waste of moving sand and rocks. It
is the most melancholy and insuperable of all wil
dernesses, at once in restless fermentation and of
chilling stiffness, surpassingly curious, and unlike
all other scenery. For a league farther the waters
rush downwards. Then, near the village of Wadi
Haifa, the rocky islands and obstructions come to
an end, and the Nile gathers itself into its ap
pointed bed, and becomes a river.
At Assouan (in the twenty-fourth degree of lati
tude) it forms the Lesser Cataracts by falling over
masses of granite, which are here thrown across
the whole country, split and sundered by chaotic
forces. The falls and rapids are higher and more
picturesque, because the Nile is pent up between
steep rocky banks, and because the islands of
THE DESERT. 75
Philae, Elephantine, and Bidscha, with their noble
ruins, rise out of the midst ; but the desert is, if
possible, more frightful still. The sand is dazz-
lingly white, and so loose, that it is necessary
positively to wade through it. The granite lies
upon it, partly in blocks, partly in shattered pieces,
and the eye grows weary of having neither bush
nor blade of grass, nor even the tiniest piece of
moss in the crevices of the rocks to rest upon.
Such is the nature of the Egyptian desert. It
reaches from the right bank of the Nile to the
Ked Sea, a breadth of from five to six days jour
ney for a camel, and from the Cataracts to the
neighbourhood of Cairo, where it joins the Arabian
desert. Its centre is the Thebaid. It would
hardly be possible to find on the face of the earth
a spot better calculated to become the home of a
soul estranged from the world, or which would
better aid it to trample the world under foot.
One peculiarity of these deserts is the number
of holes and caverns which are found in them.
Limestone is the framework which supports the
sand, and which rises out of it in the manifold
forms of mountains and peaks, hills and rocks.
The mountains of Palestine, Lebanon, Anti-Le
banon, and the Arabian mountains of Egypt, are
all limestone. Time, the atmosphere, and the
rain, easily form caverns in it, which, enlarged by
human labour, are still made use of in Syria as
dwellingplaces. The holy grotto at Bethlehem
was a similar cavern. Mount Olivet, near Jerusa
lem, and the valley of Joshaphat, which reaches
thence in intricate windings to the Dead Sea, as
likewise the hilly desert of Mar Saba, which sepa
rates the Dead Sea from Bethlehem, are all per
forated with caves like the cells in a beehive. In
the first Christian centuries they were inhabited
by solitaries ; in those before the Christian era,
they were used as graves. Hence it is often re-
76 THE DESERT.
lated in the lives of the anchorites, that they lived
in tombs. These rocky sepulchres were nowhere
more plentiful than in Egypt. The ancient Egyp
tians were a peculiarly serious people, with a fan
ciful thoughtfulness. The utter sadness of the
unredeemed is impressed in forcible characters
upon their temples, their colossal monuments, and
their sphynxes. Life and death, soul and body
God and man, even the whole of nature the mys
terious desert, the unintelligible Nile all was a
problem to them. They therefore spoke in figures,
as is shown by their hieroglyphics ; and they made
idols with the heads of animals, and enigmatical
statues, such as the sphynx, with the body of a
beast in repose, and the features of a woman.
They had a mysterious and strong yearning for
the divine things which were to come, and an
obscure idea that godly things were near to man.
But as they had not revealed faith, which alone
gives a higher knowledge, they sought to satisfy
their longings by deifying almost everything which
surrounded them, either because it was of use to
them, or because they feared it, as the bull, the
cat, the onion, or the crocodile. They had also
a kind of dim suspicion of the immortality of the
soul, and the Christian dogma of the resurrection.
They believed that the souls of the departed
tarried 3000 years in Amenthes, (the kingdom of
shadows,) and then returned to earth to be re
united to their bodies, and to begin a new life.
In order, therefore, that the soul might easily re
cognise its own body, and find it in the best pos
sible preservation, they embalmed the corpses in
the peculiar form of mummies, laid them in roomy
stone sarcophagi, and placed these in sepulchral
halls, which were most secure and indestructible
when hollowed out of the rock. The magnificence
of the tomb was in proportion to the riches and rank
of the dead man. None certainly surpassed the
THE DESEKT. 77
Pyramid of King Cheops, a tomb nearly the height
of St. Peter s at Kome, in which nothing was found
save one single sarcophagus. There are very
many sepulchres in the hills of Upper Egypt, par
ticularly near Thebes, in the valley of Assasiff,
and in the rocky dale of Bab-el-Melek. The for
mer are very much defaced by being made the
habitation of the peasants, where little children
share the space with fowls, donkeys, and bones of
mummies. But the latter are very well preserved,
because they are situated in the burning desert, a
whole league distant from the Nile. They are
called the tombs of the kings. Each tomb forms
a spacious dwelling with a flight of steps, vesti
bules, halls, side-chambers, corridors, all hewn out
of the rock, and painted from top to bottom with
figures of the gods, scenes out of the region of
shadows, and the lives of warriors, husbandmen,
and artisans. One chamber is painted entirely
with weapons, another with vases and vessels in
incredible variety, another with musical instru
ments, another with tables, chairs, and sofas,
covered with purple cushions and tiger-skins.
Another with various kinds of fruits, many with
representations of the judgments and worship of
the gods. And all this expenditure of labour and
art is buried in utter darkness with the mummy ;
for the whole sepulchral palace is as it were in
serted into the cliff, and has no light, save from
the entrance door. In each of these palaces, again,
there is but one sarcophagus. Without having
seen one, it is hardly possible to form an idea of
the colossal and mysterious grandeur of such a
tomb. It is hewn out of the bare rock with its
steps and halls, its columns and chambers, and
theii with the utmost labour worked upon with
chisel and brush, only to disappear with its
mummy in the double night of death and
oblivion, for large blocks of stone were rolled
78 THE DESERT.
in front of the entrance to guard it from profana
tion.
What a contrast with the subterranean burial-
places of the early Christians, the Catacombs !
There also was the protecting darkness, there also
labour, toil, and care, but only the reverence for
the lifeless body which was due to it as the temple
of the Holy Ghost, and as a member of the mysti
cal body of Christ.
The sun of Christianity, however, changed the
gloomy darkness of these ancient Egyptians into
light, and in place of the mummies who occupied
the tombs as bodies without souls, the solitaries
entered into them, who might almost be named
eouls without bodies ; for St. Macarius bitterly
complains, " This wicked sinner, my body, would
not consent to be entirely weaned from all nourish
ment." Formerly they sought by the semblance
of life to make the dead live ; now this earthly life
appears to them in comparison with the eternal
life, as a kind of death, and entering willingly into
this death, they lived like the dying or like the
blessed.
PAUL OF THEBES.
"And he was in the desert, and he was with beasts, and the
angels ministered to him." ST. MARK i. 13.
As John the Baptist, " the voice of one crying in
the wilderness/ became a herald of the Gospel,
confirming his preaching of penance by his peni
tential life in a garment of hair, with locusts for
his food representing the transition from the
kingdom of penance to the kingdom of God, tread
ing and pointing out the purgative way which leads
to the unitive way ; so the silent anchorites became
public heralds of Christianity, and announced after
PAUL OF THEBES. 79
their fashion the marvels worked by Divine love.
Because they possess the love of God, their life is
unspeakably happy in spite of its deep serious
ness ; truly philanthropic in spite of its supreme
contempt of the world ; influential in the widest
circles in spite of its strict retirement; giving
indirectly a higher aim to earthly affairs in spite
of its complete withdrawal from them ; for the
heathen gazed with esteem upon these apparitions,
the Christians emulated them with veneration, and
the whole world had an example before its eyes of
the heights to which man can attain when he is
not encumbered and chained down by self-love,
avarice, and self-will. Like a beautiful rainbow,
which seems a bridge betwixt heaven and earth,
so were these peaceful lives raised above the dis
cordant and troubled lives of their time. And the
more the spirit of the world strove to become the
lawgiver and ruler of that age, so much the more
did these solitaries cause the chanting of psalms
to rise and the spiritual powers to shine forth,
which are above all time.
Their patriarch is Paul. When the great
bishop St. Cyprian at Carthage, and the holy
Archdeacon St. Lawrence at Home, suffered mar
tyrdom, in the middle of the third century, there
lived in Upper Egypt, near Thebes, a young man
of the name of Paul. He had received from his par
ents, who were dead, a good education and consider
able property ; he understood the Greek language,
was well versed in other knowledge, and was,
moreover, of a gentle disposition and pure heart,
and above all filled with the love of God and
with attachment to the Christian faith. The per
secution violently raged in Egypt as elsewhere,
and tortures were employed that were exquisite
and wearying, but not mortal. Mistrustful of his
human infirmity, the youth withdrew from the
dangerous proximity of the great city, where bad
80 PAUL OF THEBES.
examples were rife, and from the house of his
married sister with whom he lived, to a small farm
which he possessed close to the boundary between
the habitable land and the desert. His sister had
the misfortune to be married to a pagan husband,
and this man resolved to denounce his brother-in-
law to the Koman governor, impelled either by
hatred to Christianity, or by the covetous desire
of his possessions, or by the delusion of thinking
he thereby fulfilled a duty towards the authorities.
In vain the unhappy wife endeavoured to dissuade
him with prayers and tears ; he was inflexible in
his resolution. But her sisterly love enabled her
to give her brother a secret warning of the im
pending danger, and he speedily fled from his farm
into the desert which stretches away to the Red
Sea, vast and wide, and intersected by masses of
stone and rocky heights. There he was safe, and
he determined to make a virtue of necessity, and
to await the end of the persecution in some cavern
in the hills. Whilst he was searching for one with
pure water in its vicinity, he got farther and far
ther into the desert, for pure water is somewhat
rare in those parts. There are, indeed, small lakes
here and there, but their waters are so brackish
that they excite thirst rather than allay it, and are,
moreover, injurious to health. Paul was not de
terred by the futility of his search, but patiently
prosecuted it, accepting with resignation the many
privations it involved. He came at last to a face
of rock with a large cavern at its foot. He entered
it, and remarked that the back of the cavern was
closed by a great stone. With great exertion he
rolled away this stone which lay before an opening
through which he passed, and found himself in a
tolerably spacious, open place, surrounded by rocks,
in the centre of which grew a splendid palm tree,,
whose branches formed a shady roof. Close by,
there bubbled up a spring of water, as clo*w as
PAUL OF THEBES. 81
crystal, which, however, flowed only a few paces
before it was sucked up by the sand. In the hol
lows of the rocks which surrounded the place, Paul
found an anvil, a hammer, graving tools, and other
similar utensils. Ancient writers assert that it
had been a workshop of coiners of false money in
the days of Queen Cleopatra, and deserted some
centuries before. The retired and peaceful spot
exceedingly pleased this lover of holy solitude. It
seemed to him as though God had prepared it for
him, and guided him thither. All was collected
there which was necessary for human life ; clear
water, fresh air, a protecting roof for shelter, the
pleasant fruit of the date-palm for food, and its
leaves for clothing. What more could one in love
with holy poverty require ? Paul was twenty-three
years of age when he took possession of the little
oasis.
The storm of persecution subsided when the
Emperor Valerian was taken prisoner by the Per
sians. Everywhere fugitives came back to their
homes and families, but Paul returned no more.
Long years of unbroken repose passed away, Chris
tianity grew powerful in the Roman empire, and
penetrated into the very palace of the emperors,
but Paul returned no more. Then the persecu
tion of Diocletian burst forth like a devastating
fire, and swept away another generation. Paul
was like one dead, and his remembrance was
blotted out from amongst mankind. The friends
of his youth and his relatives were dead, and
the new race knew him not. A new world was
formed, Christianity conquered and became domi
nant, and the whole heathen world fell in ruins ;
but Paul, unmoved by the overthrow and resur
rection of altars, by the ebb and flow of human
races, by the wars or peace of kingdoms, by the
triumph or the sufferings of the Church militant.
lived on under his palmtree as if he belonged
F
82 PAUL OF THEBES.
already to the Church triumphant ; lived ninety
years without seeing a single human face or hear
ing the human voice. But in compensation he
saw other visions, and other conversation refreshed
his soul ; the contemplation of the perfections of
God, and intimate intercourse with Him. In pro
portion as he released himself from temporal
things he approached nearer to eternal things,
and they so fully satisfied his aspirations, and took
such complete possession of the highest powers
of his being, that he felt no wants ; he wanted
nothing, and desired nothing ; he lived hidden
with Christ in God. What can be wanting to
him for whom God is sufficient ?
Man is endowed by nature and grace with extra
ordinary activity ; his corporal and spiritual passions
are constantly excited. His body must be supported
by food and sleep, and if it is indulged it desires to
be cherished, it requires enjoyments and comforts,
and the more its desires are satisfied the more
they increase. The passions of the soul, also, are
violently excited by intercourse with others : love
and hatred, hope and fear, joy and sorrow, wishes,
endeavours, cares, expectations, and disappoint
ments, career wildly through the human heart like
the waves of the sea, rising, falling, and rising
again, and filling it with a burning desire for some
good, the acquisition of which is to bring rest;
and as soon as it is attained, fresh restlessness
begins. The higher capabilities of the soul, the
thirst for knowledge and science, the strong desire
for eternal things, cause violent efforts and mental
struggles ; and man would be utterly perplexed and
distracted were he to attempt to satisfy all these
wants, and to attend equally to those of the body,
the heart, and the mind. He often, therefore,
surrenders the attempt, and neglects the higher
part of his nature to devote himself to the lower.
But no sooner does the body cease to be subject to
PAUL OF THEBES. 83
the soul than man falls straightway into dissipa
tion, for he pursues fleeting earthly atoms, in the
place of eternal unity, his true goal.
Paul acted not thus. He reduced his wants to
their narrowest limits, being content to neglect
all inferior things, and he allowed his body so little
that it lost by degrees the power of taking more.
The smallest quantity of food and drink, a few dates,
and a little water, sufficed him. The roughest
clothing, made of palm leaves plaited together,
tormented unto death the sensitiveness of his flesh.
He defended himself against sleep, in which men
pass nearly a third of their lives in unconscious
ness, as against a tyrant ; and since he was deter
mined not to be drawn away from the loving and
admiring contemplation of the everlasting Good
his body was forced to content itself with the least
possible measure of sleep. Thus did he put to
death the inferior or sensual nature, as he had
learned from Christ in the desert. But this is not
enough to procure for the soul the full liberty of
the life of grace ; the intellectual nature which
stands midway betwixt the two, in connexion with
both, and which draws nourishment from both,
must also be overcome, in order to put an end to
all the influence which the inferior part exercises
over it, by which its best and noblest powers are
enfeebled and degraded into passions. The pur
gative way requires also the asceticism of the heart.
All those attachments, affections, and interests, atf
that need of sympathy, interchange of thought
and excitement, are indeed permitted, but they
easily turn the soul from God to men, and through
men to the world and its snares. Their nature
must be changed, their earthly tendency broken
off. The current of feeling must not flow solely
round father and mother, round wife and child or
friend ; but the love of God is to become so power
ful that from it 4 as from the deep source of rmmy
8-i PAUL OF THEBES.
streams, there shall spring the love of creatures
without preferences and without exceptions. If
we are commanded to show more love by word or
deed for one than for another, the fulfilment of
that command is a duty, and then it is the duty
ivhich is chiefly loved, and not the creature.
Where the emotions of natural affection and
friendship may coincide with the love of God,
they are to be closely watched and rigidly sepa
rated, in order that the heart may learn to be
raised up by the grace of God, and to love nothing
but God and all things in Him. Christ loved
His most Holy Mother, His Apostles, His enemies,
His murderers ; poor sinners as well as saints. So
Paul loved mankind ; he embraced them in God.
There was room for all in his heart, because his
inferior part had been put to death, and because he
had overcome both his sensual and spiritual nature,
and casting off the bonds of avarice and self-love,
<- the lust of the eyes and the lust of the flesh,"
had crucified the old man. The redeemed man
had begun his new life. And yet he might at
any time have made shipwreck on the rock of self-
will, " the pride of life," if his will, which from
childhood upwards had been so pure, had not
still further purified itself by self-government in
obedience to God. If the hope of working miracles,
and thereby shining before men, or the wish to de
light in his own excellence and eminence ; if, in
short, heathen pride had driven him to such self-con
trol, the mirror of his will would not now reflect the
amiable and omnipotent will of God, but it would
shadow forth the image of the ancient serpent
which had led him to this point. But his will
was where his love was, with God. He cared not
to look into the future to know what was con
cealed, nor to command the beasts of the wilder
ness. He wove his garment of palm leaves with
the same equanimity as if his life of penance had
PAUL OF THEBES. 85
not invested him with the wonder-working powers
of the Kedeemer. Sanctifying grace was so strong
within him that he never even remarked the im
mense and persevering sacrifice of the natural
man which he practised. A mighty and vivify
ing power dwells in suffering out of love, for it has
its origin and participates in the Divine sufferings,
and Christ wrote this new law with His Blood.
It was marvellously exemplified in Paul. As he
had subdued his sensual nature, he abrogated the
laws of nature round about him in the power of
his union with God.
But the remembrance of this holy old man was
not to disappear out of the recollection of men. He
was a hundred and thirteen years old ; his end was
approaching, and he knew it and rejoiced. About
the same time, Antony, another celebrated solitary,
had a temptation to pride ; it seemed to him that
he was the most perfect anchorite in the whole de
sert. His soul had been ever since his youth the
scene of spiritual combats, of struggles between the
heavenly hosts and the demons of darkness. If the
latter urged him violently to evil, the former gave
him counsel and help to withstand. He was now
ninety years old, but his strife was not yet over ; the
demon of pride sought to poison his soul. Then he
had a vision in sleep which revealed to him that a
patriarch of solitaries lived in the depths of the
desert, who was much more perfect than himself,
and that he was to go in search of him. Antony
arose and set forth to go wherever it should please
God to lead him. In the desert where he lived
there is neither road nor path, for the track of the
caravans does not pass through it, and as far as the
eye can reach, nothing is to be seen save blocks of
stone emerging out of the sand, and in the sand the
footprints of wild beasts. As Antony continued his
pilgrimage, infernal delusions rose up before him,
and monsters obstructed his path. Accustomed
86 PAUL OF THEBES.
as he had long been to this warfare, he marked
his forehead with the sign of the holy cross, and
passed on. The monsters disappeared, but the first
day had come to an end, and Antony knew not
whether he was in the right road or not. The
second day passed in like manner in the silence of
the scorching desert. The fear of succumbing was
far from Antony s thoughts, for his mortified body
was accustomed to every kind of privation. But
his fear was great lest he should be found unworthy
to see that holy solitary, after whose exalted model
his heart was inwardly longing. Therefore he
watched the whole of the second night in earnest
prayer, and as the third day broke, he perceived
at last a living creature ; a thirsty she- wolf came
running from afar and disappeared panting and
gasping in a cavern in the hills. After a short
time she reappeared and ran away. Therefore
Antony concluded that there must be a water-spring
in the cavern, and he followed the track of the wolf.
But the cave was empty. When his eyes had be
come accustomed to the darkness of the place he
perceived at the farthest end a small crevice through
which the light of day was shining, and he drew
near to it. But Paul heard footsteps approaching,
and instead of opening the door of his territory he
closed it more securely with a large stone, in order
to try the patience and the humility of the new
comer. Then Antony prostrated himself on the
floor of the cave before the closed door, and begged
for admittance. " Thou knowest," said he, " who
I am, and wherefore I come. I am not worthy to
see thy face ; but it is my fixed determination not
to leave this spot until this happiness is granted
to me. Thou dost admit wild beasts, dost receive
them with friendship, and give them to drink;
wilt thou repulse men ? " Thus the holy old man
of ninety prayed and entreated from daybreak till
the sun stood high in the heavens. Then Paul at
PALI, OF THEBES. 87
last opened the door, and smilingly said: "Do
people ask for favours with threats ? Thou sayest
that thou wilt die here, and dost thou wonder that
thou art not admitted ? " And the holy old men
greeted one another by name, embracing each
other like affectionate brothers, and giving each
other the kiss of peace ; and they sang together
psalms of praise to God. Then they both sat down
upon a stone, and Paul said to his guest : "Antony,
thou seest now before thee the man whom thou
hast sought out with so great trouble, and who
will shortly be dust and ashes. Was this old
worn body and this white hair really worth thy
efforts ? " But Antony knew what a treasure of
holiness was concealed in that infirm body, and
rejoiced to have found him out. Then Paul
began to ask how the human race was at present
constituted who governed the nations if there
were still any idolaters if people continued to
build new houses in the old cities. And as they
thus conversed of things both serious and cheerful
a raven came flying to Paul s feet and gently de
posited a loaf of bread. " How good God is I "
exclaimed the holy old man. " For sixty years
a raven has daily brought me half a loaf. Now
that thou art here, my brother Antony, behold
Christ has doubled the provision for His two
soldiers." And they thanked God with joyful
piety, and sat down under the palmtree by the
little stream. But it was honourable to break
bread, because Christ had done so at the Last
Supper, therefore a reverential strife arose between
the old men : Paul wished to give the honour to
the guest, and Antony to the aged patriarch. And
their desire to eat was so slight that evening drew
near before they had agreed to break the loaf
between them, each one holding it at the same
time, and keeping the piece which should re
main in his hand. Then they bent over the
88 PAUL OF THEBES.
spring and drank a little water, and immediately
betook themselves to prayer, in which they spent
the whole night.
The next morning Paul said : " My brother
Antony, I have known for long that thou wert
living in the desert, and God had promised me
that I should see thee before I died. Now the
hour of my deliverance is at hand, and He has
sent thee to me that thou mayest cover my body
with earth. See how good He is." But Antony
entreated the holy old man with many tears
" Remain a little longer upon the earth, or take
me away with thee/ " Thou must not seek what
is agreeable to thee," replied Paul. " It would
indeed be a happy tiling for thee, and I could
desire it for thee, to be already allowed to follow
the Divine Lamb ; but thy life and thy example
are still necessary to the brethren, therefore wait
patiently. But thou shalt bury me like a dutiful
son, and I beg of thee, if thou art not afraid of
the labour, to fetch the cloak which the Bishop
Athanasius gave to thee, and clothe me in it for
my burial." The holy old man was perfectly indif
ferent as to whether he should be laid in the earth
with or without a covering, but he wished to spare
Antony the sorrow of seeing him die, and perhaps
also to testify that he had persevered, living and
dying, in unity of faith with Athanasius, who was
at that time persecuted by the Arians. Antony
was amazed to find that Paul knew of Athanasius
and the cloak ; and revering in him the all-pene
trating eye of God, he kissed his hands silently
and tearfully, and betook himself homewards in
order to fulfil the last wish of the holy old man.
Antony was himself of a great age, and nearly
worn out by fasting and watching, but he hastened
with youthful vigour, and without allowing him
self any rest, to his mountain of Colzim on the Bed
Sea. Two of his disciples who had long lived
PAUL OF THEBES. 89
with him, and whose delight it was to render him
little services of love, came joyfully to meet him,
and exclaimed, " father, where hast thou been
all these days ? " Instead of answering, Antony
smote his breast, and said, " miserable sinner
that I am, how falsely do I bear the name of
anchorite ! It belongs not to me. I know it now,
for I have found Elias in the desert, and John in
the wilderness; I have seen Paul in paradise."
Then he hastened into his cell and brought out
his cloak. The disciples sought to question him
more closely, but Antony said : " There is a time
to speak and a time to be silent." And thereupon
he returned as expeditiously as he had come, in
the hope of finding the holy old man still living.
But he had a vision the next morning which
showed him that Paul must have left this earth,
for he saw the heavens open, and hosts of angels
receive his glorified soul. Then Antony fell upon
his face, strewed dust upon his head, and ex
claimed : " Paul, wherefore dost thou depart
without taking leave of me ? I had never bidden
thee farewell ! Ah ! how late have I found thee,
and how soon do I lose thee ! " Antony performed
the remainder of his journey rather flying than
walking, and when at last he reached the cave he
had the joyful delusion of thinking that Paul still
lived, for under the palmtree, and in the spot
where he was wont to pray, the holy old man was
kneeling. But he was dead, and Antony perceived
it when he knelt down beside him and could hear
no sound of breathing. Even in death the holy
patriarch expressed the chief thought of his life,
" Let us adore the Lord to whom all live."
With tearful eyes and tender reverence, Antony
enveloped the corpse in the cloak, whilst he recited
the psalms and spiritual hymns which were in use
at Christian burials. But he was grieved not to
find anywhere a spade or other instrument with
00 PAUL OF THEBES.
which to dig a grave. He reflected whether it
might perhaps be the will of God that he should
pass the remainder of his life in this cavern, or
whether he should return to his monastery to fetch
the necessary tools. But two lions put an end to
his doubts. They came bounding towards him out
of the depths of the desert with flowing manes.
For a moment Antony was frightened; but he
immediately lifted up his heart to God, and calmly
awaited them. They did not take any notice of
liim at all, but sprang towards the corpse, bent
down at its feet, wagged their tails, and growled
gently. They then began to scrape up the sand
with their claws, and to make a long and deep
hole. Antony was pleased with the wise animals,
which were such accomplished grave-diggers, and
which had probably, like the she-wolf, often allayed
their thirst at Paul s little stream. The grave was
soon ready ; and the lions then approached Antony
with reverential gestures, bent down their heads
to his feet, moved their ears, licked his hands, and
behaved like two little dogs caressing their mastei ,
and seeking for some acknowledgment from him.
He understood that they wished him to bless
them, and he broke out into songs of praise, be
cause even the irrational animals acknowledge the
omnipotence of God. " My Lord and God," he
exclaimed, " without whose will a leaf cannot fall
from the tree nor a sparrow from the roof, give to
these beasts what thou knowest and wilt." Then
he motioned to them with his hand to go away ;
and when the lions had obeyed, he devoutly took
the corpse of the holy Paul in his arms, laid it in
the grave, and covered it over with earth. Antony
took for his own the solitary legacy of the great
anchorite, the fearful penitential garment, which
Paul himself had made and always wore, a web of
palm-leaves, which are generally used only for
baskets and mats. Antony returned with this trea-
ST. ANTONY. 91
sure to his cloister, and related the whole occur
rence to his disciples. On the great feasts of the
year, Easter and Pentecost, he himself put on this
garment of one who had so perfectly practised
Christ-like poverty. St Jerome, who describes
this life, concludes thus : " I beg of thee, my
reader, to remember the poor sinner Jerome, who,
if God were to give him the choice, would prefer
to clothe himself in the mantle of the holy Paul
with his merits, rather than in the purple of kings
with lands and vassals." As mysticism is the re
flection of the Gospel in the lives of the saints, how
wonderfully mystical this life must have been, be
tween whose innocent beginning and peaceful end
lie ninety years, to be described simply by these
words, "And he was in the desert, and he was with
beasts, and the angels ministered to him/ l
ST. ANTONY.
" He went about doing good." ACTS x. 38.
IN the latter half of the third century, during the
long interval of repose between the persecutions of
Valerian and Diocletian, Christians were at liberty
to order their lives according to the teaching of
their faith ; and many in the East devoted them
selves to an ascetic life, which each one led by
himself in the solitude of the country, outside the
villages or towns containing their homes. They
spent their days in holy contemplation, severe
penance, and complete mortification, diligent in
labour and fervent in prayer, in joyful remem
brance of the Lord s promise that he would re
compense an hundredfold those who for His sake
1 Mark i. 13.
92 sr.
should forsake their families or possessions ; and
that, instead of a dream of happiness and a transi
tory love, they should receive happiness and love
a hundredfold. But it was not yet the custom to
withdraw into the remote desert. Paul had done
so because it offered him a safe refuge, and he had
then become captivated by the attraction of perfect
solitude. Antony came into the world in the year of
Paul s flight A.D. 251. His rich and noble parents
were pious Christians, and lived at Coma, in Upper
Egypt. He was brought up under their own eyes
with great care, obeying them willingly, seeing no
one but themselves and his relations, and he was
happy and contented in his father s house. He
found no pleasure in the usual pastimes of chil
dren, or in dainties and sweetmeats. He never
attended the public schools, so he was unlearned
in worldly knowledge. A decided impulse urged
nim towards the contemplative life. He was no
where happier than in church, never failing to
accompany his parents thither, and giving them
no trouble by his restlessness, as other children
do. He attended to the services with the greatest
thoughtfulness and devotion, and listened so care
fully to the reading of the Holy Scriptures that he
learnt them by heart, and at the same time let
their fruits ripen in his youthful mind.
His parents died within a very short time of
each other when he was eighteen years old, and
left him a double charge, a little sister, and con
siderable property in land. He managed every
thing most conscientiously ; but his thoughts
were bent in a very different direction. Six
months might have passed away, when one morn
ing, on the way to church, it struck him that not
one of the Apostles hesitated to leave all at the
first word of our Blessed Lord, and that later
many of the faithful sold ,their possessions, and
laid the value at the Apostles feet. Immediately
ST. ANTONY. 93
after, he heard read in church the story of the rich
youiig man in the Gospel to whom our Blessed
Lord promised perfection and a heavenly treasure
if he would give what he had to the poor. 1 Then
he could resist no longer, for it seemed to him as
though this had been written in the Gospel solely
for him, and was now read aloud in church for him
alone. He sold his estate, which was very beautiful
and fruitful, divided the proceeds amongst his poor
neighbours, with the exception of a small sum,
which he laid by for his sister, and lived for some
time very contentedly, because he believed that he
had understood and fulfilled the will of God. But
God had a higher end in store for him. Another
time he heard read in the Gospel the words of our
Lord, " Be not solicitous for to-morrow." The joy of
perfect freedom from all temporal cares then im
pressed him so deeply that he immediately sold his
furniture, his clothes, and every thing he had, gave
the money to the poor, and formed, at the same time,
the resolution to dedicate himself to an ascetic life.
Of hmi it might indeed be said, " He that can
take, let him take it." There lived at Coma a few-
holy virgins. Antony gave his sister into their
charge, to be brought up in all good ways, and,
making over to them his modest fortune, he went
to live, according to the custom of other solitaries,
in a cave not far from his former estate, in order
to think of nothing but the salvation of his poor
soul. At a little distance from him lived an aged
anchorite, who had adopted this form of life from
his earliest youth. Antony begged him to teach
him how to comport himself in complete solitude,
and the old man willingly consented. To work
and to pray without intermission, this was the
chief part of his teaching, as it composed the life
of Jesus in the carpenter s workshop at Nazareth.
Antony therefore plaited coverings out of reeds,
l Matt. xix. 21.
94 ST. ANTOtfY.
and mats and baskets out of palm-leaves and fibres
of bark, and sold them. He spent the price of
them in alms, and in procuring his very few neces
saries. Whilst his hands worked he fixed his
thoughts on the contemplation of Divine things,
on the eternal truths of the Christian faith, on
the Passion and Death of Christ, on the teachings
and precepts of the Apostles, on the events and
narratives of the Gospels, or on the infinite per
fection of God, and His grace and love for men.
As Antony had never loaded his memory with
worldly knowledge, nor sought other instruction
than that of the Holy Scriptures, they had im
pressed themselves so deeply upon him that he
knew them by heart ; and therefore his memory
and his holy meditations supplied to him the place
of books. Every Sunday he repaired to Coma to
church, listened with profound attention to the
holy lections, refreshed himself at the Holy Sacri
fice, and returned invigorated to his little hermit
age. This simple and spiritual life implanted in
his soul the most happy equanimity and repose.
The brilliant prospects of his youth, his rank and
birth, possessions or kindred, never occupied his
thoughts. All the faculties of his soul were
directed towards the end of the way which he now
so resolutely trod. With fervent zeal he strove
after perfection ; and if he heard of any master in
asceticism, he sought him out, as a diligent bee
gathers together the juices of different flowers, and
prepares her honey from them. He submitted
himself with childlike humility to the solitaries
whom he visited for this purpose, and served them
like an obedient son. He admired sincerely in
each one his most striking virtue here cheerful
ness of heart, there kindness, there patience in
one, fervour of prayer in another, severe fasting
and watching in a third, imperturbable peace.
And when he had gained for himself all their vir-
ST. ANTONY. 95
tues and graces, lie returned to his solitude filled
with these noble and admirable images, turning
them over in his mind, and endeavouring to prac
tise in himself all that he had seen singly in others.
For a pious emulation possessed him ; and though
he envied no one, he wished to be behind none in
virtue. Thus he soon outstripped them all, but
all loved him, the old man near him, as well as
the solitaries who lived at the greatest distance
from him. To some he was a humble and loving
son and disciple ; to others an affectionate brother ;
and his perfection was so great that it seemed to
turn to the advantage of all the others. The
Christian inhabitants of Coma rejoiced to see him
in the distance or at church, greeting him with
respect, and calling him a favourite, and a true ser
vant of God.
The original enemy of all good, who succeeded
in deceiving the first man in Paradise, attempts
to deceive every man who strives in earnest to re
generate his fallen nature, and to change a son of
Adam into a child of God. He did not approach
the Sariour on his way into the desert, but only
when he imagined that through His severe penances
He might have become proud, and therefore feeble.
He proceeded in the same manner with Antony.
In the beginning he left him alone, for the first
fervour of men in a new position consumes like fire
all obstacles, but it is often followed by a certain
interior exhaustion, and then if a will armed with
faith does not spring into the breach, men easily
lose the fruits of their former exertions, and abandon
their first love.
The tempter began gradually to lay his snares
around Antony, and his indefatigable attacks and
the untiring resistance he met with show the
heights of virtue to which Antony had raised him
self ; for the evil spirit need hardly tempt tepid
and negligent souls; they give themselves up to
36 ST. ANTONY.
him of their own accord, following their evil nature
instead of combating it. At first he represented
to the holy youth the weariness of this arduous life,
and the terrific effort that would be required to
walk for perhaps fifty or sixty years along the
thorny path of abnegation. Then arose apprehen
sions for his sister and for his own health, for he
was of a delicate bodily constitution ; and after that
thoughts of the life in the world which would have
been within his reach through his rank and riches.
A thick darkness seemed to settle down upon the
bright region of his holy thoughts, but he defended
himself against the powers of darkness by holy
prayer and firm confidence in the Passion and Death
of our Blessed Lord. Then Satan sent him a whole
array of evil and wild temptations, through which
he imagined that he would surely subdue him.
But Antony armed himself with unconquerable
faith in the future judgment and eternal punish
ment, because it is written, " No unclean hath in
heritance in the kingdom of God/ By continual
prayer he refreshed and increased his faith, and
rendered ever present to his memory the value of
the soul, which can be bought by nothing short of
the Incarnation of Christ, and the exceeding height
Df holiness to which men are called and enabled to
attain by this deed of divine love. By strict fasts
and painful vigils he made his body participate in
these spiritual combats, and put to shame all the
efforts of the evil one. The ancient serpent, who
imagined himself equal to God, was brought to con
fusion by the delicate youth ; and despite of his
power over flesh and blood, was vanquished by a
man of flesh and blood, because the Incarnate
Saviour strove in him, as the Apostle St Paul
Bays in the first Epistle to the Corinthians, " Yet
not I, but the grace of God with me." At length
the enemy acknowledged that Antony always re
pelled him from his thoughts and kept unpolluted
BT. ANTONY. 97
the purity of his soul, so he appeared to him in the
form of an ugly negro boy, and said, " I have been
overcome by thee, and yet have deceived and over
thrown so many." "Who art thou?" asked
Antony. " I am called the spirit of impurity," was
the answer. " Then I will no longer fear thee,"
said Antony, " f or I see by thy colour and thy form
how abominable and how feeble thou art. The
Lord is my helper, and I despise my enemies."
And continuing to sing psalms he praised and
thanked God, and the evil one disappeared. This
was Antony s first great victory, or rather the
victory of Him who hath condemned sin in the
flesh, and hath commanded us "to walk not accord
ing to the flesh, but according to the Spirit." 1
Antony was not, on this account, allured to a false
repose. He knew the cunning of the enemy, and
that he never lost an opportunity of discovering
and profiting by a weak moment, and what unre
mitting watchfulness is required to oppose him. He
only became the more determined to tread inde-
f atigably the narrow way which leads to heaven, and
to bring his body thoroughly into subjection, as the
Apostle St. Paul had done, lest conquering on one
side he should be subdued on the other. He
undertook a still more severe form of life than
hitherto, and the habit of Buffering made him feel
pain no longer hard. At times he watched the
whole night through in prayer. He generally ate
every day a little bread and salt with some water
after sunset. But sometimes he took no food for
two, three, and even four days. His couch was
a mat of rushes, often the bare earth, and his
clothing a penitential hairshirt, for he knew that
the closer the wings of sensuality are clipped the
more easily can the soul take her flight. He said,
When I am weak, then am I powerful." 2 With
the Apostle St. Paul, who had gone through all
1 Rom. viii. 4 a 1 Cor. xii. 10.
O
98 ST. ANTONY.
these struggles for the consolation of his followers
in the faith and in suffering, he never dreamt of
reckoning the value of the ascetic life according to
the time of its duration or by its outward penances ;
but he prized it according to the amount of the
love and the interior efforts to serve God. He
therefore considered himself always as a young be
ginner, because every day he began anew to love
God, and daily incited himself to fresh desires,
looking constantly forward and never backward.
Always to be such as we should appear before God
pure of heart and ready to obey Him in all
things, and Him alone : this was the object of his
endeavours and of his daily warfare.
The great prophet Elias was his model, and
he therefore sought a more complete solitude, at
a greater distance from Coma. He found a
cavern formerly used for burial, which exactly
suited him. He begged one of the anchorites to
bring him bread and water on certain days,
and shut himself joyfully up in his sepulchre.
Here he had to undergo fearful assaults of the
enemy, who maltreated and tortured him so
violently that he lost speech and consciousness
from the pain and exhaustion. These bodily vexa
tions often occur in the lives of the saints, and
chiefly in those who are the most gifted with
extraordinary graces, and favoured with visions and
revelations. It is as if these wrestlers for heaven
were to experience also the full power of hell. One
day the brother came into the sepulchre with
bread and a jug of water, and, to his sorrow, found
Antony lying apparently lifeless on the ground.
He lifted him carefully on to his shoulders, and,
with many tears, carried him to his former abode,
and called together his friends and relations. The
neighbours assembled in sympathy, for all had
heartily loved Antony. They spent the evening
mourning and weeping by the supposed corpse ;
ST. ANTOXY.
99
but as it grew late, some went away, others grew
drowsy one by one, and the anchorite alone kept
watch. At midnight Antony came to himself, and
sitting up, found himself, to his astonishment, in
the midst of all the sleepers, who lay around in pro
found repose ; he beckoned to the anchorite to
come to him, and begged him to wake no one, but
to help him to return to his peaceful sepulchre.
This he did. Faint with the effort and with his
wounds, Antony remained in his solitude after the
faithful brother had left him, without help, with
out nursing, without succour, and falling to the
ground from exhaustion he offered up a fervent
prayer, and then exclaimed with a loud voice,
" Behold, ye enemies of God, here is your enemy
Antony again ! I shrink not from fighting with
you ; lay hold of me constantly with all your power ;
for I know that nothing can separate me from the
love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
And then he began to sing the 26th Psalm, " If
armies in camp should stand together against me,
my heart shall not fear."
This holy and undaunted courage in demand
ing new combats in such a state of weakness,
frailty, and suffering, brought upon this second
Job a furious assault from his enemy. The
devils assailed him in crowds under the form of
wild beasts, in order to inspire him with fear of
death, and so to drive him out of his solitude. But
Antony bore all these terrors with calmness ; and
keeping himself by humility firm in his con
fidence in God, he combated his adversaries with
fortitude. " Has the Lord God given you power
over me ?" he said ; " well then, here I am, tear
me to pieces ; but if you have not this power from
Him, how dare you undertake maliciously to terrify
me ?" And he made the sign of the holy cross,
which was his resource in all dangers and
anxieties, because the cross has effaced them all.
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
100 ST. ANTONY.
Then the enemy vanished, and a heavenly light
filled the sepulchre, and flooded Antony s body
and soul with a stream of unutterably sweet con
solation. All his wounds were healed, all his weak
ness had disappeared, and not a trace was left of the
misery of the natural man. This light amid the
thorns of his sufferings was like that fire in the
thornbush, the veil behind which God concealed
Himself, and Antony sighed out from the depths of
his heart, " my Saviour, where hast Thou been
hitherto ? Wherefore earnest Thou not sooner to
my assistance ? " and a Divine voice spake out of
the light, " I was always with thee, I have ever
watched thy strife, but I awaited the issue of the
battle. Because thou hast not given way, I will
henceforward always help thee to conquer.
Stronger than ever, and clothed as it were in holy
armour, Antony raised himself up and looked
upon that promise as a summons to advance more
/esolutely than before, and to give himself up more
unconditionally than he had hitherto done to the
guidance of God.
St. Jerome says : " blissful solitude and seclu
sion, thou art the true Arabia Felix upon earth,
for in thee are formed the precious stones of virtue,
of true life, and of the evangelical counsels, with
which the heavenly Jerusalem will be built, the
city of the great King Jesus Christ. Solitude,
silence, prayer, and a penitential life are, as it were,
the four elements which make a man of good
heart and will, holy and blessed/ This Antony
also believed, and his deeds were not at variance
with his faith, but as he believed, so he lived. One
day he visited the aged hermit in the neighbourhood
of Coma, and telling him that he intended to with
draw entirely into the desert in order to offer him
self up more perfectly and uninterruptedly to God,
he proposed to him to do the same. But the aged
anchorite objected that this was not customary
ST. ANTONY. 101
amongst the ascetics, and that, without a special
vocation, no one should venture on such a novelty.
Antony, however, recognised this vocation in him
self, and taking a friendly leave of the pious old
man, he departed alone to the Thebaid desert, and
to the Arabian hills on the Ked Sea. On this
journey he had once more temptations to overcome.
He was now a man in the full vigour of life, five
and thirty years old, of great virtue, of lofty mind,
fervently loving God, and firmly resolved to climb
even to the topmost step the ladder of perfection.
Such a man has a great future before him if
he perseveres. But what sacrifices were involved
in this perseverance ! What battles were to be
fought ! Who knows whether on the way to this
new Calvary, the image of the world with the noble
and beautiful things which it contains amongst
its dross and rubbish, did not once more rise up
before his mind and seek to infatuate him with its
captivating delusions ? It is certain that he twice
actually found treasures of great value in his path
with which he could have betaken himself to the
world. The first time he threw away the Satanic
deception, the second time he passed over all the
gold as quickly as if he had been treading upon
live coals, and so reached the mountain. On a
solitary height he found a ruined watch-tower
which seemed to him sufficiently inaccessible to
choose it for his dwelling. There were indeed
many serpents and scorpions living in it, but they
retired before Antony, as if they acknowledged his
authority, and he immediately built up the entrance
with stones. He was now established in his im
pregnable castle. There he remained imprisoned
for twenty years without letting any one enter. He
had arranged that one of his hermit companions
should bring him every six months the small quan
tity of bread that he needed. The bread which is
eaten even now in those parts keeps very long without
102 ST. ANTONY.
spoiling ; but it becomes as hard as stone, so that
it has to be broken with a hammer. This was his
only nourishment, and he caused it to be thrown
in to him over the wall ; never even speaking a
single word to him who brought it. But whilst
Antony so entirely forgot the world, the world did
not forget him. He fled from it and it sought him
out. First came his friends in order to convince
themselves that he was able to endure such severe
penance, and that he was not pining with want
and sickness. They heard him in the peaceful
night singing psalms and holy hymns, which com
forted them exceedingly, although he would not
allow them to enter his castle or to speak to him,
and they had to pass the night outside. But some
times things were less peaceable inside, and sounds
of wrangling and threatening voices were heard,
BO that those outside thought that robbers or mur
derers had got in to him by means of ladders. But
if they peered through the crevices in the ruined
walls they saw no one but Antony ; and as the
noisy tumult still continued, they were terrified, and
called out despairingly and mournfully to Antony
for help as if some evil were going to happen to
them. Then he approached the entrance, and con
soling and quieting them, begged them to go home
and to have no more fears for him. " It is only the
faint-hearted who fear the devil," he said, "therefore
it is in them alone that he can inspire fear. Sign
yourselves with the sign of the cross, and go in
peace/ Thus his spiritual combat continued
without intermission, and ever gave him occasion
for new victories and higher peace in God, so that
AQ led not only the ordinary double life of the
spiritual and material man, but a double life in his
spirit, in which the highest powers of his soul, his
pure will, and his pure love, rested recollectedly
upon God as it were upon an inaccessible rock,
and were not disturbed by the battle in the valley
ST. ANTONY. 103
which the lower spiritual powers, the memory,
understanding, and imagination, had to engage in.
The descriptions which his friends gave of the
extraordinary events which were taking place
could not fail to attract great attention, and
to cause curiosity in some, and sympathy or
affectionate confidence in others. The idea gained
ground amongst all, that a man so wonderfully en
dowed could not but have a purpose to fulfil in his
time. Increasing numbers crossed the desert with
the hope of seeing him, hearing him, or speaking
to him. But Antony remained unseen and un
heard. Even the noise of the spirits round about
him seemed gradually to have died away. The
stillness of the desert or of the grave surrounded
his castle. But when his visitors were seized with
the painful apprehension of his being dead, he be
gan to sing psalms in a clear and pleasant voice,
" The Lord is my helper, I will look down upon my
enemies ; " or, " Let God arise, and let His enemies
be scattered ; " or else a song of triumph and of
heroic faith such as sometimes emerged from the
sea of tribulation and bitterness which encompassed
the royal psalmist.
Twenty years passed away in this complete abne
gation of all earthly things, during which the Holy
Ghost himself fashioned this " preacher in the de
sert," to be such as his age required, and as the
Church was in need of. The stormy fermentation
of the time was working in all souls, and all did
not understand how to tame and regulate the
powerful elements. Men came forth from dark
ness of mind into the full light of the truth ; and if
the^ great minds gazed with peaceful eye upon the
divine ray, others, the arrogant and the inquisitive,
were blinded instead of being enlightened. Men
tal excitement universally reigned ; and, as often
happens at the beginning of new and great epochs,
a powerful impulse lent to the feeble and the in-
104 ST. ANTONY.
different a certain elevation above ordinary things.
Weak characters formed themselves upon the ex
ample of the stronger ones, without possessing
their strength became imitators instead of fol
lowers became shallow where others grew deep and
firm. All these things were veiy apparent in the
favourite attraction of the day, the ascetic life, and
gave it a bright side and a dark side. Many of
the ascetics possessed indeed the dispositions neces
sary for this life, but yet only embraced it exteri
orly, laying all the value upon privations and mor
tifications, and continual repetitions of prayers,
whilst they neglected their souls. Others placed
perfection in singularity, and thought themselves
better than others, because they had chosen this
vocation, without caring how they fulfilled it.
Some only wished to be unlike other men, and
became repulsive instead of sublime, rough instead
of simple, fatiguing themselves with privations, in
which they reached surprising heights, and yet
remained inwardly in bondage, because their soul
did not ascend with them. Then gloomy dejection
or obstinate pride took possession of them, and
they ended sometimes by falling away, not only
from their vocation, but even from virtue and from
the faith. To others, solitude became the first
step towards thoughtlessness and indolence both
of mind and body. Many had the right disposi
tions, but they had not the straightforwardness
and power of a Paul, an Antony, and other great
ascetics, and therefore they were in need of guid
ance which would give them a decided training
and a certain aim, so as to prevent them from dry
ing up and withering away. And they themselves
felt the want of it. They longed for a model, for
a master. It was as if they divined the important
place they were to occupy in the future history of
the world, and in the development of the human
mind. In order that the monastic life should un-
ST. ANTONY. 105
fold itself into a perfect blossom, a prfect monk
must first live, who should represent in himself, at
least in outline, an ideal for this state, whose
agency was to be felt throughout the world.
It was for this the Holy Ghost had moulded
Antony. For this He had impressed the Holy
Scriptures so deeply on his memory, that they
were now become as it were his own interior. For
this Antony had had to unlearn the language oi
men, that he might speak as if with a fiery tongue.
For this he had imbibed so much from the Divine
Spirit and from heavenly mysteries, that he was
filled to overflowing with unusual graces, and able
to become the centre of a new and influential
sphere of life. For this he had to die to nature in
order to enter as one fully reconciled to God into
the mysterious realm of grace. For this end, faith,
a divine virtue, the most persevering and sublime
act of the purest will, had prepared the ground
upon which the gifts of wisdom, counsel, and
knowledge shone in all their brightness.
The desert had now a well-known road through
it, made by the numbers of people who flocked to
Antony and sought for consolation or instruction
from him. Notwithstanding his humility, which
made him in his own eyes the least and the most
unworthy of all, he believed at length that he
ought not to refuse them this spiritual alms. The
renown of his discernment, his power, and his vir
tue, spread far and wide, and grew so great, that
people began to bring the sick, the crippled, and
the possessed to him, that he might heal them.
At the same time, the numbers of those who asked
to become his disciples in the spiritual life in
creased also; and some ascetics who were his
friends urged him to leave his solitude on account
of these manifold needs of others. Antony, with
out hesitation, acknowledged this also to be the
will of God, and returned amongst men as though
106 ST. ANTOffY.
he came from heaven. The twenty years of stern
mortification had passed over his exterior without
leaving a trace behind them ; his face had kept its
old sweetness, his figure its former beauty. He
appeared neither weakened by repose nor con
sumed by austerity. He had not grown morose
in his tower, for he had not lived like an un
willing slave in outward fetters, but he had
given nimself up voluntarily to the captivity of the
gentle and sweet yoke of Jesus. An amiable
sweetness was expressed in his features, his words,
and his gestures ; but he was never moved by cheer
fulness to open laughter, nor did too deep a sor
row for the sins of the world ever cloud his brow.
His spirit was so pure, so entirely released from
every distracting thought, that nothing could dis
turb his peace. The praise and admiration of men
made him neither proud nor bashful it did not
affect him in any way. And as the hidden life
of Jesus was reflected in Paul, so was his public
life in Antony, which may be again expressed in
these few words of the Evangelist St Luke, " He
went about doing good." Like two monuments of
the exceeding love with which our Blessed Lord
fulfils His promises when men obey the inspiration
of the Holy Ghost, these two holy men stand as
it were at the gates of the monastic life of all ages,
and point to the one thing on which rest the power,
the efficiency, the greatness, and the beauty of this
life: the imitation of Jesus, or suffering out of
love.
It shone forth in Antony with exceeding gran
deur. The graces of the Death on the Cross, and
the glory of the resurrection in Christ, immersed
his whole life and works in the power of the In
carnate God, who conferred upon him the " perfect
flfts which are from above, coming down from the
ather of lights," that he might " walk as a child
of light," and exercise a child s rights after he
ST. ANTONY. 107
had fulfilled the duties of a child. So long as the
kingdom of heaven suffered violence, Antony had
bravely borne his part therein, that part of which
it is written, " To every one that hath, shall be
given." And now there was given to him the
absolute power which follows from perfect obedi
ence, the exaltation consequent upon voluntary
humiliations, and the glorification which is the
reward of perfect self-denial, according to the im
mutable fundamental law of the order of grace.
The Divine Father of this regenerate soul had been
liberal in His gifts to him ; and as He Himself had
lived amongst miracles which, however, were no
miracles to Him, the Author of life and the Creator
of nature, but only the overflow of His divine
power so the miracles which Antony worked
blossomed, as it were, of their own accord around
him, because Divine power went out from him in
whom the image of God had been restored. The
lame walked, the blind saw, the sick were healed,
the possessed were delivered, the mourners com
forted, the wavering were strengthened, and the
infidels believed. Many of his audience became
his disciples, and left the world, renouncing their
possessions and their joys; and the desert began
thenceforward to bloom with lilies, according to
the prophecy of Isaias. With overflowing love,
Antony exhorted all men to prize the love of God
beyond the best joys of earth, because God has
promised us the unutterable bliss of eternal life,
and has purchased it for us through " His own
Son, whom he hath not spared, but delivered him
up for us all." 1 An indescribable contempt for
earthly things was enkindled in all hearts by his
words, and still more by his example; and to
the anchorites, in particular, he became the pillar
of fire, which showed them the way of their vo
cation through the darkness of the night in the
1 Rom. viii. 32.
108 FT. ANTONY.
desert. They collected around him once in great
numbers, and begged that he would give them a clear
rule of life which they could observe amid the dan
gers and temptations of their state. He spoke thus :
" The Holy Scriptures contain, indeed, suf
ficient instructions, but still it is well for us to
strengthen one another in the faith, and to learn
by communication with each other. Do you, my
children, say to your father what you know of good,
and I, your elder, will impart my experiences to
you. Endeavour, above all, not to fall back from
what you have begun, nor to sink under your
burden. The first precept for each one must be,
to keep his progress as constantly in mind as if
he had only just begun. That he may not grow
weary of this, let him ever compare the shortness
of this earthly life with eternity. How wonderful
is the immeasurable liberality of God ! Here on
earth things are sold according to their value, and
exchanged for their equivalents. But we procure
the promise of eternal life for very little ; for if we
live as ascetics for a hundred years, we take pos
session of a glorious place in the kingdom of God,
not for a hundred years, but for eternity ; and for
this transitory earth we receive heavenly bliss, for
a perishable body a glorified one. my children,
for mortal things we inherit immortal ones. The suf
ferings of this world are not to be compared to the
glory which shall be revealed in us. Therefore,
when you embrace the ascetic life, never rate
highly what you have forsaken ; never believe that
by such choice you have done anything great.
If the whole world were yours, and you renounced
it, it would still be less in comparison to the heaven
you receive than if for one penny you gained a
hundred pieces of gold What is a little gold,
some cultivated ground, or a miserable house?
You could not any way take them with you to
heaven ; and a Christian should set value on those
ST. ANTONY. 109
goods alone which he can never lose, on intrepid
faith, on love, knowledge, justice, mercifulness to the
poor, meekness, and hospitality. If we do this, we
prepare for ourselves a dwelling in heaven, as the
Evangelist says. In this endeavour the Lord Him
self is our helper. The slave never says, I worked
yesterday, therefore I need not work to-day. Nei
ther must we imagine that because of the work
which is past, God will excuse us from the present
work. Ah, no ! He would bo wroth with our
slothfulness. In order that we may not become
slothful, let us be mindful of the words of St.
Paul, I die daily. If we live as though we
died daily, we shall never sin. We shall be
angry with no one; we shall forgive all men, and
shall never have an impure thought. There
fore look onwards, my children; look upward, and
not backward, like Lot s wife, who died in the act
of doing so.
" Our Blessed Lord Himself says, No man put
ting his hand to the plough and looking back, is
fit for the kingdom of God. l Such looking back
implies nothing less than a falling away from yofcr
vocation.
" Secondly, I beg of you, my brethren, not to
imagine virtue to be something impossible or fear
ful, not something very distant which must be
fetched from afar; oh, no 1 it lies within us. Its
germ is implanted in the human mind, and awaits
our good will to expand. The Greeks travel over
land and sea to seek for knowledge and wisdom.
We need not do that in order to find a holy dis
position and the kingdom of God ; for our Blessed
Lord says, Lo, the kingdom of God is within
you/ 2 Who can doubt that purity of soul, if it
does not soil itself with the stains of sin, is the
fountain and source of virtue? Virtue lives in
tne spiritual life, and dies in the sensual life, in
1 St. Luke ix. 62. 2 St. Luke xvii. 21.
110 ST. ANTONY.
which the soul turns herself away from God, and
follows her own lusts. Virtue and vice do not
come to us from without, but from a pure or im
pure heart. May the Creator, therefore, find His
work as He formed it in the beginning ; and let
us not, my brethren, lay waste what God in His
munificence made so beautiful.
" Thirdly, my brethren, let us constantly remem
ber that we must, according to the testimony of
the Apostle St. Paul, put on the armour of God,
that we may be able to stand against the deceits
of the devil. For our wrestling is not against
flesh and blood; but against principalities and
powers, against the rulers of the world of this
darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in
the high places/ l Even Satan and his angels
were created by God good and not evil. But
of their free will they revolted ; they chose
rebellion, and were precipitated from heaven.
Then the merciful God destined for men the
heavenly thrones which they had sinfully lost,
and therefore they foster feelings of raging envy
and hatred against us men, and lay many snares
for us. They deceived our first parents in para
dise, and they practise their cunning upon all the
children of Adam. The heathen worship of idols
is their work, for they find therein assistance in
their endeavours to make men lose heaven. They
spoke out of the mouth of the idols, and answered
by the oracles ; and the heathen living in the
blindness of an unredeemed state, and in the sin
ful lusts of their heart, gave credit to them, and
were subject to them. But now, since the glori
ous coming of the Lord, their idols and oracles
grow more and more dumb, and the Lord has
delivered us from them, for He said : Begone,
Satan, for it is written, The Lord thy God shalt
thou adore, and Him only shalt thou serve/
ST. ANTONY. Ill
Since Christ has crushed their power, we need no
longer fear them. We have indeed good weapons
against them in the faith and a pious life. For
this reason the devils fear indeed all pious Chris
tians, but most of all the ascetics, with their fasts
and vigils, their prayers and their confidence in
Christ, their humility and meekness, their ele
vation above vainglory and cupidity. The evil
spirits know that Christ said to His own : Be
hold I have given you power to tread upon ser
pents and scorpions, and upon all the power
of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. l
But it was not in vain that our Blessed Lord
immediately added : Yet rejoice not in this,
that spirits are subject nnto you ; but rejoice
in this, that your names are written in heaven/
For this is an artifice of Satan ; he strives to make
us proud, by showing us hidden things, in order
that we may boast either to ourselves or to others
of the gifts of prophecy and knowledge, as if they
were fruits of our own holiness. Therein lies a
great danger, for in consequence of the sin of
Adam men are easily incited to curiosity and
pride. Even supposing that the father of lies could
speak and foretell the truth, what would it profit
us to know future things a few days earlier ? No
one of us will be judged because he did not know
such things, nor will any be saved for having
known them. We enter into the glory of heaven
by the fulfilment of the divine commandments,
and by the transgression of them we fall into eter
nal punishment. No one must undertake the
ascetic life for the purpose of acquiring the gifts
of prophecy or of miracles, but with the intention
of becoming the friend of God by a holy life, and
of obtaining the victory over Satan, with the Lord
for his helper. But if any one earnestly desires
a foreknowledge of future things, let him exert
1 St. Luke x. 19.
112
ST. ANTONY.
himself to acquire a pure heart and A pure mind.
I firmly believe that if a devout man remains in
perfect innocence he will become very far-seeing
and profound. Such a soul lays itself open before
God, and He reveals Himself to it. Such was the
spirit of Eliseus in ancient times, who possessed
to so great a degree the gifts of prophecy and
miracles. If the devils come to you with predic
tions, believe them not, for they lie. If they come
and extol you with praises of your austere life, if
they call you blessed, if they exhort you to in
crease your penances under the mask of holiness,
if they even attempt to pray with you or to sing
psalms, listen not to them, close your ears and
eyes, your heart and soul, make the sign of the
cross, and pray; pray perseveringly, trustfully,
and peacefully, and they will take flight. Then
you will see that they were no good spirits. Learn
the discernment of spirits ; it is not difficult. If
angels approach you, their presence makes itself
known to you by the quiet rest and peace you feel
in yourself. If for a moment, through human
weakness, you fear, yet at the same time confi
dence, joy, and delight will arise ; for the Lord
God is with them, the Author and Source of all
joy. The heart becomes thereby completely
plunged in contentment, and at the same time
filled with supernatural light ; but the soul, in
flamed with the desire of heavenly goods, longs to
burst the bonds of the flesh, and to hasten with
the angels to the mansions of the blessed. The
presence of evil spirits, on the contrary, announces
itself to the soul by dejection and anguish, whilst
the thoughts fall into disorder and confusion.
Negligence, sadness, fear of death, dislike of the
other ascetics, a perverse yearning for relations
and friends, make their appearance, and with them
evil desires, disesteem of virtue, and a weakening
of holy resolutions. If you have been frightenea
ST. AKTONT. 113
by one of these apparitions, and it goes away, and
in its place there comes unspeakable joy, courage,
cheerfulness, renewal of spirit, safety of thoughts,
love of God, then trust, pray, and be thankful,
for help is come from above ; the joy and firmness
of soul betoken the vicinity of an angel.
" Neither must you, my brethren, take any pains
to work miracles. If any one amongst you can
cast out devils, or if he possesses the power of heal
ing the sick, he must not pride himself upon it,
nor must you admire him for it, or despise him
who has not the power. On the other hand, you
must all endeavour to lead a holy life, strive after
perfection, and seek to gain that which you are
still in want of. To work miracles is not our
office, but God s the work of His Divine Omnipo
tence, which He sometimes causes us to carry out.
Therefore our Blessed Lord said to those who
glorified themselves before Him for their miracles,
but who were not filled with good dispositions :
1 know you not. The Lord acknowledges not
the ways of the unholy.
" I share my experience with you, my brothers,
and therefore not on my own account, God knows
I speak of myself. The devils have often praised
and commended me, and tempted me in every way.
I answered them : Nothing shall separate me from
the love of Christ. l Therefore it was not I that
restrained them, but God. I saw Satan like light
ning fall from heaven/ 2 I referred this to myself,
my children. Learn to be courageous in youi
ascetic life. Listen ! Once Satan came to me and
complained that all Christians, and the ascetics ip
particular, abhorred him. I said, Wherefore
dost thou disquiet them ? He answered, * I do
not plague them, they torment themselves ; there
fore they ought to be masters of themselves, and
not to curse me/ I replied, Thou art a liar from.
1 Rom. viii. 35. 8 St. Luke x. 18.
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
H4 ST. ANTON7.
the beginning; but now for the first time thnu
hast spoken the truth. Christ has enchained
thee/ I uttered the name of Christ with great
faith, and Satan disappeared. You see, therefore,
that you never need be afraid. Only be not sad,
but always rejoice that you are of the redeemed.
Think always the Lord is with us, what power can
our enemies have ? They come and take precisely
the form of our spiritual life at that moment, they
are the reflection of our thoughts. Art thou of
an earthly disposition ? then thou art their prey ;
that is the punishment cf unholy souls. But if
thou dost rejoice in the Lord, and dost meditate
on eternal things, and occupy thyself with divine
things, they can do nothing."
Thus spoke Antony, to the great consolation of
the anchorites, and of those who wished to become
such. They admired the grace which was given
to him in the discernment of spirits ; and one
awakened out of a false delusion, and another
burned with renewed love of his vocation ; a third
became clear as to whether he should become an
ascetic or not; a fourth found himself armed
against temptation. Each one felt his imperfec
tions remedied, and his wants relieved. Thus
Antony became their support, and the guide and
centre of their spiritual life. The mountains and
hills became peopled as with heavenly choirs, who,
singing, praying, and teaching, took heed only to
eternity, maintained concord and love amongst
themselves, and laboured diligently in order that
they might be charitable. Each one lived in his
cell, which was almost always a cavern or a tomb.
None disturbed or were burdensome to the others,
and none perpetrated or suffered injustice. It was
like an independent country of religion, entirely
separated from the world. The cells lay dispersed
here and there, and formed rather a village of cells
than a monastic building. This sort of commu-
er. ANTONY. 115
nity was called a laura. The first began at Pis
pir near the Ked Sea, and soon after it a second
on the Nile at Arsinoe. Antony governed both.
By living under one common guidance and govern
ment, they avoided the danger which is pointed
out in these words of Holy Scripture : " Woe to
him that standeth alone ; when he falls there is no
one to help him up/ In this way the unformed
life of the ascetics was gathered together into a
more decided shape, and Antony was looked upon
as the founder of the monastic life. In the midst
of a barren land, there sprang forth the highest
spiritual beauty, and it might be truly said, 4C How
beautiful are thy tabernacles, Jacob ! and thy
tents, Israel ! as woody valleys, as watered gar
dens near the rivers, as tabernacles which the
Lord hath pitched, as cedars by the water-side." l
Antony did not forget his own soul whilst thus
directing the souls of others. He generally re
mained alone in his cell, and diligently plaited reed
mats, an occupation which did not prevent him
from praying interiorly. His whole soul was in
flamed with a most ardent desire for heaven, and
he was often heard to sigh with inexpressible long
ings, and at the same time with sorrow that his
body still required food and sleep. He seldom
ate with the brethren, and even if he sat down
with them, it often happened that he became im
mersed in contemplation, and forgot to eat. He
nevertheless constantly advised the brethren not to
maltreat their bodies so much as to make them
unable to work, which was contrary to the will of
God, but at the same time to be careful that the
body did not overcome the soul, but that the soul
should keep complete mastery over the body, and
should lift it up with her, as the Apostle St Paul
says, even to the third heaven.
When Maximin Daia s persecution of the Chris-
1 Num. xxiv. 5, 6.
116 ST. ANTONY.
tians was raging fearfully in Egypt, (from 305 til]
313,) Antony said to his brothers : " Come to Alex
andria; let us be present at the victory of the
martyrs ; perhaps we shall be crowned also, or it
may be permitted us to accompany them to death."
A martyr in will, he hastened with some of the
brethren to Alexandria, and kept by the side ot
the holy confessors everywhere, in the courts of
justice, in prison, and at the place of execution ;
but the destroying angel passed him over. The
magistrates only issued an order, that no monk or
anchorite was to show himself in the streets. All
hid themselves or fled, with the exception of An
tony. In white festal apparel he appeared the
next day on an elevated place, while the confessors
were being brought before the judge, and encour
aged them. No harm came to him in consequence ;
at the end of the persecution he returned to the
desert, and to his daily martyrdom of faith and
suffering. His vigils grew even longer, his fasts
more strict, his prayers more fervent, his desire to
mortify himself more and more violent. He put.
on over his hair shirt another garment of rough
skins, doubly painful in that hot climate, but
what was really painful to him was the concourse
of people coming to him as to a worker of miracles.
He feared the pride that might arise out of the
great esteem in which men held him. They came
from afar in their spiritual and bodily afflictions ;
no distance was too great, and no journey incon
venient ; they complained of no trouble, and were
deterred by no danger ; sea and desert were no
obstacles when it was a question of seeing Antony.
And yet sometimes he would not admit them to
his presence. But he helped them, nevertheless,
by that wonderful power which God had given
him, because he had given himself to God. A
general in the army of the name of Martinian,
came to him, found his cell closed, and most
ST. ANTONY. 117
humbly craved admittance, because he wanted help
for his daughter, who was possessed by the devil.
Antony replied without opening the door, "Where
fore dost thou come to me for aid ? I am an in
firm mortal man like thyself. But if thou dost
believe in Jesus Christ, the Lord whom I also serve,
call upon God with faith and confidence, and thy
daughter will recover." Martinian departed con
soled, and his daughter was cured.
A man from Palestine, called Fronto, who had
also been tormented by evil spirits, sought Antony
out, and begged his prayers. Antony acceded
directly to his wishes, and then said to Fronto
" Now go, thou shalt be healed." The man would
not believe it, and insisted on remaining longer
with Antony ; but he said to him, " Thou wilt not
be healed here ; but when thou settest foot on thy
native land, the mercy of God shall attend thy
steps." At length Fronto resolved to have confi
dence and to return home, and Antony s promise
was fulfilled to the letter.
An inconsolable father and mother, whose
daughter was fearfully afflicted with strange and
painful illnesses, undertook the difficult and tedi
ous journey from Tripoli in North-west Africa.
But when they came to Egypt and heard how
troublesome the journey was through the desert,
and how Antony sometimes refused people ad
mittance, they grew fearful, and begged some
monks who were on the point of setting out to go
to him and to intercede for them. They would
await the result with the holy anchorite Paphnutius,
who, in Maximin s persecution, had had both his
eyes torn out for the faith. The monks departed
and came to Antony. But before they could acquit
themselves of their commission, he related to them
all the circumstances, and added, " I have seen
them in prayer, and the sick child has received,
also in prayer, the assurance of her recovery.
118 ST. ANTONY.
Therefore, neither they nor any one else should
come to me ; for I cannot cure any one ; God
alone can do this, and He certainly will, in all
places, if only He is rightly asked to do so."
Antony longed so earnestly for solitude with
God, that he contemplated taking refuge in the
Upper Thebaid. Whilst he was revolving these
thoughts in his mind, a voice from above said to
him, " Whither goest thou, Antony ? What
drives thee hence?" He knew which voices he
should listen to, and which he should reject, and
he answered, " I am going to fly into the Upper
Thebaid, because things are here required from me
which are too high for me." " Go not thither,"
said the voice ; " thou shalt find rest in the farthest
desert." "How shall I find it?" asked Antony.
The voice was silent. But immediately after he
met some wandering Arabs, (Bedouins,) who some
times travelled about for reasons of commerce
between their oases in the depths of the Egyptian
desert. He asked their leave to go with them into
the desert, which they willingly granted. He
journeyed with them for three days and nights,
and came to a spot which pleased him much.
It was a cliff some thousand feet high, out of which
a spring bubbled up and flowed away in a little
rivulet. Though it was small, some beautiful palm
trees grew on its margin. In the rock there was
a cavern just long enough for a man to lie down
to sleep in it. A hidden entrance led into a narrow,
dark cleft, which opened again into two small
caverns on the top of the mountain of Colzim,
(now the mountain of St. Antony,) one day s
journey from the Ked Sea, Antony remained here,
and made it a paradise of solitude.
The Bedouins gave him some bread, the palm-
trees afforded dates, and the little stream pure
water. Thus he had all he wished. The brethren no
sooner remarked his disappearance than they spread
ST. ANTONY. 119
themselves abroad in every direction to seek for in
formation of him, and soon to their joy they dis
covered his place of abode. They wanted to take him
back again to the lauras, but he said that the voice
and the hand of God had led him hither. If
they wished it, he would sometimes visit all the
monks and the anchorites, and they might alsa
frequently come to him, but this was the place of
his repose.
They begged to be allowed to provide him every
now and then with bread. He did not wish to
impose this burden upon them, and asked them
instead to bring him some grain, with a spade
and a hatchet, and then he would provide for his
own maintenance. This they did. And then
Antony began to carry that out in practice, which
his spiritual children, the monks of later centuries,
have left behind them as an immortal monument,
and for which they deserve the gratitude of men of
all ages and dispositions. The holy old man with
his own hands made the wilderness fruitful. He
increased the number of palms by the side of the
stream ; he conducted the water through various
little canals towards places which seemed to him
favourable for laying out a corn-field and a small
garden, which he planted gradually with vegetables,
a few fruit trees, and one or two vines, not for
himself, nor for his brothers or disciples, but for
the sick and the needy who visited him. He did
not succeed in all this without great exertions and
trouble; but he was indefatigable, and fortified
himself at his work by singing psalms. When he
was quite tired out he sat down under a palmtree,
and constantly praying in his heart, plaited baskets
out of the fibres and leaves of the palms, which he
gave to his disciples when they brought him olives
and oil at intervals in order to strengthen his
gradually failing body.
At first the wild beasts did bis little plantations
120 ST. ANTONY.
a great deal of harm, especially wild asses. They
were accustomed to drink out of the stream, and
they came and fed upon his young corn and
vegetables. Then he once gently took hold of one
of these animals, and said, "Why do you eat
what you have not sown ? and why do you injure
one who never did you any harm ? go, in the name
of God, and return no more." From that time
they never troubled him again. The temptations
of Satan, however, always continued, and the
tried warrior of Christ could not lay aside for a
single moment those spiritual weapons which he
had recommended to his brethren. In this con
stant strife his soul underwent such purification
that it attained to the prerogative of the souls of
the blessed, and rose to the knowledge and discern
ment of all things in God. He saw things in their
inward relation to one another, the consequences
of things in their original cause all time like a
constant present all space in its centre.
Once he rose hastily from prayer and said to two
disciples who were near him, " Take a bottle of
water, my sons, and go quickly in the direction of
Egypt, for I have seen one of our brethren there
in great danger of dying of thirst. Another is
lying already a corpse upon the sand. Hasten ! "
The astonished disciples immediately set out, but
had to take an entire day s journey before they
found the dying brother and the corpse. Another
time he sat in an assembly of several monks on the
summit of his mountain, and conversed with them
on eternal things. As he lifted up his eyes to
heaven he saw a company of angels descend, and
receive a soul which, departing from earth, rose
to meet them. Antony contemplated this happy
vision as if he were already glorified; and as to the
glorified it is one and the same thing to see and
to understand, he knew what this apparition
signified, and after a short pause he said to his
ST. ANTON?. 121
expectant hearers, " Our brother Ammon of Nitria
has just departed this life and entered into eternal
joys/ Nitria was in Lower Egypt, near Lake
Mareotis, at least thirteen days journey from
Oolzim ; and a very numerous community of monks
was established there, amongst whom Ammon was
greatly distinguished, particularly by his wonderful
miracles, which caused him to be celebrated in all
Egypt as a holy instrument of God. After a long
time a message arrived from Nitria which showed
that Antony had seen the precise day and hour of
Ammon s death.
About the year 340, Antony had a vision of a
less consoling nature. He sat buried in contem
plation, sighed often and deeply, got up trembling
from his work, threw himself on his knees, and
remained veiy long in prayer. When he rose at
length, the brothers in alarm begged him to tell
them what had troubled him so sorely. Tears
flowed from his eyes, and he mournfully said:
" my children, what have I seen ! The anger
of the Lord is poured out over the Church ! She
is falling into the power of men who resemble un
reasoning beasts. I saw the holy altar surrounded
by asses, who kicked against it, and overthrew the
tabernacle, with what it contained; and a voice
said, My altar will be desecrated. " But then
the loving old man comforted the desponding
brethren again, and told them that God s wrath
would abate, and the Church would shine forth
with renewed splendour; only they must beware
of the heresy of the Arians. Two years had not
elapsed since this vision, before God s Church in
Alexandria was visited with the stormy and cruel
persecution of the Arians.
God gave him also other revelations for the good
of souls. The brethren once asked him how it
would fare with the soul of man when separated
from the body ? In the following night a voice
122 ST. ANTONY.
a \\akened him and said, "Arise, Antony, go
forth and behold." He obeyed; and issuing
from his cell, he saw a giant standing upon the
earth, whose head reached up to the sky. He
also saw winged forms who were trying to rise
from the earth above the clouds ; but the strong
arm of the giant sought to hold them all down.
He succeeded with some, and dashed them to the
ground, but not with others, who flew upwards.
The giant and the fallen ones then gnashed their
teeth, but the others rejoiced. The voice said,
" Antony, bear this in mind." And he understood
that Satan can only hinder those souls from ascend
ing to heaven whom he has already here below
made to fall, and that he cannot harm holy souls.
These visions inflamed him more and more with
perfect love, and he imparted them to the brethren
in order to enkindle it in them, and give them a
desire of suffering and mortification, with courage
and perseverance in their strife. For his own part
he received them as he did his temptations, re
signed in God, without either wishing for them, or
rejoicing in them, well knowing how dangerous
the unusual ways of the spiritual life are to the
pride of sinful nature. With regard to priests, he
never forgot that through their holy ordination
they belonged to a different order of graces from
him, a simple layman. Although he had received
the unction of the Holy Ghost to an extraordinary
degree, and was, as a Christian, both priest and
king, yet it never entered into his mind so to ex
plain those words of the apostle St. Peter about
the " kingly priesthood" as if he possessed
now in the world the power and distinction of a
king, or in the Church the absolute power of a
priest. A Christian is, indeed, said to be a king ;
but it is in the kingdom of eternity, where a throne
and a crown await him. He is truly called a priest,
a sacrificer ; but H is in a spiritual sense, because
ST. ANTONY.
he daily immolates himself, and has no thoughts
but for holy things. The " kingly priesthood" of
each Christian consists in striving, with a sanctified
soul, after the highest things. Antony s respect
for priests never diminished. He received with
humility the blessing of the bishops. If ecclesi
astics visited him, or if he found himself in their
company, he begged them to say the usual prayers,
instead of doing it himself. He gave to young
deacons the advice which they asked him for, but
he sought to learn something useful from them in
return, and rejoiced in it.
Meanwhile the monks gave Antony no rest ;
they would have him come down from his moun
tain and visit their lauras. He went to Pispir, to
Arsinoe, and also to the anchorites who did not
live in lauras, but in solitary cells, and came to
the boundary of the inhabited country, near his
old home. There he had the pleasure of seeing
his sister again, who was already aged, and who
had always remained in a state of virginity. She
was now superioress of a society of virgins, who
led an ascetic life in community, and formed the
first convent of nuns. The concourse of people
which flocked to Antony was indescribable. He
healed them, exhorted them, comforted, converted,
instructed, and prayed with them. And whilst he
thus " went about doing good," and lovingly spread
salvation and blessing around him, he was longing
for his peaceful mountain in the desert, and thirsted
as ardently for his wilderness as those whose hearts
are set upon temporal things thirst after the world.
Like one escaped from a great danger, he hastened
joyfully back to his solitude as soon as his presence
was no longer imperatively necessary. A distin
guished person was once completely captivated
by Antony s winning and salutary discourse, and
begged him to give him a little more opportunity
of edifying himself therewith. But Antony re-
124 ST. ANTONY.
plied : " Indeed I cannot do it. As the fish
belongs to the water, and dies on dry land, so the
monk belongs to his cell. By remaining too long
in the air of the world, he is in danger of spiritual
death, because his resolutions and his efforts easily
relax under its influence."
The Emperor Constantine heard of this great
servant of God, and sent a letter to him in the
desert from his golden Byzantium, with a humble
request for good advice and prayers. His sons,
Constans and Constantius, did the same. Antony
was neither flattered nor surprised at these marks
of imperial favour, and was unwilling to answer
the letters, because, he said, he did not know how
to write according to the forms of the world. But
the brethren advised him to do so, for fear his
neglect should offend the Emperor. " Then I will
do it," said Antony. " But do not wonder or re
joice that the kings of this world should write to
me ; they are only sinful mortal men like ourselves.
We should rather wonder and rejoice that God
Himself should have written His holy law for us
through His only-begotten Son." Then he an
swered the letters in the way that beseemed a holy
and humble solitary, who has nothing at heart but
the honour of God and the salvation of the souls
of both kings and peoples.
His renown penetrated into the lecture-rooms of
the heathen philosophers, as it had done into the
palace of the Emperor. Two of them repaired to
the mountain of Colzim. When Antony perceived
the newcomers, he saw in spirit who they were.
He therefore immediately asked them through the
interpreter who accompanied them, " Wherefore
do you wise men undertake a troublesome journey
to an old fool such as I?" They answered that
he was no fool, but a wise man. Then he replied :
" It would not be worth the trouble to come to a
fool. But if you believe that I possess wisdom,
ST. ANTONY. 125
you should take pains to acknowledge it, and to
follow my instructions. If I had come to you with
such a belief, I should have followed your doctrines.
Therefore, as you have come to me as to a Chris
tian philosopher, do you become what I am, a
Catholic Christian." The philosophers wondered
at this simple and wise logic, and returned to their
philosophical schools and systems. And other
philosophers came again to him who thought him
not wise, but extremely narrow-minded, because
he could neither read nor write. They asked him
a few questions, with great contempt for his igno
rance. Antony answered : " Tell me, I beg of
you, which is the oldest, understanding or letters ?
Did intellect invent letters, or did letters invent
intellect ? " As they answered that intellect had
invented letters, Antony said, " Very well ; there
fore whoever possesses understanding has no need
of letters." This answer pleased them very much ;
for he had such a refined way of expressing him
self, and was, at the same time, so kind and
cheerful, that no one could be angry with
him, but all loved him. Nevertheless the phi
losophy of the heathen world did not yet consider
itself conquered. Some of the most learned and
experienced men in art and science travelled, as it
were, to the end of the world, to enlighten this
simpleton in the wilderness, and to prove to him
the " folly of the Cross." He conversed more fully
and seriously with these, reviewed with them their
idolatrous doctrine, showed them its absurdity and
revolting immorality ; and then, having set before
them the Christian doctrines, he said, " Either you
believe what our Holy Scriptures say, or you do
not. If you do not believe, you may not revile the
Cross, for you do not acknowledge it at all. But
if you believe, why do you stay beside the Cross,
instead of proceeding to the Resurrection, to the
Ascension ? The very same Scripture bears wit-
126 ST. ANTONY.
ness to the shame of the Crucified, and the glory
of the Risen Son of God. Read it with simplicity,
and you will see that all that Christ has done and
worked proves Him to be God, dwelling amongst
us for the salvation of men." The philosophers dis
coursed at great length, and vainly beat the air
with their sophisms. Then Antony smilingly an
swered, " You boast of the proofs which you pro
duce, and require that we also should not honour
God without proofs. Tell me, therefore, how is
the true knowledge of all things, and, above all,
the knowledge of God, attained? Is it a know
ledge through demonstration, or a knowledge
springing immediately from the power of faith?
Which is the most ancient, knowledge through
reason, or knowledge through faith?" The phi
losophers replied : " Knowledge through faith is
the most ancient." " You have rightly answered,"
said Antony ; " f or faith arises from the direct
application of the soul to divine things ; and dia
lectics are only the science of making inferences
about divine things by reflection and abstraction.
He who possesses the strength of faith has no need
of this art : it might even be superfluous to him ;
for we recognise by faith what you seek to arrive at
by arguments, and you cannot even conceive what
we acknowledge. Therefore knowledge through
faith is surer and more sublime than your sophis
tical conclusions. Consequently our holiness rests
not upon such wisdom, but upon the virtue of
faith which is given to us by Jesus Christ from
God. It follows from this that our doctrine is
true: behold, without knowledge we believe in
God, and recognise His Almighty Providence in
His works.
" By this you may see how strong we are who
lean by faith upon Christ, and how weak you are
with your wordy and sophistical disputes, that you
gain no one over to you from Christianity, and
ST. ANTONY. 127
that you do not check the progress of the religion
of Christ. Where are your oracles ? Where are
the Egyptian sorceries ? Where the juggling of
the magicians ? When did all that cease ? With
the appearance of the Cross of Christ. Is not
that wonderful ? Your religion was never perse
cuted, but was quietly transmitted by inheritance ;
ours was persecuted, and yet flourishes more
abundantly and fruitfully than yours. When was
death ever so despised as on the coming of the
Cross of Christ? When did the virtue of vir
ginity manifest itself thus ? Look at the martyrs
who, for Christ s sake, despise death ; behold the
virgins of the Church, who, for Christ s sake, pre
serve themselves pure and unspotted in body and
soul : they are an answer to you ; they have arisen
out of the power of the Cross of Christ. Your
boasted fabric sinks to ruin, but the faith of Christ,
which you despise and the emperors persecute,
fills all the earth.
" Let this be enough to convince you that the
Christian faith is the only true religion. For see !
you have no faith, and are always seeking how to
prove this or that. Believe, therefore, and then
you will learn that it is not sophistry, but faith
working through love, which is needed. If you
only have faith and love, you will no longer seek
for proofs, but you will consider faith in Christ
sufficient by itself. *
There were some persons then near Antony
whom he was to deliver from their painful state.
These were the possessed. This state, which is
often mentioned in Scripture, was frequently seen
in the first Christian centuries. The powers of
darkness intrenched themselves in many forms
and ways to maintain their supremacy and to re
sist grace. Redemption made the regenerated
man not only figuratively a child of God, but
actually a living temple of the Holy Ghost, in
128 ST. ANTONY.
which, according to our Lord s promise, " He
Himself and the Father made their abode," and
transformed him again into the image of God.
In opposition to this kingdom of light, of salva
tion, and of holiness, the ancient serpent sought to
maintain his kingdom, and to set up his throne
in the unredeemed sinful creature. And as by
grace man is raised to the likeness of God, so-
without it he sinks to a resemblance of the evil
spirit who abides in him. Possession took various
forms, sometimes driving its victims into the con
dition of inferior animals, or into a perverted state
of mind ; sometimes appearing as mysterious and
frightful bodily disorders, or as nameless pains
and despondencies of soul. These afflictions, al
though unspeakably great for those subject ta
them, were still only an impotent revolt of the
serpent against his Destroyer ; they were ejections
of his poison against the Heel that was crushing
his head. Like other saints, the favourites of
God, Antony received from Him the power of
delivering the possessed from the evil spirit which
tormented them, by the sign of the Cross, from
which all graces flow, and by the Most Holy Name
of Jesus, " in which every knee bows in heaven,
on earth, and under the earth." He exercised
this power precisely at the time when the wise
ones of this world were seeking to convince him of
their superior knowledge. But they were over
come, and confessed that they thought it an honour
to have seen and spoken with this wonderful old
man.
It very seldom happened that any one slighted
Antony s warnings or admonitions. Emperors
and governors, warriors and magistrates, bishops
and priests, gentle and simple, ecclesiastics and
laymen, all honoured him. The Arians alone
despised him, as was natural, for they despised
Christ. Arms the heresiarch taught that the Son
ST. ANTONY. 129
was not of one substance with the Father, but
only His first creature. The immediate conse
quence of this doctrine was the denial of the Holy
Ghost ; for the Holy Ghost proceeds, as the
Catholic Church teaches, from the Father and
the Son. Therefore Arius denied the chief mys
tery of the Christian faith the dogma of the
Holy Trinity, and had thus ceased to be a
Christian. But it is frequently the case with
heretics, that although they are no Christians,
and have nothing in common with Christianity,
they add falsehood to apostasy, and assert that
they are Christians that they retain the essen
tials, and reject only what is not essential. Thus
did Arius also. If he had plainly announced his
doctrine in its forlorn nakedness, all men would
have fled from such a skeleton. But he aimed at
entrapping the shortsighted and the thoughtless :
and he succeeded by asserting that the Son of God,
although not equal to the Father, and only His
creature, was nevertheless God. By this assertion
he was not only heretical, not only unchristian,
but he taught direct polytheism and idolatry, by
adjudging divine honour and worship to a creature
as well as to God. The passions of men made the
faith a convenient mask ; intrigues and factions,
worldly dispositions and indiscretion, also sought
under this head, as they always and everywhere
do seek, the satisfaction of their own selfish ends ;
and thus Arianism became a scourge which, dur
ing two centuries, inflicted bloody wounds on the
Church of God. Resistance to it occupied the
whole life of St. Athanasius the Great, who was
obliged to quit his patriarchal throne at Alex
andria because the Arian bishop Gregory, power
fully protected and supported by the whole faction
of the heathens and Jews of Alexandria, had ob
tained possession of the see of the Evangelist St.
Mark. Athanasius, one of the greatest and most
i
130 ST. ANTONT.
elevated minds, not only of his own, but of any
age in the world s history, was an intimate friend,
admirer, and disciple of Antony, and, princely as
he was, wrote the life of this poor, ignorant,
basket-making solitary, because he recognised in
him a faithful imitator of Jesus. And Antony
being really such, it was to be expected that the
Arians should despise him, for no fellowship can
exist between Christ and Belial. Holy and unholy
souls, such as an Athanasius and an Arius, cannot
have one and the same object for their reverence
and their love.
A new kind of persecution of the Christians
then reigned in Alexandria. Hardly thirty years
had elapsed since the one carried on by Maximin
Daia, before the wolf made a freeh incursion into
the fold. This time it was in sheep s clothing
and therefore one of those which our Blessed Lord
had warningly predicted. Arianism was waging
war against the Church. The Arian governor
Philagrius joyfully received Bishop Gregory, whom
an Arian synod at Alexandria had imposed upon
the Egyptian Catholics as their patriarch, to their
great surprise and sorrow. - They turned away
with horror from the intruder, and refused to sur
render their churches to him and his followers.
Then Philagrius excited, by the hope of booty,
the Jewish and Pagan populace, which was very
numerous in the great commercial city, to destroy
and plunder the churches. In the year 341, in
Holy Week, Christ was covered with shame and
nailed to the cross in His people. Fierce and
rapacious hordes, armed with swords and clubs,
forced their way into the church of St. Quirinus,
and fell upon the faithful, killing some, wounding
others, carrying off many to prison, and giving
themselves up to every kind of excess. They
trampled under foot some monks who had come
from the desert for the festival of Easter. They
ST. ANTONY. 131
tore off the veils of virgins consecrated to God,
and scourged them to blood. Women were
beaten, and priests were maltreated and struck
with rods, to induce them to deny Christ. The
Sacred Hosts were scattered about, and birds and
fir cones were offered up to idols on the altar of
the Holy Sacrifice, whilst heathen hymns alter
nated with blasphemies of Christ. Pagans and
Jews stepped into the baptismal font and perpe
trated abominations, and, after burning the Holy
Scriptures, they plundered the altar, and all the
wine, oil, and candles they could find, and, lastly,
tore down the rails and the doors. All this was
permitted by Gregory ; yea, on Good Friday, the
outrages were renewed under his very eyes, and
with his approval. For, as he entered a church
with Philagrius, and the faithful shunned him
with loathing, instead of asking for his episcopal
blessing, he caused thirty-four persons to be ar
rested on the spot, publicly beaten with rods, and
put in chains. Amongst them was a virgin who
was reciting the Psalter, and who, during this
shameful ill-usage, never laid down her book, nor
lifted her eyes from it. Even on Easter Day
many Catholics were thrown into prison, and
Philagrius, the governor, punished the loud com
plaints of the faithful as if they were the perpe
trators of crime, and treated them with outrageous
cruelty if they demanded justice before his tri
bunal. In this manner Gregory took possession
of all the churches in Alexandria, and the Catho
lics were obliged, in order to avoid holding com
munion with the Arians, to renounce all public
worship, without having the consolation of being
able to assemble silently in the houses as in times
of heathen persecution. For Gregory s eager spies
continually crept about, and instantly gave Phil-
agrius information of such assemblies, which were
then violently dispersed, and punished with im-
132 ST. ANTONT.
prisonment. Even the priests who took the Last
Sacraments to the sick were watched, and, if pos
sible, deterred from it.
After the Church in Alexandria had been sup
pressed, Gregory and Philagrius made a journey
through the entire patriarchate with the same
object, taking with them a worthy associate,
Balacius, the commander-in-chief of the army.
.Bishops who had grown gray in their holy offices
and cares were deposed, and condemned to mean
public works. Bishop Potamon, the venerable old
man, the holy confessor, whose eye had been torn
out by the tortures of the heathen persecution,
was beaten so heavily, that he died of his wounds.
Anchorites and monks, priests and laymen, women
and virgins, were arrested, scourged with rods, and
then admonished to enter into ecclesiastical com
munion with the Arians.
Antony had very often begged the governors
and judges to be gentle and merciful in their
offices, to release prisoners, and not to deal too
harshly with debtors ; and as it was now a ques
tion of those who were perfectly innocent and
defenceless, he wrote many times beseechingly
to Gregory, but in vain. He wrote also to
Balacius, who had caused virgins and hermits to
be stripped and scourged. "I see the anger of
God approaching," he said to him. " It is already
nigh ; in order that the eternal destruction which
threatens thee may not overtake thee, desist from
persecuting the Christians." Balacius laughed,
threw the letter to the ground and spat upon it,
reviled the messenger, and ordered him to say to
Antony: "As thou art an anchorite, and dost
interest thyself in them, I will punish thee also."
A few days later, Balacius rode out with the gov
ernor, and was suddenly bitten in the leg by his
horse so severely, that he died of the wound.
About this time Antony was tempted to think
ST. ANTOKT.
that no one had ever yet been so faithful and
perfect a servant of God as he. It is related in
the life of St. Paul how Antony was enlightened
upon this point, and came to Paul, and with what
love these two holy patriarchs, who had been so
unusually and lovingly guided by God Himself,
greeted each other, to separate again directly after
upon earth. Antony returned to his beloved moun
tain, and lived for thirteen years more, full of graces
and blessings. He interested himself so deeply in
all the suffering and the oppressed that it seemed
as though he himself bore their sorrows. He was
like a physician for the whole of Egypt. Every
one repaired to the mountain of Colzim, as to a
healing spring. All passions, pains, and miseries
lost their sting near Antony ; those who came in
affliction, departed in joy ; the disheartened poor
came, and he taught them to despise riches ; the
sorrowful came, weeping for their dead, and he
dried their tears ; the angry came with hate and
enmity in their hparts, and he pacified them ;
monks came with lukewarm souls and failing
energy, and he raised them up, and strengthened
them in renewed good resolutions ; young men
came flying from the seductions of the world, and
he inspired them with contempt for it; maidens
came, for whom the bridal wreath and marriage
feast was already prepared ; they saw Antony, and
earthly love being extinguished by heavenly love,
they prepared their souls for the marriage feast of
the Lamb ; the afflicted came, who were tormented
by sickness or misery, by temptations or devils,
by evil or sorrowful thoughts, by the thousands of
interior and exterior calamities of which this earthly
life is so full, and Antony could always give counsel,
and procure relief. By means of his gift of dis
cernment of spirits, he could narrowly observe the
inward thoughts of each one, his ruling passion,
his inclinations, and the motives that had brought
134 ST. ANTONY.
him thither. He administered his consolations
and his remedies accordingly, and none could
deceive or mislead him. He attained to a very
great age, and the approach of his death was
revealed to him by God. He once more left his
beloved mountain cheerfully and expeditiously, and
appeared in the lauras, going through them all, ex
amining and arranging everything ; but the joy of
the monks at his visit was changed into sorrow when
he announced to them, with inexpressible serenity
of soul, that he had come to them for the last time.
" I do not think, my dear children," he said, "that
I shall ever see you again in this world, for I am
one hundred and five years old, and my human
nature is inclining towards its end ; grieve not,
tor I am journeying with great joy from a strange
land unto my home ; but constantly remember
that you are to die daily, and that you must keep
yourselves pure from all stains, in order to rejoice
likewise over your return home to your heavenly
country. The only means of keeping yourselves
in this purity is firm faith in our Lord Jesus
Christ, in the doctrines of the holy Catholic Church,
and in the traditions of the fathers as you have
received them from holy writings, and from my
exhortations. Keep yourselves entirely apart from
heretics, and the heterodox ; flee from them what
ever they may be called, whether it be Arians or
Meletiaus, or any other name, for they are not in
the truth nor in love. Be not confounded, nor fear
if you see the powerful ones of this world, the
princes and potentates take the false religion under
their protection ; theirs is only a human and
earthly protection, and it will perish together with
the falsehood it seeks to sustain."
The brethren broke forth in tears and lamenta
tions, because he would no longer remain in the midst
of them, and grant them the consolation of his pres
ence and instructions to the last But solitude
ST. ANTONY. 135
with God had been the persevering attraction of
his life, and this supernatural desire led him back
again to his mountain, around whose base a little
paradise had grown up, created by his own indus
trious and blessed hands. The old custom was
still in use at that time in Egypt of drying the
corpses into mummies, and preserving them un-
buried in sepulchral chambers, or even sometimes
in houses for many years. Antony abhorred
this custom, which may so easily give rise to unholy
practices. He had often spoken zealously against
it, and he feared that the monks, out of a corrupt
affection, might deny his body its rest in the grave,
which has been sanctified by the Holy Body of
Jesus. He therefore took a fatherly leave of
them, and returned to his cell.
It was the custom that one or two young monks
should live near those who were very old, partly
to serve them in their illnesses and infirmity, and
partly to benefit by their example and their teach
ing. Therefore, for the last fifteen years, two
disciples had lived near Antony, and he had guided
them in the spiritual life with great affection.
Their names were Pelusian and Isaac, and the
latter, being well versed in foreign tongues, was
his interpreter. He summoned them to himself a
few months later, when sickness came upon him,
and made them his executors. He wished to be
buried by them in a- place which should be known
to them alone, and to no one besides ; " for I trust
in God," he said, "that at the general resurrection
my body will rise again, even without having been
embalmed." To St. Athanasius he left one of his
sheepskin garments, and the other to the Bishop
Serapion, who was a brave confessor of the faith
and defender of the Church; and his hair shirt
he left to his two disciples. Then he said : " My
little children, I am now going the way of my
fathers God calls me. I see that it is so. Never
136 ST. ANTONY.
lose the fruit of your labours, be abstemious, per
severing, courageous ; the everlasting tabernacles
await you ; save your souls, my children 1
Antony departs, and is no more with you." The
disciples kissed him ; lovingly and serenely he
looked upon them once more, laid himself down,
smiled, and died as he had lived, happy in Him
in Whom he had believed.
Such was the end of this mighty one in the
kingdom of God. During his long life, he was
never ill, he never lost the vigour of his body, his
upright posture, his active walk, the brightness of
liis eyes, or any of his teeth. Athanasius the Great
wrote his life, in order to give to all monks an
example of the perfection of their state, and at the
same time to show them in what this perfection
consists. In the preface, he says, " It has been
a great advantage to me to think of St. Antony,
for the mere knowledge of how he lived is a good
guide to virtue." One example out of a thousand
will show how right Athanasius was.
Thirty years after the death of Antony, who
died in 356, three young men sat in a pleasant
house encompassed by a garden at Milan. One
was a celebrated teacher of rhetoric, another a
professor of jurisprudence, and the third, who
belonged to the imperial court, and was called
Pontitian, was a Christian. The two others were
only catechumens, and were by no means firm in
the Christian faith. Pontitian had read the life of
Antony, and was speaking to his friends about
the renowned Egyptian anchorite, and about the
monastic life which had been formed by him and
around him ; and they were amazed, for these
things were new to them. Pontitian said more
over, " When I was at Treves with the imperial
court, two young men of my acquaintance went
one day to walk in the gardens outside the town,
and found in a simple and retired country house
ST. ANTONY. 137
some men who were living a poor and retired lift
after the fashion of the Egyptian monks. They
entered into conversation with them, went into
their house, and found there the history of the life
of St. Antony. One of the young men opening it
read aloud some of it to his companion, and they
were so taken with it, that they sat down and did
not rise again till they had read the manuscript
entirely through. But they arose renewed in spirit,
and firmly resolved to forsake their possessions, their
position in the court, their worldly prospects and
their brides, and to join themselves to the poor in
spirit who have the promise of the kingdom of
heaven. Another friend and I had gone out witli
them ; but having taken another path, we only
began to seek them when the day was declining,
and we found them at last in the little house with
the good men, and proposed to them to return
with us to the emperor s palace. But they im
parted to us their intention to serve God alone
without reserve, and, moreover, to begin from that
hour and in that spot to do so, and they invited
us to embrace the same purpose. We wished
them success, and recommended ourselves to their
prayers ; but not feeling this sublime vocation in
our souls, we returned to the palace with hearts
bowed down to earth, whilst those two whose
hearts were raised towards heaven remained in
the poor little cottage with the servants of God.
The noble maidens to whom they were betrothed
no sooner heard of these things than they also dedi
cated themselves to God."
Thus Pontitian spoke, and then left the two
men who had listened to him with the greatest
attention. He was hardly gone when one of them
exclaimed : " What is this ? what have we heard ?
The simple rise up and bear heaven away with
violence, and we, the learned, the wise, the edu
cated, we fainthearted dastards wallow in flesh
138 ST. ANTONY.
and blood ! " He hurried into the garden, threw
himself on the grass under a figtree, sighing and
sobbing, and wept from the unutterable torture of
his mind. The suffering of his soul which longed
for God, whilst his passions chained it to the
earth, flooded him with tears. " Lord ! O
Lord ! how long ! " was his cry. " Shall I then
always say tomorrow, tomorrow without fail ?
Why not today, why not now break with this
earthly misery ? " In this unspeakable oppression
of heart it occurred to him that Antony had re
ceived as if God Himself had spoken them directly
to him, the words : " Sell all whatever thou hast,
and give to the poor, and thou shalt have trea
sure in heaven, and come follow me." And he
arose, took up the book of St. Paul s epistles,
opened it, and read in silence, " Put ye on
the Lord Jesus Christ." 1 The night passed away,
the day broke ; he was saved, and converted to
God on the spot, and his friend Alypius with him.
And this convert was St. Augustine. He himself
relates it in the Eighth Book of his Confessions,
by which he in his turn has drawn thousands of
souls to God, as Antony had drawn his. Antony,
Athanasius, Augustine ! What greatness, what
genius, what sanctity and beauty of soul, what
acuteness of mind and largeness of heart, what
cherubic knowledge and seraphic love do these
three names represent ! What made them so
great? Solely their mother, the Holy Catholic
Church, who gave them the supernatural life of
love, the love of suffering. With this love Antony
prays, Athanasius combats, Augustine teaches, and
the glory which rests on their brows is none other
than the reflected light of the Holy Ghost who
lives in the Church for evermore.
1 Rom. xiii. 14.
ST. HILARION. 139
ST. HILABION.
" Thou art mine. ISAIAS xliii. 1.
As there were children amongst the martyrs, so
there were also found children who embraced the
martyrdom of the soul with supernatural love, and
like thousands of others renounced the world for
Christ s sake.
Amongst those who, thirsting for salvation,
sought Antony in the desert, there once appeared
a remarkably delicate and beautiful boy of four
teen called Hilarion. His home was in Palestine
where it borders on the Lesser Arabian desert and
the Isthmus of Suez. He was born in a place
called Thabatha, near Gaza, the ancient city oi
the Philistines, and he was like a rose amongst
thorns, for his parents were pagans. They were
rich, and wished to do all in their power to give
their son a good education, and develop his bril
liant talents. The schools of Alexandria had a
wide reputation; there they sent Hilarion vert
young to the house of a tutor, and he learned
with zeal under his superintendence. But the
spirit of heathenism, both in religion and in
the world, was so repulsive to him that he
never indulged childish curiosity by going to see
the games in the amphitheatre. When and how
grace led him to the Christian faith is known to
God alone. The fruit of this grace was that
he abandoned grammar and rhetoric, Plato and
Aristotle, as soon as ever he heard of Antony,
whose name at that time was renowned through
out Egypt. Hilarion penetrated through the desert
to Antony, and immediately became his disciple
and scholar. He laid aside worldly clothing,
assumed the rough sack-like tunic and the scapu
lar of sheepskin, and lived like the other an-
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COM
140 ST. HILAKION.
chorites. He also kept his eyes fixed on Antony,
and observed how humbly he received every one,
how lovingly he instructed the brethren, how
austere a life he led, without ever deviating from
his fasts, his vigils, and his prayers. These things
pleased the holy youth extremely ; but he disliked
the constant influx of people who came to Antony
with their many cares and necessities. He said
to himself : " I did not leave the town to find
again all this crowd in the desert. It may be
very well for our Father Antony, for he has fought
his fight, and receives in reward the grace to help
others in fighting theirs. But I have to begin,
and I must begin in the same way that he
did."
With this determination he left the desert, after
two months, beloved by Antony, and admired by all
the anchorites, and returned to his own country.
His parents had died. He divided the inheritance
they had left him between his brothers and sisters,
and the poor; and completely denuded of every
earthJy possession, he sought out such a place of
abode for himself as should become one who had
renounced all, to be the disciple of Christ. This
extreme poverty was his joy. The seaport and
commercial town of Majuma lay a few miles from
Gaza, and from thence a long marshy district of
the coast reached as far as Egypt, and the mouth
of the arm of the Nile forming the delta, beyond
Pelusium. This is a swampy desert where there is
no living thing save flies and gnats, and nothing
thrives but reeds and rushes; and which is, if
I>ossible, still more desolate and dreary than the
sandy desert which bounds it on the south. This
was the place of Hilarion s choice. His relations
and friends in Thabatha and Gaza warned him
that this wilderness was at times very unsafe, on
account of sundry robbers and murderers who roved
about in the neighbourhood o< Majuma in search of
ST. HILARION. 141
booty, and who plundered merchants and travel
lers, and then escaped into the desert, where no one
dared to follow them. Hilarion s answer was, that
he feared not murderers, but only everlasting death,
Every one shuddered at this project, in one so
young and so delicate in frame, and wondered af
his fervour of heart, which, arising from his ardent
faith, shone forth from his eyes, and cast a marvel
lous splendour over his countenance. But he put
on a rough cloak, such as the peasants of that
country wore, over his hair-shirt and scapular, took
with him a slender provision of dried figs, and
proceeded into the depths of the inhospitable
desert, where he had the sea in front of him, and be
hind him an interminable morass. For protection
against the storms from the sea, which were some
times accompanied by torrents of rain, he built
a kind of hut out of the clods of earth of the
swamp, which he roofed with reeds, and plaiting a
mat of rushes to cover the damp ground, he took
possession of this hovel as though it were the ante
chamber of heaven. He was then fifteen years old.
He began his warfare against the natural man witV
incredible valour. Fifteen dried figs daily, which
he never ate till after sunset, were his only food ,
and as he was mindful of the apostolic saying,
" If any man will not work, neither let him eat,"
he endeavoured to make a portion of the swampy
land productive, that he might grow a few vege
tables. Besides which, like the Egyptian anchorites,
he plaited baskets, not out of palm leaves, which
were not to be had, but out ot rushes, whose brittle-
ness made it an exceedingly troublesome work. He
sought to keep his soul constantly united to God by
prayer and contemplation of divine mysteries and
heavenly things, and thereby to sanctify all his
actions. The natural man is so inclined towards
earthly things by reason of the fall, that it seeks
everywhere to assert its claim to them. Hilarion
142 ST. HILARION.
experienced this also. Thoughts entered into his
soul, and images appeared before his eyes, in which
although he knew nothing of the world and its plea
sures, he recognised temptations to evil, because they
sought to disturb his joy in God, by promising him
false joys. Then the holy youth was angry with him
self, and smote his breast contemptuously, because
it contained a heart of flesh and blood which dared
to stir in opposition to the heavenly desires of his
soul. In order to strengthen the energy of his
soul, and to crush his inferior nature, he commenced
a terrific fast. He ate a few figs, and drank a bitter
juice which he pressed out of the grass of the marsh,
only every third day, or even every fourth. Yet
he never intermitted any of his laborious work,
and he redoubled his vigils and prayers. His deli
cate body was wasted to a mere skeleton, but his
spirit grew strong and overcame every infernal
deceit. As soon as he had so accustomed himself
to any bodily mortification, that through the plia
bility of human nature it had become a habit to
him, he immediately invented some new torture.
He lived in the way described above till his twen
tieth year; he then left his damp hut, collected
stones with great exertions, and built therewith a
sort of cell or cavern, It was indeed long enough
for him to lie down at full length in it, but only
four feet wide, and five feet high. It was impos
sible to stand upright in it, and it resembled a
grave more than a cell. His nourishment consisted
at this time of a few lentils, which he soaked in
cold water. Afterwards he took bread with salt
and water, then he lived for three years on raw
roots and wild herbs, after which he returned to
six ounces of bailey-bread daily.
At the age of sixty-four, he made a fresh begin
ning with incredible zeal in the service of God,
and in austerity towards himself; and abstained
from bread to eat only cabbage mixed with some
ST. HILARION. 143
meal. Of this he never ate more than five ounces
a day, and upon that he attained his eightieth year.
Hilarion s solitude was once invaded by robbers.
These wicked men well knew that nothing was to
be found there, but they came for the pleasure of
frightening this poor hermit. But they wandered
about in his neighbourhood the whole night, al
though they were very familiar with it, and did
not find him till broad daylight, when he was
quietly sitting in his poor cell, plaiting baskets and
praying. "What would you do if murderers sur
prised you?" they asked him. "So poor a man
as I am fears them not," replied Hilarion. " But
they might kill you out of vexation at finding
nothing." "They certainly might, but still I
should not fear them, for I am quite ready to die."
Such holy peace in this complete poverty and
abandonment made so deep an impression upon
these quarrelsome, bad men, that they felt remorse,
and promised him to amend their lives.
Otherwise Hilarion was little disturbed in his
solitude, although it was known in the whole of
Palestine what an unearthly life he was leading,
and how completely he was immersed in prayer.
He knew the whole of the sacred Scriptures by
heart ; and when he had finished his daily psalms
and hymns, he was accustomed to recite them
slowly and devoutly as in the presence of God.
Thus twenty-two years passed away, which were
occupied in nothing but the longing for God.
Single solitaries, or those who wished to become
such, sought him out now and then, brought him
his scanty necessaries of life, and received in return
the baskets which he wove with such great trouble ;
but it pleased God to keep him during this length
of time completely hidden. After this he received
one day an unexpected visit. A woman of Eleu-
theropolis, in Palestine, came to him with the firm
confidence that such a mortified soul must be more
144 ST. HILARION.
intimately united to God than other men, an*
could therefore pray more efficiently. Hilarion
was not in the habit of receiving such visits in hi*
desert, and was also determined not to have any
concern with them ; but the woman fell upon her
knees, and cried out with a mournful voice, " Fly
not, father, and forgive my temerity ! Kegard
only my necessity, and not my sex, although this
sex brought forth the Saviour. I am in need of
thy intercession." Then Hilarion kindly asked
what her desire was, and she told him that her
husband s heart was turned away from her, because
their marriage of fifteen years standing had not
been blessed by children, so that she had a double
grief; and she entreated Hilarion to assist her,
and bestow upon her a spiritual alms. He com
forted her, and encouraged her to trust rather to
God, who has ordained the time and the hour for
all things, than to the prayers of a poor solitary.
The gift of consolation is a grace of holy souls;
the woman returned, strengthened and rejoic
ing, to her native city, and gratefully praised
Hilarion s intercession when her wish was after
wards fulfilled, and God gave her a son. At the
same time, a still more afflicted woman had re*
course in the deepest grief to Hilarion. This was
Aristeneta, the wife of Elipius, the governor of
Palestine, who had made a journey to Egypt with
him and with her three sons solely to visit St.
Antony. On their journey home, the three boys
tdckened at Gaza of such a dangerous fever that
their recovery was hopeless, notwithstanding the
exertions of the physicians and the most careful
nursing of their parents. Aristeneta herself went
about like a dying person between the deathbeds
of her children. Then her maid-servants told her
of the holy anchorite who led such a saintly life in
the desert by the sea, that God took great delight
in his prayers. Aristeneta arose and. with the
3T. HILARION. 145
permission of her husband, went to Hilarion, ac
companied by a few retainers. She cried to him,
even from afar off, " I beg of thee, for the love
of Jesus Christ, to come to Gaza and restore
my sons to life." Hilarion excused himself, and
said that he went very seldom, and only from
the greatest necessity, even into a quiet village ;
and that he never would enter a town, still less
a large heathen city like that, full of idols
and idolatrous temples. Aristeneta threw herself
at his feet, and implored him, saying, tc Thou
shouldst come all the more, and glorify the name
of Jesus, and put the idols to shame by saving my
children." Hilarion still continually refused, be
cause his humility shunned all ostentation; but
Aristeneta remained on her knees, repeating only
these words, "By the Holy Blood of Jesus, save
my children ! " and she wept so bitterly that her
followers burst into tears. Hilarion, overcome by
compassion, promised her at length to be in Gaza
at sunset. He kept his word, and came, and
prayed by the dying boys, who were immediately
cured. They recognised their delighted parents,
praised God, kissed Hilarion s hands with grati
tude, and asked, in childish fashion, for some
thing to eat. This sign that the power of God
abode in his prayers spread Hilarion s name abroad
in the world, and his hermitage became a place of
pilgrimage. Heathens came, and returned be
lieving ; believers came, and returned no more to
the world.
Up to that time there had been neither monas
teries nor monks in Syria and Palestine. Hilarion
became their founder, and, at the same time,
a master of the spiritual life for all those, rich
and poor, men and women, who thronged to him
in crowds. The disposition in which he received
them is beautifully described in a few words by
St. Jerome, who wrote his life : " Our Lord Jesus
K
146 BT. HILAfUON.
had the aged Antony in Egypt, and in Palestine
Hilarion." When the sick and suffering came to
Antony, he was accustomed to say, " Why do you
not go to my son Hilarion? He knows better
how to help you than I do." The deserts and
mountains of the Holy Land, of Lebanon and
Anti-Lebanon, Mesopotamia, and Persia, became
peopled by degrees with lovers of the ascetic life,
with fervent penitents, with anchorites, some of
whom lived in complete retirement, others in
lauras in community, and who also afterwards
were united together in enclosed dwellings called
cloisters. Hilarion was their spiritual father. He
travelled at times to all these brethren, and visited
them in their cells and lauras, to keep watch
over them, and to encourage them to make pro
gress and persevere. He used to say to them,
"The fashion of this world passeth away, and that
alone remains and gives everlasting life which is
purchased by the tribulations of this present life."
These journeys resembled little migrations of na
tions, for nearly all the anchorites whom he visited
accompanied him a part of his way, so that there
were often about a thousand, or even two thou
sand of them together. Each one had to take a
small provision of food with him, so as not to be
burdensome to any one else. Yet this great
crowd of men was at times a burden to those mo
nasteries or lauras in which Hilarion took shelter.
But the joy the brethren felt in receiving him by
far outweighed the little discomforts they under
went. Hilarion was in the habit of writing down
on paper the places where he would pass the night,
and those which he should only visit by the way.
There was one brother who, although he may
have possessed many good qualities, had not made
much progress in the virtue of holy poverty. He
lived in his vineyard, and looked upon it as
entirely his own property. The brethren asked
ST. HILARION. 147
Hilarion to designate this vineyard as one of his
resting-places, in order to cure the brother of
his avarice. " No," said Hilarion, " wherefore
should we be a burden to the brother, and an
annoyance to ourselves?" When the penurious
man heard this saying, he was ashamed of him
self, and invited HQarion and his followers to pass
the night with him. Hilarion accepted the invi
tation. But before he had set out, the miser
repented over and over again of having given this
invitation ; and he placed watchers all around his
vineyard, with instructions to drive away the pious
company with blows and stones, as soon as ever
they approached the vineyard ; which was accord
ingly done. The brethren were angry with the
miser; but Hilarion laughed and passed by, re
marking to some of his companions, that it is not
avarice, but the blessing of God, which fills the
barns and casks. Then Brother Sabas lovingly
received the little army of three thousand men.
He also had built his cell in his vineyard, and
laboured diligently and carefully in it, but solely
that he might give all the produce to the poor,
living himself like a true ascetic on a little bar
ley bread and vegetables. Although it was the
greatest pleasure of this man, who was voluntarily
poor in Christ, to give a rich harvest to the needy,
yet he hesitated not for a single instant to exercise
hospitality, and to invite the brethren to enter,
and to refresh themselves with his grapes. Hila
rion offered up a prayer with them, and then arose,
blessed the vineyard, and let his flock feed therein,
saying, "Do as you are permitted." They then
continued their pilgrimage. At the vintage, the
produce of this vineyard was much greater than
usual, whilst that of the miser was much scantier.
Hilarion had a great dislike to all those asceticc
who did not trust themselves with perfect con
fidence to the providence of God, but took too
148 8T. HILARION.
much thought for their nourishment, shelter, or
garments. His opinion was, that in order to
undertake the conquest of the kingdom of heaven,
the soldier of Christ should be little encumbered
with baggage. He expelled a brother who spent
the proceeds of his garden sparingly in order to
make a little store for himself, and who even
possessed some ready money. This brother
wished to be reconciled with Hilarion, and there
fore addressed himself to his favourite disciple
Hesichius, and brought, as a proof of his better dis
position, the first crop from his garden, a basket of
green peas. Hesichius showed them to Hilarion
in the evening, but he pushed them away, and
said that their smell was repugnant to him, for he
detected covetousness therein. Then he asked who
had brought the peas ; and after Hesichius had
named the brother, he said : " Put them in the
manger before the oxen, and thou wilt see that
even beasts will reject them. The hand which
gave them is not free from cupidity." Hesichius
obeyed, and the peas remained untouched.
Hilarion had received from God great power
over all that was evil, wherefore persons possessed
came to him from far and near, and he freed them
by his prayers, from the spirits that tormented
them. The promise of our Blessed Lord was ful
filled in this man of faith "As thou hast believed,
so be it done to thee." 1 Even the emperor Con-
stantius sent a young Franconian, one of his at
tendants, with a numerous guard of honour from
Byzantium to Gaza, that he might receive assist
ance from Hilarion. As it sometimes happens, by
the especial permission of God, that those nearest
to the saints honour them the least, so was it in
this case. The inhabitants of Gaza were mostly
Pagans, worshipping their idol Marnas, and hating
Hilarion on account of his miracles, as an enemy
1 Matt. viii. 13.
ST. HILARION. 149
of this Mamas ; but the imperial embassy fright
ened them, and to make amends for their former
insults, many of them joined themselves to the
guard of honour. Hilarion was walking in the
open air, and reciting the psalms in a low voice,
when this concourse of people came to meet him.
He appeared so holy and attractive that they all
fell upon their knees, and he gave them his bless
ing, and bid them return to their homes, keeping
only the one possessed with him. The young man
was in a terrible state, and was so drawn up that
his feet hardly touched the ground, and all his
limbs were dislocated. Moreover, he spoke in
Greek and Syriac, just as he was addressed, al
though, when he was well, he only knew Latin
and Franconian. Many times the indescribable
fury of the paroxysms made him more like a
wild beast than a man. Hilarion commanded
the devil, in the name of the Lord Jesus, to de
part from the young man, and he departed. The
young man then insisted upon giving his benefac
tor ten talents of gold. But Hilarion showed
him a piece of barley-bread, and said, " To him
who lives upon this, gold and dust are alike/
He possessed also great power over wild animals.
An unwieldy Bactrian camel had gone mad, and
had trampled some men to death under its feet.
Then thirty men led it, bound with strong ropes,
to Hilarion, and ran away with the greatest pos
sible speed, when the holy man ordered them to
set the beast free. With outstretched hands he
approached the camel, which was going to attack
him fiercely, when it suddenly fell to the ground
quite tamed.
Thus, as we have seen, Hilarion had passed his
youth in the deepest solitude, and served God alone
in peace. But afterwards he had been obliged to
spend the whole of his mature manhood in constant
intercourse with every kind of people, amidst their
150 8T. HILARION.
cares and necessities, their wants and infirmities,
leading countless souls to the way of truth, and
thousands to the paths of the highest perfection.
He had become the founder of the monastic life
in the East, had called into existence innumerable
cloisters, lauras, and cells, and in the midst of all
these dissipating and dangerous works, in the
midst of the praise and admiration of the best and
noblest of his contemporaries, he had always in
the depths of his soul glorified God alone, and not
himself, never having had the slightest feeling of
pride or of self-complacency.
He was now an old man of sixty-three ; and,
according to the ordinary opinion of mankind, he
might have been at ease about his salvation. But
he was not. He daily wept and longed with un
speakable desires for the peaceful life of his youth.
As the brethren saw him in such grief, they pressed
around him, and he mournfully said, " my child
ren, I have become quite worldly again, and I re
ceive my reward already in this life. Where is the
obscurity of my early years ? Do you not see how
all Palestine and the neighbouring lands honour
me, how noble and wise men, pious priests, and holy
bishops visit me, a miserable man ? Where is my
solitude ? Do you not see how the desert has been
changed into the world, and is filled with people
who come to me with a thousand wants, as if I
could help them, and as if any one were not a
better instrument of God than I ? Where is my
poverty ? Alas ! under the name of monasteries
and the care of the brethren, I have property and
temporal possessions. Do you see, therefore, what
danger my soul is in of becoming worldly, and of
losing in eternity that reward of abnegation which
the Lord has promised to us "an hundredfold?"
Thus he lamented, and would not be comforted.
But his disciples, and, above all Hesichius, affec
tionately watched his every step, lest he should
ST. HILARION. 151
secretly fly from them into some impenetrable
desert. That he might at least do what he could,
Hilarion began to proceed against himself with
renewed severity, and to deprive his feeble and
wasted body of the use of bread ; and, at the same
time, to expound still more fervently and pro
foundly to the brethren the Holy Scriptures, which
were the sweet food of his soul. But anxiety about
his eternal salvation never left his mind.
At that time he was visited one day by Aris-
teneta, whose children he had restored to life by
his prayers many years before. These children
were now men, and Aristeneta was living like
many highborn ladies of that time, in complete
retirement from the world, entirely devoted to ar
ranging the affairs of her soul before she should
have to render her account to the Eternal Judge.
She wished to make a pilgrimage to St. Antony,
and her first station was with St. Hilarion. She
no longer brought with her the retinue and the
luxuries of her former life ; poor and simple, and
with few companions, she begged for Hilarion s
blessing on her journey. But he said, with tears
in his eyes, " If I were not immured in the mo
nastery as though it were a prison, I should long
ago have taken flight to our father Antony in the
desert. It is too late now; we lost him yesterday.
Delay thy journey, for the news will soon arrive."
Such was actually the case. Antony had departed,
but he still lived in those who, like Hilarion,
had found realised in him the ideal of their own
aspirations, and who had formed themselves after
his pattern not outwardly alone, but even in their
most inward being. Hilarion now felt a still more
pressing need of withdrawing himself from the
great tumult of men. He was so weakened by
fasting that he could no longer undertake a jour
ney on foot; he therefore one day asked for an
ass. He wished to go away. Quick as lightning
152 ST. HILARION.
the news spread abroad ; and as if Palestine had
been threatened with ruin, the people flocked to
his cloister to detain him. " Let me go," said he,
imploringly ; " God does not lie. He shows me
the desolation of the Church, the desecration of
altars, the shedding of my children s blood. I
could not bear to see such terrible things ! Let
me depart." They understood that God was mani
festing future things to him, but nevertheless
they watched him night and day. Then Hila-
rion declared that he would touch no food till
he was allowed to depart ; and as he kept his
word, and neither ate nor drank for six days,
they resolved, sorrowfully and mournfully, to let
him go. Then he blessed the people, chose out
forty monks who were active in mind and body,
made them take a few provisions with them, and
started with them on a pilgrimage to the mountain
of Colzim. On his road he visited the monasteries
of monks and the anchorites, and also two holy
confessors, the Bishops Dracontius and Philo,
whom the Arian Emperor Constantius had de
posed and banished to Babylon in Egypt, the pre
sent Cairo. The entrance into the desert, which
stretches as far as the Ked Sea, began at the city of
Aphroditon. There the deacon Baison had made
the arrangement of having foreign travellers carried
through the pathless and waterless desert upon
swift dromedaries, which, accustomed to a quick
trot, traversed the sands rapidly, like those now
used in Egypt and Syria for pressing messages.
Yet it was three days journey to Colzim. But
Hilarion shrunk from no exertion in order to see
the place which Antony had sanctified, and to
pray on the spot where the teacher of his youth,
who had exercised such powerful influence over
his whole life, and had drawn him to follow his
example, had lived in the most intimate union
with God, and where he had died. Hilarion arrived
ST. HILARION. 153
there on the anniversary of his death, and was joy
fully greeted by Antony s two faithful disciples,
Isaac and Pelusian. They had been eye-wit
nesses and companions of the last years and death
of the holy patriarch, and could give Hilarion all
the accurate details about him which he desired.
They went with him over the little oasis, Antony s
own creation, and related how the arid and savage
nature of the place had been changed and softened
under his blessed hand. Hilarion knelt down near
the ledge of rock which had been the couch and
deathbed of the holy old man, and paid respect to
it by a devout kiss. The saints know best what
is due to holiness, and what it is to be holy.
Hilarion returned to Aphroditon, dismissed his
travelling companions, and left them in their
monastery in Palestine, keeping only two disciples,
with whom he went to a neighbouring desert t
where he lived in such strict fasting and silence
that he said he had only now begun to serve God.
There had been no rain in this country for three
years, so that the inhabitants could not irri
gate the parched soil sufficiently for cultivation,
and men and beasts were starving. It was gene
rally remarked that all the elements were mourn
ing the death of Antony. But when it was known
that Hilarion was in those parts, the people,
convinced that he was a friend of God, who
could alleviate every want and trouble, thronged
to him in masses ; enfeebled men, wasted women,
and dying children, pale with hunger and the
pangs of death, cried aloud to Hilarion, as a fol
lower of Antony, to ask God for rain. He did
so, and was heard. But the grateful reverence of
the people drove him once more from his cell, be
cause he no longer found there the retirement and
solitude which was his soul s most urgent need ; and
he proceeded to Alexandria, there to bury himself
in the desert of Lower Egypt. During a visit which
154 ST. HILARION.
he made to a monastery in Bruchium, the port of
Alexandria, he learnt that Julian the apostate,
who had become emperor in the meantime, was
very furious against him, and was causing search
to be made for him in Gaza. He immediately
saddled his little ass, and prepared himself for a
journey. The monks implored him to remain, as
no one would seek him there, and even if he should
be found, they would all suffer and die with him.
" Let me go, my children," he said ; " you know
not what God destines for us." He was hardly
gone before the soldiers of the governor of Pales
tine arrived in search of him, and of Hesichius,
with orders from the emperor to put them to death.
So great was the antipathy of the powerful emperor
to the poor hermit, of the apostate to the saint. The
renegade emperor of the world acknowledged such
power in this aged ascetic that he could not suffer
him to live on the earth with him. And such has
ever since been invariably the case ; the imitation
of Jesus in its greatest perfection, as ascetic souls
in the Church have striven to practise it, is an
object of hatred and of persecution to the apostates
of all ages. This is a proof of its immense power,
for what is powerless is always allowed to pass un
molested.
Whilst Hilarion concealed himself in the desert,
the Arians and the heathens of Gaza, who had a
natural sympathy with each other, making com
mon cause, burnt down his cloister, laid it waste,
and ill-treated and chased away the brethren.
Amongst these there was a Judas of the name
of Hadrian. He went to Hilarion, and sought
to induce him to return to Palestine, under the
pretext that he would greatly console the afflicted
brethren there, while, in truth, all the faithful
brethren rejoiced to know that the holy old man
was in safety from his enemies. Hilarion was
not deceived by Hadrian, but dismissed him,
ST. HILARION. 155
and continued his wanderings farther, even be
yond the sea to Sicily. On landing, he offered the
captain of the ship, as payment for himself and his
companion Zananus, the book of the holy Gospels,
which he had written out in his earliest youth, and
which he always carried about with him. But
the captain having pity on these two beggars,
would not take it, and let them go their way.
Hilarion, rejoicing to be thought a beggar, left the
densely populated coast and penetrated into the
interior of the country, where he erected a cell of
branches on the borders of a wood. Every day he
collected a bundle of dry twigs, which Zananus
carried to a neighbouring village, and exchanged
for a piece of bread. Upon this they both lived
very contentedly, entirely given to prayer. But
Hilarion s light had been already put upon a
candlestick, notwithstanding the pains he took to
hide it under a bushel. Here, as well as in Pales
tine and Egypt, the suffering had recourse to this
man of prayer. God accepted the intercession,
which Hilarion could not refuse to those who asked
it ; the sick were healed, and reverence following
upon gratitude, he was once more surrounded by
a throng of men. In the meantime Hesichius,
who had been separated from his beloved master,
had sought him in all the deserts, monasteries, and
ports of the East in vain. After three years he em
barked for the Peloponnesus, and there he heard a
Jew relate many things about a Christian prophet
in Sicily who worked miracles and wonders, like a
second Elias. He inquired his name and age, but
the Jew had only heard of him, and never seen
him. Hesichius immediately took ship for Sicily,
and his first question there was about the worker
of miracles, whom every one knew. When he
learnt that this servant of God never accepted
even so much as a bit of bread from those who
wished to testify their gratitude to him by rich
156 ST. HILARION.
presents, but always answered with our Blessed
Lord, " Freely have you received, freely give," l
Hesichius rejoiced, for thereby he recognised
Hilarion, and he immediately rejoined him.
Then they travelled together through a strange
country, whose language and people were com
pletely unknown to them, to Dalmatia, on the eas
tern shore of the Adriatic Sea ; a beautiful land,
but often severely visited by earthquakes. One
was then desolating the seaport town of Epidaurus.
Whilst the earth yawned to swallow it up, and the
tails crushed it in their fall, the sea rose with ex
ceeding violence to such a height that the ships were
dashed upon the rocks of the coast. The afflicted
inhabitants fled, as if by inspiration, to Hilarion,
who lived in a cavern amongst the mountains, im
plored him to save them, and led him to the sea-
beach. Hilarion possessed the faith which removes
mountains. He traced three crosses on the sand
of the shore, and lifted up his hand against the
waves, which raised themselves on high, stood
still, fell backwards, and retreated slowly from the
shore. St. Jerome, who wrote his life, and who
was himself a Dalmatian, says, " The town of Epi
daurus and the whole of Dalmatia speak of this
miracle to this day, for mothers relate it to their
children, that it may be perpetuated in the re
membrance of the generations to come." Why is
it so difficult for us to look upon miracles with the
eye of faith ? Do we, perchance, belong to those
whom our Blessed Lord called " ye of little faith,"
when He made a great calm upon the sea ?
A country which Hilarion entered under such
circumstances could never be the place of his abode.
He went to the island of Cyprus, whose primate
was St. Epiphanius, Bishop of Salamis, his country
man, and formerly his disciple. At his table a
fowl was once set before him. Hilarion declined
1 Matt. x. 8.
ST. HILARION. 157
to partake of it, because, since he had borne the
habit of an anchorite, he had never tasted any
thing that had had life. " And I," answered Epi-
phanius, " since I have worn this habit, have never
suffered any one to retire to rest with anything
against me in his heart, and I myself have never
laid me down to sleep in discord with any one."
" Forgive me, my father," replied Hilarion meekly,
" thou hast followed a better rule of life than I."
He settled a few miles from Paphos, amongst
the ruins of an abandoned idolatrous temple, and
lived there two years, always praying, always work
ing miracles, always seeking to escape from the
renown of his own sanctity. Five years before his
death he sent Hesichius away with the commission
to greet the brethren in Palestine, and to discover
a place in Egypt or Lybia, where he could await
his last hour undisturbed. Hesichius returned,
and advised the old man to remain in Cyprus,
where he had found out a wild and solitary valley
in the interior of the island. It was situated
amongst the mountains, and was almost inacces
sible, being enclosed all round by high and rugged
rocks ; but it had a clear stream, a verdant
meadow, and many beautiful apple-trees. The
whole place was also said to be inhabited by evil
spirits. The old man was pleased at the thoughts
of living and dying in such a wild solitude, sur
rounded by his ancient foes. Climbing and
scrambling with difficulty, at times even creeping
on their hands and knees, they reached the valley
which Hilarion recognised as the place of his
repose. He would have no earthly consolation,
and sent back his beloved disciple to Palestine,
with the permission to come to visit him twice
a year, which he did. Hilarion laid out a little
garden by the stream, and lived upon vegetables
and water, as he had done in his youth. He never
tasted the apples, but they rejoiced his eyes. No
158 ST. HILARION.
one dared approach him. Thus he gained once
more his long-sought beloved solitude, and saw
nothing but heavenly images, which the earthly eye
cannot perceive. Shortly before his death, a para
lytic person, the owner of this rocky wilderness,
contrived to reach him, and begged so earnestly for
his prayers, that Hilarion wept and implored God s
mercy for him, and dismissed him cured. This
had the usual consequences, but they no longer
affected him. He became sick, and wrote his will,
leaving to Hesichius his book of the Gospels, his
hairshirt, and his poor mantle. Many pious
people of Paphos visited him with great devotion.
Nothing in him lived save his eyes and his voice ;
his whole body was already, as it were, dead.
Once more the holy fear of God s judgment fell
upon him, and he spoke to himself encouragingly :
" Fear not, my soul ! depart, depart. Seventy
years thou hast served Christ, and dost thou fear
death ? " Then a deep rest settled upon his brow,
and he slept in the Lord, in the God who had
:alled him so early, and had said, " Thou art mine."
PAUL THE SIMPLE.
" And a path and a way shall be there, a straight way, so that
fools shall not err therein." ISA. xxxv. 8.
IN the desert inhabited by St. Antony, a peasant,
sixty years of age, was wandering restlessly to
and fro in great distress. His wife, who was young
and beautiful, but very wicked, had deceived him
and grievously offended God. He had surrendered
to her his little house and all that he possessed,
and hastened away without knowing what was to
become of him. He was a simple, guileless man,
PAUL THE SIMPLE. 159
who would not for the world have told a lie, or
done his neighbour any harm. He was called
Paul For eight days he strayed about, helpless
and full of anxiety. Then God suggested to him
to forget all things else, and to think only of the
salvation of his soul ; and he arose and went
straightway to Antony, and said to him that he
wished to learn to be an anchorite. Antony re
plied that it was not possible at his age ; he must
serve God very piously some other way, for he
could never bear the austerity of the ascetic life.
Only teach me what I have to do/ answered
Paul quietly, " and I will certainly accomplish it/
"It is impossible/ replied Antony ; " thou canst
not become an anchorite. But if thou art resolved
to leave the world, go into a cloister where monks
live together, that thou mayest, in case of need,
find the care and support which thine age requires.
Here thou wilt find nothing, for I live entirely alone,
and only eat a little every third or fourth day."
Thereupon Antony went back into his cell, and
shut himself up in it for three days, and applied
himself to his prayers and contemplations, leaving
to Paul the choice whether he would take his ad
vice or not. On the fourth day Antony emerged
from his cavern, and, behold, Paul was still there.
" My dear old man/ said he kindly, " this is no
place for thee." " My father," replied Paul reso
lutely, " I will die nowhere but on this very spot."
Antony perceived that he had no victuals whatever
with him, and as he did not yet know what spirit
inspired the old man, he took him into his cell,
gave him some bread and water, and said, " Paul,
thou mayest be perfect and blessed, if thou wilt
observe obedience." " I will observe it, only com
mand," said Paul, simply. This childlike readi
ness to obey, at such an advanced age, much re
joiced Antony, and he immediately began to treat
Paul as a soul endowed with great grace. He said
160 PAUL THE SIMPLE.
to him, " Now go out, place thyself before the
cavern, and pray till I bring thee some work.
Paul went out, and betook himself to prayer.
Antony left him standing the whole day and the
whole night ; and whenever he looked at him
through a little crevice in his cell, he saw him
standing immersed in prayer, so immovably on
the same spot, that during the twenty-four hours
he did not stir a hair s-breadth, careless alike of
the scorching heat of the sun and of the nightly
dews. Then Antony brought him some palm-
leaves steeped in water, and said, " Plait a rope
out of these as thou seest me do." It was trouble
some and laborious work, but Paul did it with
great diligence, and made a piece fifteen ells long.
But when Antony saw the rope, he was not pleased
with it, and said, " Thou hast twisted it too tightly ;
undo it, and plait it again more loosely/ Paul
unplaited all the fifteen ells, and then plaited them
together again, which was extremely difficult, be
cause the damp and moistened palm-leaves had
got bent and crooked with the first plaiting. He
had to practise this for seven whole days, without
receiving food or drink, because Antony wished
to try whether he would be patient under ne
glect, or was to be deterred by difficulties. Paul s
courage did not fail him ; he never complained by
word or look, and cheerfully remained at his work.
Antony rejoiced more and more; and, going to
him after sunset, asked him. " Wilt thou now eat
a little bread with me, my dear Paul ?" "As thou
wiliest, my father ! " was the answer. They went
into the cavern, and Antony brought out four
little loaves, of six ounces each, one for himself,
and three for Paul. They were so hard and dry
that they required to be soaked in water. In the
meantime Antony recited a psalm, and repeated it
twelve times, Paul joyfully reciting it with him.
Then the holy master said to his holy disciple,
PAUL THE SIMPLE. 161
" \Ve will sit down, we will not eat yet, but ponder
on the benefits of God." And as night had come
on, he added, " The meal-time is past, let us make
our thanksgiving, and retire to rest." Paul obeyed
without hesitation. At midnight Antony aroused
him for prayer, and on the evening of that day
they first tasted bread. When they had each eaten
a loaf, Antony, who never took more, said, " Take
another little loaf, and eat it." " If thou wilt eat
another, I will, but not otherwise," answered Paul.
" I cannot, because I am a poor anchorite, and
as such must live poorly," replied Antony. " Then
I cannot either, because I want to become an an
chorite," said Paul, quietly.
St. Antony taught as follows about obedience:
" Our Lord has said, I am come, not to do my will
but the will of Him who sent me/ This must be
our guide. If any one wishes to become perfect
in a short time, let him not be his own teacher
and master, and let him not follow his own will,
even when his will is not evil. For Christ s will
was certainly not opposed to the will of His hea
venly Father, but the reverse ; and yet He would
not do His own will, in order to teach us obedience,
which consists, above all, in the complete renun
ciation of our own will. The Son of God could
not have erred, if He had followed His own will,
and yet He followed it not. How much less ought
we, who with the best intentions often go so far
astray, to act from our own impulses, if we wish to
reach the highest perfection 1 " Antony exercised
his disciples according to this doctrine, and Paul
submitted himself with incredible humility and
simplicity to such discipline. First, he had for a
whole day to draw water out of the well, and pour
it out again directly, then to tear his habit, to
mend it, and to tear it again ; and many times
to pull baskets to pieces, and to plait them together
again. Once Antony received a present of a vase
162 PAUL THE SIMPLE.
of honey. He said to Paul, " Break the vessel,
and let the honey fall upon the sand." And di
rectly after, when his command had been fulfilled,
he added, " Now gather up the honey, and put it
into another bowl quite clean, and without any
admixture of sand." If we consider how man is
visited by God with innumerable providences and
judgments, the reason of which he cannot fathom,
and which frequently run counter to human pru
dence and sagacity, we shall deem that school
wise and loving in which Paul was exercised to so
great a degree in equanimity and resignation. And
if we consider the proneness of every man to pre
fer his own will to all else beside, we shall praise
God, whose grace renders possible such abnegation
of our strongest inclinations, and love that man
who received grace in such unspeakable purity of
soul, and corresponded to it so faithfully.
After Antony had convinced himself that Paul
was obedient to him in all the strictness of the spi
ritual life, he said : " See now, my brother, if thou
canst trust thyself to live on, day after day, in this
manner, I will keep thee by me." With exceed
ing cheerfulness Paul answered : " I do not know,
my father, whether the difficulties are yet to come,
and whether thou wilt teach and order me hard
things ; for all that I have hitherto done or ob
served in thee I can accomplish by God s help, and
without very great exertion/ After a few months
Antony conducted this soul, so perfect in its sim
plicity, into a cell which was about a thousand paces
distant from his own, and said : " Paul, in the
name of Jesus, and by His grace thou art now
become an anchorite ; live in solitude, labour dili
gently, raise up thy thoughts, thy heart, and thy
mind to Almighty God whilst thy hands are
busy; eat not nor drink before sunset, and never
enough to satisfy thyself; learn to struggle and
combat with our ancient adversary the devil, and
PAUL THE SIMPLE. 163
practise punctually all that I have told or shown
to thee." Paul received this exhortation with the
greatest attention, and followed it with equal exact
ness, for he looked upon it as given to him by God
Himself. Antony visited him sometimes, and
rejoiced over this simple piety, which had no sus
picion of the height of its own virtue ; and when
strange brethren were with him, he often called
Paul, that he might edify them, and serve them for
a model. Once some very holy and enlightened
brethren came to visit Antony, and Paul was sent
for to serve them, which he most willingly did
with humble joy. These saintly men conversed
together upon divine things, and once happened
to be speaking of the prophets. As Paul had
never heard of them, he asked ingenuously, " Were
the prophets before Christ, or was Christ before
the prophets? Antony almost blushed at this
question, and said to Paul kindly, " Be silent,
my brother," and Paul held his peace. The
brethren remained three weeks with Antony, and
Paul served them with the greatest care, but
in such unbroken silence, that at last they said,
" Why dost thou not speak to us ?" Paul smiled
sweetly, but did not answer. When, therefore, the
brethren asked Antony the cause, and he could not
at all recollect having ordered anything of the
kind, he said to Paul: " Speak then to the bre
thren ; wherefore art thou silent ? " " Because thou
hast commanded me, my father," answered Paul
quietly. Then Antony exclaimed: " my bre
thren ! Paul condemns us all, for none of us ob
serve and follow the inspirations of the Holy
Ghost as carefully as he takes heed of each word
that I speak to him."
Paul was precisely one of those " little ones" to
whom God reveals His eternal mysteries. The
sublime and sanctifying mystery of the obedience
of the Eternal Son in the Incarnation was clear to
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COM
164 PAUL THE SIMPLE.
him ; not to his intellect, but to his heart. He
obeyed because his God was obedient. " That is
the highest degree of obedience," says St. Bonaven-
ture in his " Golden Ladder of the Virtues/
According to the teaching of St. Antony, certain
evil spirits ruled men through certain vices. If
any one had fully subdued in himself and entirely
rooted out any vice, such as pride, covetousness,
sloth, or envy, Almighty God would sometimes re
ward his valiant struggle by deputing to him power
over the demon of this vice in others. By humil
ity and obedience, Paul so thoroughly conquered
the old man in himself, that he quickly raised him
self to the highest perfection. The power of God
found no purer instrument than this simple old
man, and therefore his prayers became nearly all-
powerful over the devils and those possessed by
them. Antony caused the most melancholy cases
of this kind to be delivered by his beloved Paul,
perhaps out of humility, for saints always vie
with each other in this virtue. Once a youth was
brought to him who was tormented almost to mad
ness by the demon of blasphemy. He took him
to Paul, and said : " Drive the evil spirit out of
this soul, that it may be able to love and praise
God." " Why dost thou not do it thyself, my
father ?" asked Paul. " Because I have not time/
answered Antony, and then went away. Paul made
a most fervent prayer, and then said, " Hast thou
heard, thou bad demon, Antony commands thee
to leave this soul?" But the youth only raved
more wickedly and wildly against God, and against
all that was holy. " Leave this soul, or I will
complain of thee to Christ," repeated Paul. Still
there were no results. He then went out into the
burning noonday sun of Egypt, which is not un
like the Babylonian furnace, and, climbing a rock,
he said, " Beloved Kedeemer, Thou seest that I
stand here ; now I will not go away, neither will
AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA. 165
I sleep, eat, or drink, till Thou hast delivered this
poor youth from the evil spirit ; for Antony has
ordered me to ask Thee." And by this dove-like
simplicity he accomplished the work.
With affectionate love and veneration, the bre
thren gave this favoured child of God no other
name but that of Paul the Simple, as is related bv
Palladius, Bishop of Helenopolis, who remained
for three years in the Egyptian deserts towards the
end of that century.
AMMON, ABBOT OF XITPJA.
" Lord, who shall rest in Thy holy hill ? He that walketh with
out blemish." Ps. xiv. 1, 2.
IN a country house near Alexandria there sat a
youth of two-and-twenty years opposite to a maiden,
and explained to her the seventh chapter of the
First Epistle to the Corinthians, which treats of the
pre-eminence of the life of virginity over the state
of matrimony, a superiority which the holy Apostle
points out when he says : " The virgin thinketh on
the things of the Lord : that she may be holy both
in body and in spirit." 1 And " More blessed shall
she be if she remain a virgin." 2 These two young
people were in festal garments, and wore wreaths
of flowers on their heads; this was their bridal
dress, for they had just been married. The young
man was called Ammon. He was of a rich and
noble family, had lost his parents when a child,
and had received an excellent education from his
uncle, so as to be able to shine in the world ic
after life. But grace took possession of his soul
so early and so completely, that the happiness and
splendour of the world never had the smallest
Ver. ei. Ver. 10.
166 AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA.
attraction for him. Riches, honours, enjoyments,
and pleasures, repelled instead of alluring him.
His uncle, who was otherwise an upright man,
aw this with great grief, and imagined that mar
riage would be the best means of suggesting other
thoughts to Ammon. Without asking him, he
concluded an alliance for him with the daughter
of a distinguished man, and after all was settled,
Ammon heard, for the first time, of the arrange
ment. Pure souls are safe in God s hands. Am
mon submitted himself outwardly to his uncle,
whom he tenderly loved and honoured.. But
grace was so strong within him that it overflowed
upon his bride ; and the elevation of his soul
was so great, that it raised her also above earthly
things. After Ammon had imparted to her what
the Apostle Paul, by the inspiration of the Holy
Ghost, says about virginity, and what our Divine
Saviour says of heaven in the nineteenth chap
ter of the Evangelist St. Matthew, there sprang
up in the heart of the young maiden the flame
of heavenly love, and they both agreed to remain
in a state of virginity. Ammon would have wished
to be able at once to follow the life of an anchorite,
but he would not take this step without the con
sent of his bride ; and as she did not know what
would become of her if he left her, she begged him
not to separate from her for the present. Ammon
was content, and they then began a peaceful an
gelic life, which they led together for eighteen
years. They inhabited a pleasant country house,
surrounded by a large garden, and Ammon occu
pied himself diligently with its cultivation. He
gave his especial care to a garden of balsam-trees,
because those trees, like vines, require to be cul
tivated with great trouble, in order that they may
exude their precious odoriferous gum, which is
used for incense and for medicinal purposes. His
wife superintended the household, worked dili-
AMMON, ABBOT OF NITBIA. 167
gently in order to clothe the aged and poor, visited
and tended the sick, and sanctified these simple
occupations, as Ammon did his, by a continual
elevation of the heart to God. Twice a day they
recited psalms together, and towards evening they
united again in taking a simple meal. Their days
thus passed in a peace which the world knows
not and gives not, and their prayers were so
efficacious that grace descended upon them more
and more abundantly. The whole neighbourhood
was edified by the conduct of these two earthly
angels. Virgins who thirsted after the heights
of perfection requested the counsel and prayers
of this holy woman ; men and youths who wished
to secure their salvation turned to Ammon foi
instruction ; and every soul that approached them
in any kind of trouble left them consoled and
strengthened. Although it is not named amongst
His seven gifts, the gift of consolation is the work
of the Holy Ghost, Whom our Blessed Lord calls
" the Comforter."
One day Ammon s pious wife said to him, " My
dear lord, it is now eighteen years since, by God s
grace, I have followed thy salutary advice ; if now
thou wilt take mine, I shall be assured that thou
lovest me heartily in God." Ammon replied that
she might always be assured of that, whether he
took her advice or not ; and asked what it was. " I
think/ said she, " that thou, and perhaps I also,
could do more for the salvation of the souls of
others, if we lived henceforward separated from
one another. Formerly thou hadst compassion on
my youth and inexperience, and remainedst with
me ; but now that I have become thy disciple in
the spiritual life, I think it only right that I should
give thee thy full liberty, in order that thy great
wisdom and virtue may be no longer hidden." With
heartfelt joy Ammon blessed the goodness of God,
and thanked his wife, saying, " That thought came
1 f)8 AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA.
from above, my dear sister, and since thou art will
ing, I will build a hut for myself in solitude. But
do tliou remain in this house, under the protection
of Almighty God." He gave her all his property,
that she might be unfettered in practising works
of mercy; and before long, some pious virgins joined
her, with whom she led an ascetic life, and they
composed in reality, if not in form, a monastic
community.
After taking leave of his wife, and promising to
visit her once or twice a year, Ammon departed
into the desert, where he remained twenty-two
years. He was one of those rare men who possess
such independent strength of mind, that whatever
direction they take, they receive little from other
men, but give them very much, and can arouse
them to great things. Therefore his spirit did not
urge him towards the universal pilgrimage of the
day to Antony, but like Antony he sought first
perfect solitude with God ; and it was not till later
that he visited the great patriarch, and formed
an intimate friendship with him, as was to be
expected from two holy souls united together
in God. Ammon established himself in Lower
Egypt, his native country. There, west of Alex
andria, lay the great Lake Mareotis, half marsh,
half water, such as are often found on the coasts of
the Mediterranean, where they are not rocky. On
the southern shore of this lake, which Palladius
only reached after a journey of a day and a
half, a great deal of saltpetre or nitre was dug
up, and therefore that part of the country was
called Nitria. It reached as far as a vast desert,
which stretched out to Mauritania, in Northern
Africa, but to the south may have extended even
into the impenetrable centre of Africa. Limestone
rocks, offshoots of the Lybian mountains, rose up
in this desert, and formed the mountain of Nitria,
which Ammon, in the first half of the fourth
AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA. 169
century, chose for his hermitage, and upon which
Palladius, towards the end of the same century,
found five thousand monks. In this desert Am-
mon fitted up for himself a cavern for a cell,
<and raised himself to the highest contemplation
and knowledge of the truth. The powers which
he imbibed from the fulness of divine light and
divine love overflowed out of his soul upon the
souls of others, vivifying, refreshing, and puri
fying them like the streams of water that descend
from a high mountain into a valley. He had
reached this intimate union with God by a different
road from Paul of Thebes, from Antony, or Hila-
rion. He had not been able to withdraw himself
from the world, and to fly into the unfrequented
desert in his tender youth. His circumstances
were such that everything was at his command
which generally brings earthly happiness to men.
But men who love God look at all things which
they find around them only in the light in which
they are seen by the eye of faith, and by keeping this
view consistently and thoroughly before them, they
make for themselves a new and rightful happiness.
Whilst the faint-hearted call them indiscreet and
eccentric, they alone are really of sound mind ; and
whilst men of the world pity them, they advance
to the conquest of true felicity. And to that end
they have a sure guide, the same that Annnon
had, the unadulterated inspired Writings. " You
shall buy as though you possessed not, is said in
that wonderful Epistle to the Corinthians, which
puts before us the ideal of perfection, and shows
it to be attainable, yet without discouraging the
great majority who do not wish to put it in
practice. Ammon strove after it with all his
might, and he was so filled with the prospect and
hope of heavenly goods and eternal joys, that
earthly and temporal goods were as little con
sidered by him as if he had not possessed them.
170 AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA.
He saw them with his eyes, and handled them witb
his hands, and was surrounded by them, and yet
he had detached himself so completely from them,
that now in the solitude of the desert he was no
poorer than in his rich house.
Before long he became in Lower Egypt what
Antony was in Thebais and Hilarion in Palestine,
the teacher and the centre of the spiritual life.
Those who sought salvation came in troops to the
mountain of Nitria, and many remained with Am-
mon, and became anchorites. The mountain re
sembled a beehive, so perforated was it with cells,
whose inhabitants nourished themselves with the
sweet honey of holy contemplations. Their occu
pation was weaving linen, the produce of which
Amnion employed partly for the support of the
brotherhood, partly for the poor far and near, and
partly for the entertainment of their numerous
guests. Hospitality was practised to the utmost.
When strangers came, the monks hastened to meet
them, and singing psalms, conducted them first
to the church, and then to the spacious hos
pice, where they washed their feet, brought them
food and drink, and waited on them. A large
house which was on the mountain, near to the
church, was devoted entirely to guests. There
they might live for years, if they so wished, and
during the first eight days no work was required
from them. But if they stayed longer, they had to
work in the kitchen garden, or the kitchen, or the
bakery, or in some other household labour, and
also to observe the universal silence which was
established at certain hours. If learned or scien
tific men came, they were provided with books and
writings, in order to maintain themselves by their
own kind of work, and they also had to accommo
date themselves to the general way of life, so as to
make no disturbance in the monastic rule. At
regular hours, many times each day, the monks
AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA. 171
said certain psalms, and sang hymns and can
ticles, so that the whole mountain resounded with
heavenly choirs. Every day also Ammon instructed
them in the duties of the ascetic life, and explained
to them the Holy Scriptures. On Saturday and
Sunday they assembled in the great church, half
way up the mountain. By degrees, as many as
eight priests were required for this numerous con
gregation and its spiritual necessities ; but the
senior one always offered the holy sacrifice of the
Mass, and preached.
If any of Ammon s spiritual sons felt himselt
called to a life of unusually severe penance, and
had first given proofs of his humility and con
stancy, he received permission to retire from the
community life at Nitria to a greater solitude.
Such anchorites pitched their tents ten miles fur
ther into the desert ; and at the time that there
were five thousand brethren living in community
at Nitria, six hundred had retired into that part
of the desert, which, from the number of their cells
and huts, received the name of Cellia. These cells
were so wide apart, that no anchorite could be eithei
seen or heard by his next neighbour. Each one
remained alone with his own work, which he took
to Nitria once or twice a year, and received in
exchange his necessary provisions. No one ever
visited another to converse with him. No one spoke
to another for recreation ; but if any one of them
was far advanced in the spiritual life, and knew that
another was waging a terrible combat, he went to
him to give him advice or consolation. The her
mits of Cellia had a church of their own, which
was situated in the centre of their desert, wherein
they likewise assembled on Saturdays and Sun
days. Some of them lived at a distance of three
or four miles from it. There they met, but only
as strangers come down from heaven, to carry on
upon earth the occupation of the blessed, namely,
172 AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA.
to worship God. When the service was over, each
returned home in silence. If any one did not ap
pear, the others then knew that he must be sick
and they visited him, but cautiously, and not all
together. Suffice it to say, that if they lived out
wardly apart, and without a single temporal con
solation, they were inwardly united in the holy
love of God and their neighbour, and in this union
they were living members of the body of Christ,
through Whom again they were united to their
heavenly Father, and could say, with greater per
fection than the Apostle Philip, 1 whose superna
tural eye had not then been enlightened by the
Holy Ghost, " It is enough for us."
The holy founder of this pious community was
endowed with unusual gifts and graces, and could
read the secrets of souls and of times as if from
an open book. Some afflicted parents once brought
their only son to Nitria in bonds and chains. He
had been bitten by a mad dog, and now in his
madness he sought to attack others. The parents
told Ammon their trouble, and besought his inter
cession. " My dear children," replied he, " my
poor prayers can do very little in this affair, but
you yourselves can do a great deal." They asked
how that could be ; and he said, " You have
robbed a poor widow of her cow ; give it back to
her, and our good God will take such pleasure in
that act, that He will restore your son to health."
Ashamed and penitent, but full of hope, they re
turned home, repaired their misdeed, and their
son recovered. Another time two men assured
him that they wished to do him a service out of
love for God. " I am glad of that, said Ammon,
on purpose to try them ; " I will give you an op
portunity at once. Some one in your village has
given us a large new cask, which we are in great
want of, to keep water in for our guests to drink.
1 John xiv. 8.
AMMON, ABBOT OF NITRIA. 173
I beg of you to send it up here." They promised
to do so, and left him. But one of them repented
of his promise, and said to the other, " I shall cer
tainly not send the cask up to the mountain ; it
would destroy my camel." But the other kept his
word, although he had only a little ass, not with
out great trouble and labour to himself and his
beast. When Ammon saw him coming, he went
kindly to meet him, thanked him, and said,
" See, it has done thy companion no good to take
such excessive care of his camel, for in the mean
time the hyenas have torn it to pieces/ And
when the man returned the next day to his vil
lage, he found his companion tearing his hair, be
cause the wild beasts had devoured his camel
during the night.
Once St. Antony sent a friendly greeting to the
holy Ammon, with an invitation to visit him once
more. Thirteen days journey divided them, but
Ammon arose without hesitation, and, accom
panied by the messenger and his favourite dis
ciple, Theodore, made the pilgrimage from the
mountain of Nitria to the mountain of Colziiu.
They journeyed safely as far as the arm of the
Nile called the Lycus, and there they sought for
a boat in which to cross it. But it was an
unpeopled country, traversed by no traders, and
therefore no boat was to be found, and nothing
was left for them but to swim across the river.
The brethren prepared for this, but Ammon was
unwilling to take off his clothes. He was softly
lifted up by a supernatural force, and transported
to the other side of the stream, being borne
upon the water, as his Lord and Master had been.
Antony received him with heartfelt joy, and said,
" Thy tarrying will not be much longer amongst
us, my brother, therefore I had a great desire to
speak of eternal things with thee once more/
They remained some time together, and refreshed
174 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
their souls in each other s light. Then they parted ;
and when Ammon died soon after upon the moun
tain of Nitria, Antony saw his glorified soul ascend
to the heavenly country like the " rising morning." 1
ST. PACHOMIUS,
ABBOT OF TABENNA.
" Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do ? " ACTS ix. 6.
As Antony may be called the creator of the
monastic life, so was his younger contemporary
Pachomius its lawgiver. The companies of an
chorites had hitherto lived partly as hermits, and
partly in community in lauras, without form or
rules, and held together only by the powerful
minds of their teachers, Antony, Hilariou, and
Ammon. They now received from Pachomius laws
and regulations by which they were joined together
in a firm and lasting union. Pachomius was, pro
perly speaking, the founder of the religious orders,
of which the other three communities were the
forerunners and models.
Pachomius was descended from a heathen family
in the Thebaid, and was carefully instructed in the
sciences of his country and his time. From his
earliest childhood he was distinguished amongst
his heathen companions by his innocent disposi
tion and his pure morals. It was related of him
that, when a young child, he accompanied his
parents to an idol which spoke oracles ; but it was
dumb in the presence of this child, and the idola
trous priests declared to his amazed parents that
no one was in fault but the little enemy of the
gods, their son.
At the time that Constantine was carrying on
1 Cant. vi. 9.
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 175
the war against his colleague Maxentius, he caused
all the strongest youths in that part of the Roman
empire which was subject to him to be levied as
recruits, and to enter the army. This was the fate
of Pachomius, who was then barely twenty years
old. A whole troop of young people were torn
from their families in Thebais, and shipped on the
Nile, to be sent first to Alexandria, and then to their
further destination. They were all very much
cast down at leaving their homes against their
will ; they were also roughly treated by the soldiers
who guarded them. When the ship touched one
day at a large town on the shore, many of the
inhabitants came down to the bank of the Nile,
bringing the young recruits food and drink, and
every kind of refreshment, consoling them and en
couraging them to be hopeful and courageous, and
showing so much kindness to these unknown and
forsaken youths, that all were touched by it, and
Pachomius especially. He inquired who these
charitable and benevolent people were, and learned
that they were Christians, people who believed in
Jesus Christ, the only-begotten Sou of God, and
who endeavoured to do good to all men, and
particularly to the sorrowful, the helpless, and the
forsaken, and that they hoped to receive their re
ward in heaven, and not upon earth. Pachomius
was deeply moved by this faith of the Christians ;
and, inflamed with divine love, he drew aside, and
lifting up his eyes and hands to heaven, he prayed,
saying, "Almighty God, who hast created the
heavens and the earth, if Thou wilt deliver me
from my present affliction, and wilt send me the
true knowledge how to serve Thee most perfectly,
I will dedicate all the days of my life to Thy ser
vice. Hear my prayer, and show me what I must
do." The ship continued her voyage, and carried
the young soldiers to their destination. Although
many seductions awaited him, Pachomius never
176 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
forgot that he had promised himself to the service
of God, and always avoided the worldly pleasures
in which his heathen companions indulged.
Constantine s campaign against Maxentius was
soon brought to a victorious conclusion, and the
soldiers being dismissed in the year 313, Pachomius
joyfully returned to his home, to place himself in
another company, namely, that of the catechumens,
who received instruction in the doctrines of the
Christian faith. His ardent heart made him so-
zealous a disciple of this holy faith that he soon
after received the sacrament of Baptism. The
following night he dreamt that dew fell from
heaven into his right hand, and was changed into
honey, and that a voice said : " Pachomius ! Christ
the Lord gives thee great grace." His loving
heart could not be satisfied save by sacrificing
himself entirely to this gracious and loving Lord.
Whilst he was considering how best to effect this y
he heard of the aged anchorite Palemon, who y
quite dead to the world, led a heavenly life in a
desert of the Thebaid. All then became as clear
to Pachomius as if the sun had risen inwardly
upon him. He said to himself: " It is there that
God will have thee," and he immediately set out
on the road to Palemon s desert. He knocked
humbly at the door of the poor hut, and begged
for admittance. The aged anchorite only half
opened the door, looked sadly and sternly at the
youth, and asked him, " What dost thou wish ?
Whom seekest thou ? " Pachomius, undiscouraged,
answered: " The Lord God hath sent me hither.
I seek thee, for I wish to learn from thee to be an
anchorite." But with no less severity Palemon
answered : " Many have said the same to me, but
they all soon grew tired of their purpose. For
the life of an anchorite is indeed pleasing to God,
but it is a hard and a difficult undertaking, of
which it is easy to become weary." " All men are
ST. PACHOM1US, ABBOT OP TABENNA. 177
not alike," said Pachoraius modestly, " only try
me, and by degrees thou wilt acknowledge my
powers. " First go through the primary exercises
of the spiritual life in a laura," said Palemon, still
refusing; " there the company of others will afford
thee more help, and their example will give thee
encouragement, and thou canst more easily find
solace when a penitential life seems hard to thee.
Here, in this place, it is impossible to lead other
than an extremely austere life, for all human help
and support are absent. For my nourishment I
only use bread or wild herbs with salt, and I watch
during half the night and often the whole night
long, in prayer and contemplation of the Holy
Scriptures. In the daytime I am never idle for a
single moment, and even when I sing psalms or
pray, I am making hair-shirts, in order to be able
to give their price to the poor and to strangers."
The youth trembled at the thoughts of sacrificing
a long life in this way ; but grace overcame the
resistance of nature, and he said resolutely : " I
believe and trust in Christ the Lord, that He will
give me strength and patience to persevere for His
love in this course of life as long as I live, and I
hope that thou wilt pray for me, my father/ This
faith in God s assistance, and this willingness to
make sacrifices, was a sign to the aged Palemon.
that it was a supernatural vocation, and not pride
or curiosity, which urged the youth to embrace the
ascetic life. He bade him welcome, took him to
live with him, and gave him the habit which all
anchorites wore, so as outwardly to show the state
of life to which they were dedicated namely, the
scapular of goat or sheepskin.
About this time Eusebius wrote in his " Proofs
of the Gospel : "
" In the Church of Christ there are two kinds of
life which are both in conformity with grace, and
one of them is supernatural, and excels the usual
M
178 BT. PACHOMITJS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
human way. For it allows neither marriage nor
the begetting of children, neither possessions nor
gains, and, entirely separated from the ordinary
concerns of men, it dedicates itself, out of exceed
ing love, to the service of God alone. Those who
lead this life are, as it were, already dead to this
temporal life, and live only in the body upon this
earth; their souls have by vehement desire al
ready ascended to heaven. Like immortals, they
look down upon the traffic of the inhabitants of
earth, and sanctify themselves to the everlasting
God for the whole human race, not by strangled
bullocks, not by drink or smoke offerings, but by
the simple precepts of true religion, by the dis
positions of a pure soul, by the practice of virtue
and good works, whereby they appease God, and
offer Hun a holy service for themselves and their
brethren."
In such esteem did the ancient Church hold
her ascetics ; for they corresponded to her love for
her Lord by their loving union with His propiti
atory sacrifice, which won for them supernatural
grace and strength to do penance for those who do
none, and thus to acquire power of atonement for
their brethren. Renunciation, out of immense un
speakable love, was the invention of the Incarnate
God. He became Man in order to practise it
in its highest perfection, and it has remained ever
since the property of heavenly-minded men : for
He not only showed to men the virtues pleasing
to God, but at the same time gave them grace
to practise them. Eusebius was by no means one
of those enthusiastic souls, like Antony, Athana-
eius, or Augustine, who, inebriated as it were with
divine love, made every breath they drew a hymn,
and every pulsation of their hearts a sigh of love.
He was in the Church of God devoted to learning
rather than to love ; but even his dry intellect
acknowledged the supernatural depth and glow-
ST. PACHOMITJ8, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 179
ing love of asceticism, and basked in the holy flame
of love of suffering which Christ enkindled upon
earth.
Pachomius now lived with Palemon, practising
the same spiritual exercises and labours as the old
man himself. The nightly prayer was very trying
to him, as he was not accustomed to night watch-
ings, and was very often overcome by sleep. Then
Palemon went outside the hut with him, and told
him to fill a sack with sand, and to carry the heavy
burden to and fro till he had become wakeful
again. Palemon also admonished him to be always
very attentive to prayer, and not to allow him
self to be distracted by his work or by any other
thought. He used to say, " Be watchful and fer
vent, my Pachomius ! If thou art drowsy and luke
warm, the evil one will take advantage of it to
inspire thee with disgust for thy holy purpose, and
then all our labour and trouble will have been in
vain." The pious youth received all the exhorta
tions and teaching of the old man with perfect
obedience, and thereby advanced from day to day
in conduct pleasing to God, so that the aged Pale
mon rejoiced, and never ceased from praising Christ
the Lord for such a disciple, whilst Pachomius, on
his part, blessed God for giving him so holy a
spiritual father.
On the holy festival of Easter, Palemon said,
" To-day is a feast in the whole of Christendom;
go out therefore, my Pachomius, and prepare a
banquet for us for this glorious festival/ The
youth accomplished the order, and the feast which
he prepared consisted in pouring a little oil upor.
the wild herbs which they usually seasoned only
with salt. Then he came to Palemon, and said,
" My father, I have done what thou didst tell me."
But when, after offering up a prayer, Palemon s
eyes fell upon the food, and he perceived that oil
had been mixed with the pounded salt, he began
LIBRARY ST. MARY S COLLEGE
180 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
to weep bitterly, and exclaimed, with tears, " My
Lord and Saviour was given vinegar and gall, and
shall I eat dainty food? No, I cannot indeed."
Pachomius earnestly begged him to take a little
of it, because it was the great day of joy, but in
vain. The old man continued his lamentations.
So Pachomius brought bread and salt as usual,
and then Palemon was happy, and ate joyfully
with his beloved disciple.
Once an anchorite came to them, and begged
for shelter, which was willingly granted him. Pa
chomius had lighted a fire to bake some bread,
and they all three sat near it in conversation. The
stranger began to speak of faith, and suddenly
said, u If either of you has real faith, let him place
himself upon those glowing coals, and recite the
1 Our Father slowly." Palemon saw from this
impertinent challenge that the good brother must
be tormented with pride, and answered, " Do not
let such words pass your lips again, my brother.
An evil spirit has suggested them to you. It is
the same spirit which summoned our Lord to
throw Himself down from the pinnacle of the
temple. If God commands thee to tread on burn
ing coals, do so, but under obedience, and not out
of the presumption of self -will" Instead of grate
fully taking Palemon s advice, the anchorite stood
up, and actually placed himself upon the coals.
Either by the special permission of God, or by an
illusion of the wicked one, he remained uninjured,
and he then became so proud of his fancied holi
ness that he looked down upon Palemon and Pa
chomius with great contempt, and soon after left
them. But he came to a sad end. Pride deprived
him of true confidence in God, and of watchfulness
against temptation, and he fell lower and lower,
the blindness of his heart becoming so great that
it gradually darkened his intellect, and, losing his
mind, he died miserably. This occurrence was a
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 181
salutary admonition to Pachomius to watch care
fully over himself, that he might not only out
wardly fulfil the precepts of God, but also that
he might engrave them in his heart, and practise
them with his whole soul. Day and night he
read the Holy Scriptures, and, learning them by
heart, and contemplating them, he endeavoured
both to fix in his memory and to carry out in
his actions their lessons of patience, humility, and
love of God, and of our neighbour. Palemon
secretly admired him, because he practised self-
denial and mortification in so holy a manner
that his soul became more and more cleansed
and purified. Pachomius heartily loved his hard
and difficult anchorite life, in which nothing
was to be found save what was most repelling
to sensual nature, because he thus lived over
again a part of the Holy Passion of our Lord.
In some spots the desert produced stunted thorn-
bushes, the thorns of which are as long and as
sharp as large pins, and which are, besides, so
hard that they pierce each other like lances. At
Jerusalem they are called the " Spina Sancta," be
cause the holy Crown of thorns was made of them.
One of these thickets of thorns was in the vicinity
of Palemon s hut, and Pachomius collected there
the twigs which he used for firing. When his
hands and feet were painfully torn by the fearful
thorns, he thought of the nails which pierced the
tender Hands and Feet of our loving Saviour on
the Cross, and no longer felt his own pain. Thus
Pachomius went through a time of trial of many
years duration under Palemon.
One day s journey down the Nile from Thebes,
on the left bank of the river, the beautiful temple
of Aphrodite built by Queen Cleopatra, lies in the
desert behind the village of Denderah, (the ancient
Tentyris.) It was four hundred years old when
Pachomius came into these parts, and as he then
182 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABKKNA.
beheld it, it remains at the present time, even after
the lapse of fifteen hundred years, except that its
destination is altered, for it has now become a
shelter for travellers in that country. 1
This kind of building is called in the East a
khan. It offers the traveller shelter for himself,
his asses, horses, or camels, and nothing more.
Under the twenty-four majestic and colossal
columns, which, six in each row, form a magni
ficent hall, there is a layer of chaff a foot deep
on the floor, as a sleeping-place for man and
beast, and stones and black ashes lie about, the
-emnants of little fires, and lengthy water-troughs
Kneaded out of clay, for the cattle to drink from,
reach from the interior to the entrance door. This
employment for ordinary purposes forms a strik
ing contrast to the severe and sublime architec
tural lines of the ancient Egyptian building, but
not so striking as that between the deep serious
ness of this very architecture and its childish and
distorted decoration with chisel and brush. The
purest creation of the spirit of the ancient Egyp
tians, and perchance of most other nations, was
their architecture, probably because sensuality can
be less impressed on that science than on any
other. The village of Denderah lies under the
palm groves, and in the midst of fields. But the
cultivation soon changes into pasture land for
sheep and goats, and gradually dies away into the
yellow waves of sand out of which the temple of
Hathor (the Venus of the Egyptian mythology)
rises like a block of black stone. Beyond it the
1 The well-knowu astronomical zodiac of Denderah in the
Museum at Paris was carried off from the above ruined temple.
But there is still a zodiac clearly visible, though somewhat
blackened, on the roof of the external hall. It begins with the
sign of the Crab, over which hangs a ball of light, which pours
its rays over a wheat sheaf, thereby designating the summer
solstice. Then follow the remaining signs which we know, in
termingled with stars and symbolic forms, only in the place of
the Virgin there is a snake.
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 183
boundless Lybian desert spreads its undulations
into the very heart of Africa.
In this region there was situated a ruined and
abandoned village called Tabenna. It is not
known whether Christians had been expelled
from it, or whether it had been earlier destroyed
and laid desolate by the wars of the Romans,
or even of still more ancient nations. Hither
Pachomius once came when searching for a com
plete solitude. A voice from above said to him
interiorly in prayer, " Pachomius, this is the place
where thou shalt serve me, thou and many others.
Behold." And an angel showed him a tablet,
upon which were written the precepts which he
afterwards gave to his monks as the rules of their
order. Pachomius immediately hastened back to
Palemon, and submitted all to his judgment. The
old man gladly believed that a high destiny awaited
Pachomius, and went with him to Tabenna, where
he helped him to erect a cell, and then returned to
his own little hut. There he was attacked by a long
and painful illness, brought on by his severe fasts.
Some of the brethren went to him, with the inten
tion of nursing him carefully, and gave him better
and more plentiful victuals. But his sufferings
grew more violent, and he begged the brethren to
leave him to his old ways. " Rest and joy are to
be found only in God and in mortification," said
he, " and therefore I will use even to the end the
spiritual weapons which I took up for the love of
Jesus." So he let himself be consumed by the
disease, and died happily in the arms of his be
loved Pachomius, who buried the venerable old
man, reciting psalms.
Since Pachomius had become a Christian and
an anchorite, he had never seen one of his relations.
Great, therefore, was his joy, when his elder
brother John came to him in the desert of Ta
benna, with a view of sharing his hermit life. In
184
those happy early times of the Gospel, the Chris
tians distinguished themselves so much by their
virtues, that the life they led after their con
version made a deep impression on such of the
heathen as had preserved any virtuous disposi
tions. Pachomius had been greatly struck by
the neighbourly love of the Christians, and his
brother John was similarly impressed when he
heard of the ascetic life which his brother led
in the desert for the love of God, seeing that it
must be a divine faith which could inspire such
a sacrifice. John learnt to know this faith, and,
having been baptized, became an anchorite. Both
brothers then advanced together to take the king
dom of heaven by storm, and each strove to excel
the other in humility, patience, and self-denial.
Pachomius mortified equally his body and his soul.
For fifteen years, notwithstanding his strict fasts,
vigils, and manual labour, he never lay down,
but slept sitting in the middle of his cell, with
out leaning against the wall. At first he suffered
exceedingly from this want of sleep, till nature
was sufficiently overcome no longer to disturb the
repose of his soul in God. He prayed for hours
together with outstretched arms, as immovably aa
if his body had been fastened to the cross ; and by
constant elevation to God, and contemplation of
the Eternal Beauty, he purified his soul to such a
degree that it could not bear the smallest atom of
imperfection on its spotless mirror without bitter
repentance. What temptations the ancient enemy
of human perfection prepared for him, and what
enares he laid for him, may easily be inferred from
these terrific austerities.
Inspirations from above informed him that the
time was near in which he should collect around him
many anchorites, and give them a rule of conduct
for a community life. He and John were still
entirely alone in Tabenna, but, like the boy Samuel
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 185
in the temple, he was attentive to the voice of God,
and therefore began by degrees to build cells.
John, who was a great lover of poverty, blamed
this supposed fault with some severity, and his
reproaches deeply pained Pachomius ; but he re
pressed all answer, and, behaving with the greatest
gentleness, kept silence. In the night there came
over him great remorse for this involuntary move
ment of sensitiveness. An ordinary man would
have called being silent in such a case a virtue ;
but this holy man considered his interior emotion a
sin. He went out and threw himself on the ground ,
weeping bitterly, and saying, " Woe is me! I
still act always according to the flesh, and not
according to the spirit ! I burn with impatience
because I fancy myself in the right. Thou didst
not so, Thou meek and humble Lord Jesus,
and if Thou dost not find any of Thy grace in me,
I am not Thy true servant. If, on the contrary,
the wicked enemy finds any of his works in me, I
am in his servitude ; for it is written, By whom a
man is overcome, of the same also he is the slave/ 1
How shall I dare to guide others in the spiritual
life, if I cannot observe Thy holy law with an
unspotted mind. Lord ! Lord I cleanse my
heart with the rays of Thy grace!" So tender a
conscience could hardly be found where the natu
ral man had not first been mortified and destroyed
by holy asceticism.
John died soon after, and Pachomius was con
soled by God with the frequent visits of an aged
anchorite called Apollo, who strengthened him in
his combats with the seductions of the devil. Once
Pachomius complained to him of the sufferings of
this combat daily renewed, and always under a
fresh form. Apollo answered, smiling, " The
wicked enemy has two reasons for fighting against
thee with all his power first, because he has never
1 2 Peter ii 18.
186* ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABEN^A.
yet overcome thee ; and secondly, because he hopes
to have an easy victory over us, if thou wert first
conquered. Therefore resist bravely, Pacho-
mius I Thou dost outshine us all in divine grace ;
therefore thy fall would be an occasion of falling
to many/ In that holy simplicity which looks
only to God, Pachomius continued his severe
mortifications of body and mind, considering them
as a means of facilitating his battle with sensuality
and pride. When he for the third time felt the
inspiration to found a community of anchorites,
and to unite them in a common life by a fixed
rule, he delayed no longer, but kept those with
him who wished to learn from him the way of
salvation, and to submit themselves to his rule.
About the year 325, when Pachomius was Dearly
thirty-three years old, the monastery of Tabenna
was founded, and he was its first Father, (in the
Greek language Abbas, from which the English
word Abbot is derived.) Pachomius founded
afterwards eight other monasteries of Tabenna-
eiots, as men belonging to this order were called ;
and also, by means of his sister, one of Tabenna-
siotines. She had also been converted to the faith,
and soon after the foundation of the first monas
tery, she came to Tabenna to visit her brother.
But Pachomius had made it a rule never to speak
to a woman, and he would not make any ex
ception even for his sister, denying himself this
consolation. He caused her to be told through
the brother porter, who received all the guests,
that she had better dedicate herself entirely
to the service of God, and assemble widows and
virgins for the same end. If she was willing to do
so, he would have a monastery built for her on the
other side of the Nile from that on which the
brethren lived, and he would draw up a rule of
life for her community. The heart of the maiden
became enkindled and inflamed with the fire of the
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 187
Holy Ghost, and she betrothed herself to the Divine
Lover of souls ; and in the year 328 she was living
in the monastery called Men with some spiritual
sisters, to whom she showed by precept and ex
ample the path of salvation. The venerable and
aged monk, Peter of Tabenna, was commissioned
by Pachomius to visit the nuns on certain days, in
order to instruct them in the Holy Scriptures, and
stimulate them to a life pleasing to God, according
to the rule of their order, in poverty, chastity,
obedience, and punctuality. The nuns could not
see the male members of their families but with the
permission of the superioress, and in the presence
of other aged nuns, and could never receive the
most trifling present from them. If buildings had
to be looked after in the monastery, or other things
done which women could not do, the most vener
able, most silent, and industrious of the brethren
were sent there from Tabenna, who executed the
work, always returning at meal times to Tabenna,
without accepting even a draught of water from
the nuns. Except the priest, who with his deacon
offered up the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass every
Sunday, no man crossed the threshold of the
monastery. The nuns had the same occupations
as the monks. They prayed in community at
fixed times during the day and night, reciting a
certain number of psalms and hymns ; and they
each prayed alone and contemplated the mysteries
of the faith, or the sentences and teachings of Holy
Writ, during their work, whether it consisted of
the household duties, cooking, baking, washing,
and working in the garden, or of separate manual
labours. They span the yarn out of which they
wove their garments, and if they had more than
was required for their community, they made
clothes for the poor, and gave them away. When
a nun died, the sisters laid the corpse in the coffin,
in the habit of their order, and bore it to the
188 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA,
bank of the Nile, solemnly reciting psalms, and
holding palm -branches in their hands. Then
monks came from Tabenna, across the Nile, also
singing psalms, but with olive-branches in their
hands, and, carrying away the body, buried it in
their burial-ground with great rejoicing ; for the
battle of this life, so poor, and yet so rich in sacri
fice, was won, and it rested from all earthly tribu
lation under the palms of victory and the olive-
branches of peace.
Pachomius received with humble and holy love
all who desired to offer themselves up in sacrifice
to God by a life of penance and abnegation. He
strengthened this purpose in them in every possible
way, and constantly repeated this warning, " A
monk must first renounce the world, then his rela
tions and friends, and lastly himself, in order that,
delivered from unnecessary burdens, he may be
free to carry the cross of the imitation of Christ."
At the commencement of the monastery, he was
the sole servant of all the monks, prepared the
tables for dinner, brought in the dishes, planted
and watered the vegetables, filled the burdensome
and laborious offices of porter and infirmarian, and
yet persevered in all his fastings and watchings,
and moreover gave all the spiritual instruction to
the brethren, and set them the example of a fer
vent prayer inflamed with holy love. Before long
the monks of Tabenna were reckoned by hundreds.
Whosoever resolved to remain in the monastery,
was kept for three whole years employed in manual
labour, and in the minor household works, and
then for the first time admitted to the spiritual
exercises, and to his own place of combat. No
one was received who was not free, who was under
age, or who had contracted any indissoluble en
gagements in the world. No money or presents
were taken from those who entered, as it might
have been a source of vanity to the richer brethren,
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABEXNA. 189
or of false shame to the poorer ones. Serving the
strangers was the first humble occupation of the
newcomer. If he could not read, he had to learn
to do so, and whilst he was a novice, to learn by
heart the whole of the New Testament and the
Psalms. This was a good practice for impressing
holy doctrines upon the memory, and for leading
the mind to supernatural things. Besides, owing
to the value of books at that time, and the great
number of the brethren, it was impossible to pro
vide each one with a copy of the Holy Scriptures,
although some of the monks were always occupied
in copying. A trumpet summoned them to the
community prayers. At its sound the monks had
immediately to leave their cells ; and this they did
with such punctuality that they never even finished
the letter they had begun ; this punctuality is, in
reality, only conscientious obedience, without which
no house or community can be kept in order. Every
Saturday and Sunday the monks received the most
Holy Sacrament. A priest from the nearest church
offered the Holy Sacrifice, for there were no priests
amongst Pachomius s first disciples, and he him
self, like Antony, Hilarion, and Ammon, was a lay
man. No brother was permitted to receive holy
orders, and if an ecclesiastic joined the commu
nity he had to submit himself to the same rule of
life as all the others, because Pachomius wished to
remove every occasion of dissimilarity or ambition.
Prescribed prayers were offered up in community,
at stated hours, and were each time commenced
with singing psalms. If a brother was on a jour
ney, or detained by business imposed upon him by
obedience, he was bound to unite himself in spirit
to the prayer of the brethren. The prayers were not
very many, so that those fervent in devotion could
add to them ; whilst those less advanced in spiritu
ality were not overladen. To practise obedience
was the chief duty of a novice, and therefore he some-
190 ST. PACHOMTUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA,
times received commands whose object he could
not discover, and which, indeed, had no other but
that of subduing his will. This appearance of ser
vitude was to give him true freedom, by deliver
ing him from the yoke of his self-love. Whoever
wishes to conform himself to the will of God must
renounce his own will, and he cannot learn to do
so otherwise than by obedience. A novice asked
Pachomius for work. He stuck his staff into the
ground, and said, " Water this stick." The youth
obeyed that day and the next, for three hundred
and sixty-five days. When one year was past, he
did the same all through the second. And in the
third year the staff began to put forth leaves and
blossoms.
Amongst the numbers of men and youths who,
eager for salvation, went to live with Pachomius,
there was naturally a very great variety of capa
cities, of gifts, and of powers, both of body and
soul. Some came to him who were already morti
fied, and soon reached the highest degrees of per
fection, others progressed more slowly, and some not
at all. But these last were always the exception.
In order that all might be properly watched over
and guided, they were divided into orders and
choirs, and each order placed under the inspection
of a superintendent, and these again were under
the abbot of Tabenna. The remaining monas
teries of the order had each a prior, who was sub
ject to the abbot of Tabenna, although the mon
astery of Pabau was larger and more considerable
than that of Tabenna. The hierarchical form was
observed from the first beginning of the monastic
life. In the various orders of monks all were dis
tributed according to their various talents and
capabilities, the weak in the easy occupations, and
the strong in the difficult ones ; but all, without
exception, had to work. There was an order for
each work that was required in the monastery an
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 191
order of cooks, of gardeners, of bakers, &c. The
sick formed one order, and the porters another,
which latter consisted of very circumspect and dis
creet men, because they had charge of the inter
course with the external world, and the preparatory
instruction of those who wished to be received.
Each order inhabited their own house, which was
divided into cells, and three brethren dwelt to
gether in each cell. But there was only one
kitchen for all, and they ate in community, but in
the deepest silence, and with their hoods drawn
down so low over their heads, that no one could
see whether his neighbour ate much or little. The
holy abbot practised the same rule about food as
about prayer ; he was not too severe upon some,
whilst he gave free scope to the zeal of others.
Their usual meals consisted of bread and cheese,
salt fish, olives, figs, and other fruits. Boiled
vegetables were also served daily, but none ate of
them save old men and children, or the infirm,
and these also generally availed themselves of the
permission of eating some supper, which was always
brought to table, to give the brethren an occasion of
self-denial. Pachomius and a few companions once
visited a monastery where supper was laid before
them. He remarked that the monks partook of
everything. It was not against the rule, but this
want of abstemiousness pained him so much, that
quiet tears rolled down his cheeks. The monks
were painfully surprised to see him so troubled, and
still more so when, at their earnest request, he told
them the cause. How much more must he have
been pained when he saw the rules broken ! At
one time he had not visited the monastery of
Pabau for two months. When he went there,
many of the brethren came to meet him, and also
some children, who had been sent by their parents
to the monastery to be piously brought up. We
see by this that even in their first beginning the
192 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
monasteries were employed in this work, which
became in later times so important and so noble.
One of the boys said to him, " Only think, my
father, whilst thou hast been away, we have no t
had either soup or vegetables to eat." The holy
abbot kindly replied, " I will take care, my dear
child, that it never happens again." He went into
the monastery, and visited and examined all the
classes, and then went into the kitchen. He found
the superintendent of this class very busily occu
pied in plaiting reed -mats. * How long is it, my
brother, since thou hast boiled any vegetables?"
The brother immediately confessed that it must be
full two months, but added, " As hardly any of the
monks tasted them, I thought I might save the time
and expense, and plait mats for the profit of the
monastery." Pachomius asked, " How many mats
hast thou plaited then ?" " Five hundred," he
answered. Pachomius said, "Bring them all here."
And when they were all piled in a heap, Pachomius
caused them to be burnt, and in the presence of
the whole order reproved the twofold fault of the
brother, saying, " Thou hast sinned against obedi
ence, because the rule prescribes certain kinds of
food, and also against charity, because the children
and the aged have missed their necessary nourish
ment, and thou hast deprived the other brethren of
the holy exercise of mortification." No economy,
industry, or increase of gain, to the profit of the
poor, excused in the eyes of the holy abbot the want
of obedience and love. A chief steward superin
tended the domestic government of the monastery,
and under him a procurator, whose care it was to
supply the wants of the brethren out of the proceeds
of their work, and to buy new materials, for ex
ample flax and cotton for weaving, parchment for
the copyists, &c. What remained was sold for the
benefit of the poor, and this amounted to so large
a sum, that none of the poor, in that whole country,
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 193
uffered from the famines which often visited
Egypt. So great was the industry of the brethren,
that two boats were constantly employed in these
various affairs, going up and down the Nile, be
tween Tabenna and Alexandria. They sanctified
labour, which is also praiseworthy in itself, by con
templation of divine things ; and by interior prayer,
which is the breath of life to the holy, because it
breathes out love, and draws in grace.
Brother Zaccheus was a very holy man, who
had spent many years in extreme humility and
mortification, and suffered very severe pains in his
old age in consequence of his penances. He was
given a separate cell, and obliged by obedience to
occupy it ; but he continued his austerities, and lived
on bread and salt, slept little, rose at midnight, was
unfailing at the community hours of prayer, and
never complained, showing by his whole behaviour
what consolation the love of God procures, and
now light are temporal sufferings to those whose
souls already inhabit eternity. As a matter of
course, Brother Zaccheus worked with the greatest
industry, although he could hardly hold himself
upright from weakness and pain. He plaited
mats 1 v* reeds, and this is work which, being
very rough, hurt his hands very much, and often
wounded them severely. They represented to him
that such work was too hard for one who was
already martyred by sickness and suffering. Zac
cheus answered that he knew no other work, and
1 Reed mats, both fine and coarse, are universal requisites in
an Eastern house. The clay or stone floors are covered with mats;
mats are used to sleep upon, and to be stretched across whole
streets where there is much commerce or traffic, as a shelter from
the heat of the sun. For the same reason in Spain, where so
much that is Oriental is found, fine mats are hung outside from
the windows, and sprinkled now and then with water to give
coolness and shade to the rooms. Mats are also hung over the
inner court (patio) of the houses in Andalusia. Therefore to
this day in Spain, the making of mats (espartos) is a great and
important branch of trade.
N
194 ST. PACHOM1US, ABBOT OF TABENTNTA.
that he knew still less how to be idle. Th?v
called his attention to the fearful wounds of his
hands. Zaccheus answered, that the wounds in
the Hands of the crucified Saviour were much
deeper. At last a brother persuaded him to rub
his hands with salve, so as to be better able to
work. Zaccheus followed his advice ; but instead
of finding relief, the wounds and pain increased to
such an extent that he could hardly move his
hands. Pachomius visited the sick brother Zac
cheus, and treated him as only one perfect man
can treat another, he reproved him because, from
want of confidence in God, he had had recourse to
human assistance. Zaccheus immediately accused
himself of this failing, begging his holy abbot to
implore God s mercy upon him, and wept for his
fault to the end of his life.
On Wednesdays and Fridays each superin
tendent assembled his order, and gave them an
instructive or an admonitory exhortation. On
Saturdays the superior of each monastery preached
once, on Sundays twice. Each order had also its
little library, out of which the brethren were pro
vided with books. Silence was faithfully observed,
and speaking was only allowed at certain hours.
Hospitality was nobly practised towards all comers.
They were lodged and fed in apartments near the
gate. They might share at will in the church
services of the monks, but could not eat with them
or dwell amongst them, not even if they were
priests or anchorites. There was a separate build
ing for female guests, in which they were hos
pitably lodged. And this beautiful virtue of hos
pitality is an inheritance which the monasteries
of the East have faithfully preserved to this day,
and which they exercise in an admirable manner
towards all travellers. No monastery is without its
adjoining building for pilgrims, and it is opened to
all who knock, without distinction. In the Island
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 195
of Cyprus, at Damascus, Jerusalem, Bethlehem,
Nazareth, Rama, everywhere the good Franciscan
Fathers receive with cheerful self-denial travellers
of all nations, creeds, and conditions ; and in the
beautiful monastery on Mount Carmel, the most
sublime and fascinating hermitage upon earth, the
holy Carmelite Fathers make themselves poor to
enrich their guests. Even the Greek monastery
of Mar Saba, in the wild rocky desert of the Dead
Sea, grants hospitable shelter. All who have
ever travelled in the East know how to prize the
hospitality of the monasteries at its just value.
The first monastic order which sprung from
Christianity was so filled with the Holy Ghost
that later centuries kept, unaltered in essentials,
the rule which the great abbot Pachomius gave to
his Tabennasiots, for it contained the incitement
to every virtue, and gave scope for the attainment
of the highest perfection.
But it sometimes happened that men entered
the order who were deficient either in good will or
in perseverance. They forgot the warning of our
Blessed Lord, that he who has put his hand to
the plough may not look back. They wished to
be thought spiritual men, but to live as sensual
ones. It was not yet the custom to take the three
vows of the evangelical counsels on entering the
order, after having finished the novitiate. In gen
eral, the faith was too ardent, and souls were too
fervent to be wanting in zeal to persevere in the
ascetic life. Besides, a recreant was as it were
branded, because his return to the world was
looked upon as evidence, to say the least, of extra
ordinary weakness. Pachomius felt great grief
at one time on account of some monks who would
not carry on to the end the interior combat. He
spared himself no trouble in instructing them how
to behave in prayer, in temptation, and in all
kinds of delusions; he prayed for them with all
196 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
the fervour of a tender father and a good shep
herd, but in vain. His faithful vigilance over their
behaviour became so hateful to them, and the evil
desires of their passions grew so strong, that they
persisted in returning to the world. But Tabenna,
like a garden cleared of its weeds, only flourished
and blossomed more brightly and more beautifully.
Pachornius had such a gift, of wisdom in the guid
ance of souls that the priors often brought him
rebellious monks that he might pacify them. The
prior of Pabau came once to Tabenna and brought
bitter complaints of a young monk who would
insist on becoming a priest, and whom he did not
consider worthy to receive priest s orders. To
his great surprise Pachomius said, " My advice is
that thou shouldst comply with the brother s
wishes. The desire to become a priest is good
in itself, and may stimulate a slothful soul to
greater perfection. Perhaps holy orders will
sanctify him." The prior followed the advice of
his holy abbot, and soon after the young monk
came to Tabenna, threw himself at the feet of
Pachomius and said, with flowing tears, " I thank
thee, thou blessed of the Lord, that thou wert
so gentle and compliant with me. The denial of
my wish only caused it to grow stronger and
stronger. But when it was going to be fulfilled, I
cast a glance into myself and shuddered before my
imperfection, clearly recognising a satanic tempta
tion to pride. I will remain what I am, a simple
monk. But if thou hadst not treated me so wisely,
I should have fallen away from the order an<\
consequently from God Himself, who called me to
it."
Pachomius was so extremely humble that al
though he worked miracles and signs, cast out evil
spirits, and trod unharmed upon serpents and scor
pions, he yet obeyed a child. He was visiting one
of his monasteries, and after he had made an inspec-
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 197
tion of all the classes, and had offered up the com
munity prayers, he sat down by the brethren who
were making reed coverings, and began likewise to
plait rushes. Then a little boy passed by, and,
stopping near Pachomius, said, with the forward
ness of Ins age, " My father, thou art not doing it
rightly, our prior does it differently. " Then Pacho
mius stood up as if one in authority were speak*
ing to him, and said lovingly, " Then, my child,
show me how the prior does it." The boy showed
him, and Pachomius quietly continued his work in
the way which he had just learnt. If he had acted
according to earthly wisdom he would have given
the child a reproof for his forwardness, but he
acted according to heavenly wisdom, and gave the
brethren an example of incomparable humility.
Also when Athanasius the Great, the patriarch of
Alexandria, visited the monastery of Tabenna, Pa
chomius hid himself amongst the monks and strictly
forbade any of them to name him. But this was
of no avail, for the saint recognised the saint.
Pachomius feared that the great bishop would
perhaps wish to ordain him priest, which he strove
against with ah 1 his might, feeling himself unwor
thy in the sight of God. The saints became holy
because they measured their virtue by what was
above them, by the example of Jesus, and never
by what was below them, the infirmity of their
neighbour.
Pachomius had frequent extasies in which he
clearly beheld future things and heavenly mys
teries. Once, after long and fervent prayer, he
was as it were raised above the earth, and saw
in a vision the future of the monastic life, that
much lukewarmness, worldliness, contention, and
envy would creep in, especially because the supe
riors would not conscientiously maintain the rules,
but would seek power and consideration in the
world. Seeing this, he sighed and said, "
198 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
Lord ! if such things are to come, wherefore hast
Thou caused me to begin the laborious under
taking in which I have served Thee night and
day without giving myself any rest, and without
ever satisfying myself even with dry bread ? "
Then a voice said, "Pachomius, do not glorify
thyself, for what thou hast done for Me I have
done in thee." Pachomius fell on his face and
wept, and implored the pardon of God for his
proud speech. And lo! a great light descended
upon him, and angels surrounded him, saying,
" Because thou hast implored the mercy of God to
assist thee in thy struggle against sadness and
pride, the King of Glory, who is Mercy itself, ap
proaches thee, He who out of compassion has willed
to become Man and to be crucified/ And when the
angels had raised him up Pachomius saw, standing
before him in unspeakable beauty and glory, our
Divine Saviour giving out rays of splendour as
the sun, but with the marks of the Wounds and
the Crown of thorns. " Lord, have I thus cruci
fied Thee ?" asked Pachomius sorrowfully. " Not
thou, but thy parents," answered the loving Lord.
* Therefore be comforted and have courage and
confidence. The work which I have begun by thee
shall not be abandoned by my grace, but will subsist
to the end of days. He who loves and seeks eternal
life with his whole heart, and does not shun the bat
tle, will find in this way the salvation of his soul,
and hereafter eternal glory. But he who loves the
death of the soul will remain in everlasting dark
ness." Pachomius heard these words with ineffable
consolation, and when the heavenly vision disap
peared he sought the brethren, offered up with them
the evening sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving,
and spoke to them so attractively of the joy of the
glories to come, that they readily perceived the
abundance of sweetness with which he was inun
dated. At the conclusion, he said, " Have, there-
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 199
fore, the hour of your death ever before your eyes,
and think of the eternal punishments. Then every
earthly pain, and every sacrifice will seem light to
you. If you exercise yourselves in mortification
in this way, you make room in yourselves for the
operation of the Holy Ghost. He will enkindle
fire and light in your purified hearts, which will
make them capable of heavenly contemplation.
And this continual contemplation will cleanse you
more and more from earthly desires, and give you
purity of mind and humility of heart. Then you
will become truly temples of the Holy Ghost, and
tabernacles of God as He Himself has promised :
" If any one love me, my Father will love him,
and we will come to him and will make our abode
with him/ 1 Then the holy fear of God will
instruct you in the progress of the spirit better
than the wisest teacher, making you clearsighted,
and giving you knowledge above the conception
of human understanding. Then you will know
for what you are to pray to God, because " the
Spirit himself asketh for us with unspeakable
groanings. He asketh for the saints according to
God/ 2
With this heavenly doctrine Pachomius en
kindled holy love in the hearts of the brethren,
and of a young monk in particular, called Syl-
vanus, who had hitherto given much scandal. He
had been an actor, and feeling for a time disgusted
with his mode of life, he had been led by grace
to Tabenna, where Pachomius had admitted him
in imitation of his Divine Master, Who did not
break the bruised reed. But although Sylvanus
never looked back wistfully to the follies of the
world, his thoughts were still filled with their
images, and he so often infringed the rule and
discipline, out of levity and absence, of mlml, that
he gave a very bad example to the younger novices,
1 John xiv. 23. s Rom. viii. 26, 27.
200 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA,
and scandal to the elder monks. Pachomius alone
had patience with him. At last it came to this,
that some of the most experienced brethren repre
sented to their holy abbot that Sylvanus caused
too much harm by his light behaviour to be toler
ated any longer in the monastery, to the prejudice
of the weak. Pachomius, who was never tired of
urging him with great sweetness to turn from
the way of perdition, once more interceded for
the frivolous and perverse youth, and he wept so
long before God for the salvation of this soul
that the spark of grace which slumbered within
it increased till at length it became a bright
flame. Sylvanus grew as penitent as he had
formerly been frivolous, and he who had hither
to unceasingly talked and laughed now kept
silence and wept constantly. He now again dis
turbed the brethren, but this time by his tears.
Whether he walked or stood, at prayer, at work,
at meals, he shed floods of tears. They begged
him not to weep so bitterly, at least at table, as
compassion prevented some of the brethren from
eating anything. Sylvanus took very great pains
to repress his tears ; and as he did not succeed, he
accepted with joyous humility all reproofs and
punishments ; but his sins were so continually be
fore him that his whole soul was, as it were, dis
solved in sorrow, and poured itself out in tears.
He reached at last an unusual degree of holy com
punction and hatred of self, and Pachomius said
one day to the assembled monks, " My dear chil
dren, since this monastery was built I have only
had one single brother who was perfect in humi
lity. I protest this before God and His angels."
The brethren tried to guess who this perfect monk
was, and at length earnestly begged their abbot to
tell them his name, for the edification of all. Pa
chomius answered, " My sons, if I did not know
that he whom I shall name would humble himself
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 201
all the more, I could not accede to your request.
But he follows the grace of God so faithfully that
the sting of earthly honour can no longer reach
and wound him. He is no other than the youth
whom you lately wished to expel from the monas
tery, Brother Sylvanus."
Once, during the fast of Lent, the monks of
Tabenna had a wonderful example of mortification
before their eyes. An aged workman asked Pacho-
mius to receive him. The holy abbot was certainly
endowed with the gifts of prophecy and of discern
ment of spirits ; but nevertheless it pleased God at
times to veil his supernatural sight, or to leave his
prayers unheard. This, however, did not in the
least disturb his holy indifference, for, in their ful
filment, as well as in their rejection, he loved the
will of God alone. Pachomius told the aged
labourer that he was much too old to begin a
monastic life, for people began very early there
to accustom themselves to the religious rule, and
to submit themselves to discipline and obedience.
His wish, therefore, could not be granted. But the
old man prayed all one day, and the next, and for
seven whole days, observing a continual fast all
the time. On the eighth day he said to Pacho
mius, " I beg of thee to receive me. Whenever
thou shalt see that I do not fulfil all the duties of
a monk, in prayer and work, in fasting, watching,
and silence, then, my father, I pray thee drive me
away/ Pachomius agreed to these conditions, and
the old man was received just as the forty days
fast began. During that time the monks practised
various mortifications ; some ate a little towards
evening, others only every second, third, or fifth day.
Many watched the whole night through standing,
and only resting a little in the daytime ; many
did all their work kneeling; in short, there was
not one who did not take pains to retire with our
Blessed Lord into the desert But what did the
202 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
old man do ? He placed himself in a corner, and
wove baskets out of palm leaves steeped in water.
And there he always stood, without lying down,
sitting, or kneeling, without leaning against any
thing, or speaking, without tasting a bit of bread
or a drop of water. On Sundays only he ate a few
leaves of salad, and he never left his place except
at the community hours of prayer. He was ever
diligently employed in his work, and was almost
uninterruptedly in an extasy of holy contemplation
and union with God. The whole class of basket-
makers rose in insurrection, and said to their supe
rior, " Where hast thou found this man, who has
no longer anything human about him ? Take him
away. We can bear the sight no more, for it is
impossible for us to keep pace with him. When we
look at him we all fear to be lost/ The superior
of the class laid these complaints before Pachomius,
who then himself carefully observed the doings of
the old man. He was thereby filled with holy
reverence for such a victory of the spirit over the
flesh, and he betook himself to prayer to beg for
light to see what he should do in this affair, in
order that the brethren might be edified instead of
discouraged by such extraordinary virtue. Then
God opened the eyes of his soul. Pachomius
went to the old man, led him by the hand before
the altar, and said, " I greet thee, worthy friend
of God, I greet thee, thou blessed one ! * Thou
art the great Macarius of whom I have heard
for many years, and whom I have so ardently
longed to see. I thank thee that thou hast hum
bled my spiritual children, and shown them that
they have no cause to glory in their life. But 1
beg of thee now to leave us; thou art too far
above us." Thus spake the great St. Pachomius,
classing himself in the same rank as the most
pusillanimous of the brethren, so that none should
1 Mucariua was called even in hU lifetime by the title of Blessed.
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 203
despond, and humbling himself for them all, al
though he was in reality equal to Macarius.
That great man was born in Alexandria in a
humble condition. At the age of thirty he sud
denly abandoned his little trade of selling sugar
in the streets, after the fashion of Orientals, and
joined the anchorites whom Ammon had assem
bled in the country of Nitria. There he learned
the practice of obedience, and then he followed
the strong attraction that led him into solitude.
He came into the desert of Scete, between Egypt
and Lybia, which was so fearfully arid, that in its
whole length and breadth there was no drink
able water. He who entered this dreadful desert
was fain to be contented with the water of the
marshy lakes, which was of a repulsive odour and
bitter taste. Aiid yet the anchorites were willing
to spend their lives in it. As the desire of earthly
goods stimulates worldly men to the conquest of
blooming lands and the discovery of gold and
silver mines, so the desire of heavenly treasures,
of the bright gold of love, impelled ascetic men
to search out places where seekers of pleasure
would shudder, and where evil passions can find
no food.
Macarius of Alexandria found a namesake and
spiritual brother in the desert of Scete, the Egyp
tian Macarius, by birth a shepherd, but so early in
life distinguished for his asceticism that the other
anchorites called him " the young old man." His
heart was overwhelmed with contrition for having
stolen some figs as a child, and to confirm him more
and more in humility God permitted some atrocious
calumnies of him to be spread abroad and believed,
whilst he was leading a hidden and penitential
life in a small dark cavern in the hills. This trial
passed over as all trials do, and when the time ot
honour began for him, when his miracles, the
answers to his prayers, and the grace of God whicli
204 ST. PACHOM1US, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
worked in him, became known, he fled from the
admiring crowds into the desert of Scete, where
no one could follow him, unless it were a few dis
ciples desirous of salvation. These were not want
ing, although he exercised them severely in all the
virtues of their state. But he did it with such
gentle charity that his disciples clearly perceived
his severity to be caused, not by harshness, but by
the love he bore them. His favourite prayer was,
" Lord, have pity on me, as Thou best knowest
and wiliest." He once sent a youth who wished
to become an anchorite to the burial-ground of
the brethren, and ordered him to praise the dead.
When he returned, he said to him, " Go there
once more and revile the dead." After the youth
had obeyed, Macarius asked, " What did the dead
answer thee, my son?" "Nothing, my father,"
answered the astonished youth. " Imitate, then,
my son, their insensibility to the praise or the con
tempt of men ; for eternal life depends not upon
the judgments of the world, but upon the sentence
of God/ To another youth he said, " Receive
poverty, want, sickness, and all miseries joyfully
from the Hand of God, and with equal joy, consola
tion, refreshment, and all superabundance. By this
uniform joy in the will of God thou wilt deaden the
stimulus of thy passions." Some more aged anchor
ites accused him of too great condescension and toe
loving a demeanour towards his disciples, but he
replied, " Oh, my brethren, I had to beg this grace
from God for the space of twelve years before it was
given to me. What does it profit us if we irritate
or embitter those whom we have to correct ? Pun
ishment should be so constituted as to win the soul
to virtue." When the sanctity of the Egyptian
Macarius had gathered together many anchorites
in the desert of Scete, who, like those in Cellia in
Lower Egypt, lived in solitary huts, scattered over
a distance of many miles, a church had to be
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABEXNA. 205
built for them, in which they assembled according
to the custom of those times, on Saturdays and
Sundays for the celebration of the sacred myste
ries, and the reception of the holy sacraments; and
Macarius, by command of the bishop, was con
strained to receive priest s orders, in order to supply
the spiritual necessities of these children of the
desert. By degrees three churches were built in
the desert of Scete, and each was governed by a
priest. But Macarius had a most terrible tempta
tion to pride, and therefore besought God, day
and night, to send him some wholesome humilia
tion. His prayer was heard. He received the
command from heaven to visit two women living in
a distant city, and to learn from them a degree oi
perfection to which he had not yet attained. They
lived in the same house, and there was nothing
extraordinary to be remarked in them, or in their
circumstances. Macarius begged them to disclose
to him their way of life. " Oh," said they, " that
is not worth the trouble, my father. For fifteen
years we have lived quietly and peaceably together ;
we have never exchanged an evil word, have been
obedient to our husbands, have loved silence, and
have kept ourselves in the presence of God in all
our household affairs. That is all that we can
do for love of Him, and it is, alas ! very little."
But Macarius returned to his desert edified and
ashamed.
To him, the elder, came Macarius the younger
of Alexandria, who was then beginning to lead an
ascetic life. For seven years he lived upon raw
vegetables ; for three years upon from four to five
ounces of bread daily. And at last he did in this
way : he crumbled some bread into a jar of water
with a narrow mouth, to soak it, and once each
day he ate as many crumbs as he could take out in
one handful. But that was very little, because if
his hand was very full he could not withdraw it
206 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
through the narrow mouth of the jar. In order
completely to overcome every motion of sensual
pleasure, he placed his dwelling for some months
in a swamp over which swarms of flies hung like
thick clouds. These bloodthirsty insects fell upon
him, and tortured him to such a degree that he
came back to the brethren, after six months, as
wounded and disfigured as a leper. With im
mense labour he excavated an underground pass
age, which led to a distant and entirely un visited
cavern; then if strangers came and wished to
speak to him about their affairs, he fled through
humility into his place of concealment, and left the
elder Macarius, or other pious solitaries, to despatch
the business. The example of these two " blessed
ones " excited all the brethren to emulation ; and
every one would have been ashamed of the sin of
allowing himself any sensual enjoyment. A bunch
of grapes was once given to the younger Macarius.
He never even thought of eating it, but he took it
to the anchorite who lived next to him. This one
did just as Macarius had done, and the bunch of
grapes travelled in this way over the whole desert
of Scete, and after a long time returned to Maca
rius. When a disciple complained much of distrac
tions in prayer, and was inclined to abandon it out
of spiritual idleness, Macarius said, ** Nay, rather
lengthen thy prayer and say, Even if I cannot pray
in peace, I will stay auietly in this spot for Christ s
sake." The disciple followed his advice, and
gradually overcame his distractions. The Patri
arch of Alexandria hearing of the favourable
influence which he exercised over souls, sent for
him, and bestowed holy orders upon him. Maca
rius the elder accompanied him for a part of his
journey. They travelled by the Nile, and had
placed themselves humbly in a corner of the ship,
and betaken themselves to contemplation. There
were also on the ship two men of high rank,
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABE^NA. 207
who were travelling with a large retinue. Their
servants, horses, and litters, shone with gold and
purple, and filled all the space. When they per
ceived the two poor monks in their mean garments,
they deemed them happy in their plain arid simple
manner of life, and exclaimed, "Oh, how blessed are
ye, who despise the world ! " " We do indeed by
God s grace despise the world," answered Macarius
of Alexandria ; " but how is it with you ? Do you
not also despise the world ? " This speech made
so obvious to one of the noblemen the emptiness
and delusion of his state of life, that when he
returned home he renounced all his vain grandeur
and began an ascetic life.
Both the saints named Macarius, by their faith
and holiness, their teaching and example, were true
apostles and pillars of the Catholic Church, and
were therefore bitterly hated by the Arians, and in
particular by the Arian patriarch, Lucius, who gave
no rest to the Emperor Valens, also an Arian, unti]
he had driven both these holy men out of Egypt, and
banished them to an island in the Grecian Archi
pelago, where idolatry was still in vogue. This
took place in the year 373. But in banishment as
in their home they won souls to the true faith, and
it seemed as if God had wished to add to their
other virtues that of the apostolate. This nowise
coincided with the views of the Arians, so they
were sent back to their own country. The elder
Macarius sought once more his desert of Scete, and
the younger went to Cellia, where he had the spi
ritual charge of the anchorites. Although he most
conscientiously fulfilled this holy duty, and was
indefatigable in all the offices of love which make
the care of souls so arduous, he was neverthe
less afflicted by the temptation of thinking that he
ought to work still more for the honour of God,
which he could only do in Rome. This thought
followed him day and night. Neither work, nor
208 ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA.
prayer, nor occupation with the brethren, could
drive away the torturing temptation. Then he
filled a large basket with sand, took it upon his
shoulders, and with this burden wandered all about
the desert, in order to overcome his spiritual rest
lessness by bodily fatigue. In continual combats
and labours, such as never lying down for the last
sixty years of his life, he lived to nearly a hundred
years of age, and died about the year 395. Palla-
dius says of him that he was small and delicate in
form, and that he worked so many miracles, that
with him they were ordinary daily events. In the
meantime the holy Abbot of Tabenna was leading
his monks further and further into the regions of
the spiritual life. Their mortification reached a
very high degree even for that fervent ascetic age.
It was the rule at the community prayers to keep
as still as possible, never to cough or to clear the
throat, or to move from one place. It happened
once that Brother Titheus was violently stung in
the foot by a scorpion during this time. The poi
son immediately caused the injured foot to swell,
and Titheus felt it taking more hold upon him
every moment. But in spite of the danger and
the pain he stayed quietly in his place, and this
heroic obedience moved Pachomius to beg of God
his recovery and his life. He very rarely did so, for
he generally said to the brethren who complained
of their illnesses or pains, " Oh, my children, how
can you wish to be freed from your sufferings ? Do
you not yet know that no mortification is so pleasing
to God as the joyful, or at least patient, acceptance
of the crosses He imposes? Fasting, watching
and mortifying the flesh are good kinds of penance,
but suffering in union with our suffering Lord and
Saviour is incomparably better."
The salvation of all men lay very near to the
heart of Pachomius. In the great deserts there
are here and there fruitful spots around the water-
ST. PACHOMIUS, ABBOT OF TABENNA. 209
springs, oases, which lie like green islands in the
middle of the sea of sand. That which is called
"the Great Oasis" in the Lybian Desert was also
called by the Greeks " the Island of the Happy,"
because it was so beautiful. The Egyptian oases
afforded pasture for herds of cattle, and were
therefore inhabited by numerous shepherds, who
became almost savages, and lost their faith from
want of instruction. Pachoinius went to the
Bishop of Tentyris, and begged him to take pity
on these poor forsaken Christians, and to send
them a priest, and build a little chapel for them.
Till that could be done, he and some of the
brethren divided the pasture lands amongst them
selves, and visited and instructed the shepherds
in the faith. We seem to see a St. Alphonso
Liguori, who in our own days, sought out the goat
herds in the mountain valleys of Amalfi and Sor
rento for the same end.
He who is completely reconciled to God has
no longer a single enemy in the whole world. St.
Jerome, who wrote the life of the great Abbot of
Tabenna, relates that Pachomius could walk unin
jured upon poisonous reptiles, and that crocodiles
had offered themselves to him, and carried him
over the Nile on their backs. Evil spirits came to
attack him, but his heel crushed their head, and
he obliged them to speak to him, and tell him by
whose power they had been so fettered. " By the
wonderful Incarnation of Jesus Christ," they said.
Yea, trul^, the Incarnation is the key-note of re
demption; and the grandeur of the strong faith
of Christian antiquity consisted in embracing this
belief in its fullest meaning, and accepting all its
consequences. But the tongue of the slanderer is
harder to subdue than crocodiles or devils. Neither
virtue nor solitude, neither sanctity nor miracles,
protected Pachomius from calumny. Hatred and
envy were busy in decrying him as an heretical
o
210 8ERAPION THE SINDONITE.
visionary who, through ambition, sought to de
ceive his monks and all the world. The Egyptian
bishops commanded him to appear before their
assembly at Latopolis, (the present Essne.) He
justified himself after the fashion of the saints;
that is to say, with such humility and simplicity,
that he gained for himself the love and confidence
of his superiors.
At length this glorious star of the early Chris
tian spiritual life was to set. The plague, that
scourge of the East, visited Tabenna. More than
a hundred monks died, and amongst them three
of the favourite disciples of Pachomius, pillars and
ornaments of the Order. His own turn followed.
With a weak and worn-out body, but with a coun
tenance beaming with boly joy, he addressed the
brethren once more, and peacefully breathed his
last.
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Hahn-Hahn, Ida M.
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Hahn-Hahn, Ida M.
The fathers of the desert
