Cassian's Conferences: Scriptural Interpretation and the Monastic Ideal (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) [1 ed.] 9781409405597, 9781409405603, 1409405591

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Cassian’s Conferences Scriptural Interpretation and the Monastic Ideal

Christopher J. Kelly

Cassian’s Conferences This book explores Cassian’s use of scripture in the Conferences, especially its biblical models to convey his understanding of the desert ideal to the monastic communities of Gaul. Cassian intended the scriptures and, implicitly, the Conferences to be the voices of authority and orthodoxy in the Gallic environment. He interprets familiar biblical characters in unfamiliar ways that exemplify his ideal. By imitating their actions the monk enters a seamless lineage of authority stretching back to Abraham. This book demonstrates how the scriptures functioned as a dynamic force in the lives of Christian monks in the fourth and fifth centuries, emphasizes the importance of Cassian in the development of the western monastic tradition, and offers an alternative to the sometimes problematic descriptions of patristic exegesis as “allegory” or “typology”. Cassian has been described as little more than a provider of information about Egyptian monasticism, but a careful reading of his work reveals a sophisticated agenda to define and institutionalize orthodox monasticism in the Latin West.

ASHGATE NEW CRITICAL THINKING IN RELIGION, THEOLOGY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES The Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. Headed by an international editorial advisory board of acclaimed scholars spanning the breadth of religious studies, theology and biblical studies, this openended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Other Recently Published Titles in the Series: Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality Testing Religious Truth-claims R. Scott Smith Thomas Torrance’s Mediations and Revelation Titus Chung Dalit Theology and Christian Anarchism Keith Hebden Dharma and Ecology of Hindu Communities Sustenance and Sustainability Pankaj Jain Piety and Responsibility Patterns of Unity in Karl Rahner, Karl Barth, and Vedanta Desika John N. Sheveland Kierkegaard, Pietism and Holiness Christopher B. Barnett The Trinity and Theodicy The Trinitarian Theology of von Balthasar and the Problem of Evil Jacob H. Friesenhahn Concepts of Power in Kierkegaard and Nietzsche J. Keith Hyde

Cassian’s Conferences

Scriptural Interpretation and the Monastic Ideal

Christopher J. Kelly Sacred Heart University, Fairfield, USA

© Christopher J. Kelly 2012 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Christopher J. Kelly has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Ashgate Publishing Company Wey Court East Suite 420 Union Road 101 Cherry Street Farnham Burlington Surrey, GU9 7PT VT 05401-4405 England USA www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Kelly, Christopher J. Cassian’s Conferences: scriptual interpretation and the monastic ideal. – (Ashgate new critical thinking in religion, theology and biblical studies) 1. Cassian, John, ca. 360–ca. 435. 2. Monastic and religious life–History of doctrines–Early church, ca. 30–600. 3. Bible--Criticism, interpretation, etc.– History–Early church, ca. 30–600. 4. Authority–Religious aspects–Christianity–History of doctrines–Early church, ca. 30–600. 5. France–Church history–To 987. I. Title II. Series 271’.0092-dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kelly, Christopher J., 1970– Cassian’s Conferences : scriptual interpretation and the monastic ideal / Christopher J. Kelly. p. cm. – (New critical thinking in religion, theology, and biblical studies) Includes index. ISBN 978-1-4094-0559-7 (hardcover : alk. paper) – ISBN 978-1-4094-0560-3 (ebook) 1. Cassian, John, ca. 360–ca. 435. Collationes patrum XXIV. 2. Monastic and religious life–History of doctrines–Early church, ca. 30–600. 3. Bible–Criticism, interpretation, etc.–History– Early church, ca. 30-600. I. Title. BR65.C33C6535 2012 271.0092–dc23  2011027840 ISBN 9781409405597 (hbk) ISBN 9781409405603 (ebk)

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by the MPG Books Group, UK.

To Paula, Nicholas, and Samantha

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Contents

Preface   Acknowledgments  

ix xiii

1

Cassian and the Conferences  

1

2

Martha and Mary: Distraction and Discretion  

17

3

Job: The Ambidextrous Hero  

43

4

Abraham and Moses: Withdrawal and Obedience  

61

5

Prophets, Psalms, and Proverbs: The Continuity of Experience  

87

Afterword: Transformative Knowledge and Experiential Transmission   101 Appendix: Cassian’s Preface to the First Part   Select Bibliography   Index  

105 127 133

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Preface

It seems obvious to say that books have meaning. Yet, what they mean is not always clear. An author’s intent and a reader’s interpretation may vary quite distinctly. Good books, those that have something substantial to contribute to human experience, those that strike chords within the minds and hearts of readers, are particularly susceptible to diverse interpretations because they tend either to be densely layered or rather lacking in specificity. Both Hamlet and the Tao te Ching, for example, have something to say, but the way each “speaks” and the intent of what is “heard” vary greatly. Certain passages, ideas, or images appeal to particular readers based upon the perspectives and life experiences each brings to the encounter. When a text in question is believed to be sacred, to somehow communicate what is important to the divine, interpretations thereof gain an added sense of importance, and any applications or implications can be far reaching. Now, it is not the author’s intent within the text currently unfolding before the reader’s eyes to explore the intricate questions of hermeneutical theory. It is, rather, to provide an example of how a fifth-century monk named John Cassian used texts considered sacred in the Christian tradition to propose an ideal for living the monastic life. Doing so required a nuanced interpretation of familiar biblical stories. The result is a book that immerses the reader in the world of the biblical text and demands that one emerge again a changed person. Indeed, Cassian would have his reader become a living embodiment of the sacred pages. Cassian read the stories of Abraham, Moses, and Job, for instance, but filtered and channeled what they meant in a particular direction, toward a particular end. Informed and guided by his monastic experience, Cassian interpreted the biblical narrative as though it were a monastic primer and presented his interpretations in a text that could be understood as an embodiment of the great monastic teachers of the eastern deserts. If this sounds somewhat bizarre, we must recall the complexity of reading and interpreting. Integral, too, is an understanding of the historical context within which Cassian composed his Conferences, the focal text of this study. The ability to read could not be assumed or taken for granted during late antiquity. The Christian who could read held the power to communicate the word of God, the words that provided everlasting life. No minor faculty. The Bible, too, although still an evolving collection of texts in the fourth century, was a powerful tool. Engaging its contents, reading and hearing its stories, was a transformative experience. Perhaps more than anything else, what would eventually become the

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canon of sacred scripture was spiritually edifying for those willing to immerse themselves in its pages. In order to demonstrate the extent to which the scriptures permeated Cassian’s monastic ideal, a close reading of the Conferences is required. Much of the present study is devoted to this task. Cassian understands the master-disciple dynamic as fundamental to the monastic endeavor, so his strategy is to create a perspective that intermingles the biblical world and the world of the desert fathers. He interprets familiar biblical characters in unfamiliar ways, ways that exemplify his ideal. By imitating their actions the monk enters a seamless lineage of authority stretching back to Abraham. Chapter 1 establishes the foci of the present inquiry and provides a measure of context to facilitate the analysis. It includes some words describing the intimate link between scripture and the early monastic movement and a brief account of Cassian’s life. The Conferences is also introduced in terms of content, style, and terminology. Chapter 2 begins the study in earnest and is a close reading of Cassian’s initial Conference, which clearly demonstrates his organizational and rhetorical ability. Key concepts introduced in Conference I and revisited continually throughout the rest of the Conferences are explained in some detail. The use of the terms scopos (goal) and telos (end) indicate that monasticism is more than just a lifetime commitment for Cassian; it is a means of preparation for (and in a certain sense a taste of) the afterlife. As becomes clear, the foundation of Cassian’s ideal is the notion of puritas cordis (purity of heart), and this chapter analyzes how this concept is communicated through the biblical example of Mary of Bethany from Luke’s gospel. Exegesis of Mary and her sister Martha often interprets the sisters as representative of contrasting lifestyles. In Cassian’s understanding they remain part of a unified identity, separated only by spiritual maturity. Chapter 3 demonstrates how Cassian makes use of the figure of Job in Conference VI to exemplify discretio (discretion) as one of the central virtues necessary for success in the monastic life. Job emerges as an archetypal monk in his ability to remain focused amidst the extremes of privilege and tragedy. The overall eschatological framework of Cassian’s schema is reinforced in this dialogue with Abba Theodore. Additionally, attention is given to Cassian’s creative use of an intertextual link between the Book of Judges and Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians that illustrates how he uses the scriptures to define the contours of the monk’s worldview. Chapter 4 analyzes how Cassian employs two of the greatest characters from the Hebrew Bible, Abraham and Moses, as both models to be emulated and as authority figures from whom developed the abba-novice dialectic. Essential to monastic life are the concepts of anachoresis (withdrawal) and obedience, and the patriarchs set the standards. Cassian’s reading of the biblical narratives brings the

Preface

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characters to life in their applicability to the monastic endeavor. The chapter also shows how Cassian includes contemporary monastic examples in tandem with biblical examples in an attempt to graft the former to the latter. In doing so, the desert fathers assume biblical status, thereby guaranteeing their authority. Finally, the monk is encouraged to live in the text in his imitation of the Exodus narrative. The result is that Moses is painted as the archetypal abba and Israel as his novice monk. Chapter 5 sharpens Cassian’s mimetic strategy in its examination of the use of various biblical prophets, the Book of Psalms, and the Book of Proverbs in the Conferences. Developed within the context of the question of scriptural interpretation presented in Conference XIV, Cassian first establishes that real knowledge of the scriptures requires a living of the scriptures. Scholarly inquiry, for instance, is fruitless unless one has cultivated a life of virtue. Again, biblical and eremitic examples are cited in tandem to establish Cassian’s ideal. Attention is then focused on the importance of the first-person voice characteristic of the psalms. The monk is encouraged to assume the identity of the psalmist. When applied in association with the abba-like pronunciations of the prophets and the proverbs, the monk and the text merge in a meaningful way. Some concluding remarks leave the door open for further inquest and hint at potential areas of application for Cassian’s exegetical strategy. Cassian’s mimetic exegesis of scripture revives, or perhaps preserves, the seamlessness of the divinehuman relationship characteristic of the biblical narrative. It does so in a manner to which contemporary hermeneutics is sensitive, which suggests a correlation between worldviews separated by more than a millennium.  

Christopher J. Kelly November 2011

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Acknowledgments

This text marks my initial foray into academic monograph publishing. It had its inception years ago on the fifth floor of the University of Iowa’s Main Library when Boniface Ramsey’s translation of Cassian’s Conferences (part of the Ancient Christian Writers series), called to me from its dusty shelf. Not literally, of course, but there was something about it that appealed to something within me. At the time I was a graduate student finishing coursework and considering questions related to the Shoah. I was interested in how various theologians had appealed to the example of Job to deal with the implications and consequences of the Holocaust. Job and theodicy often go hand in hand. Curious, it occurred to me to see if Cassian made reference to Job at all. Indeed he does, but his treatment has little to do with theodicy. I was surprised; I expected to discover a traditional reading of the biblical hero, but notions of evil, benevolence, and justice do not inform Cassian’s interpretation of Job’s ordeal. Intrigued, I had to ask, if he is not interested in theodicy, then what is he doing with Job? This book is the result of my attempt to answer that question. I have many people to thank for their contributions, both in terms of content improvement and moral support, but I shall tip my hat but a few times for brevity’s sake. I am indebted to Professor Ralph Keen, who provided a compass and never lost sight of the broader picture as I tried to navigate the seas of fifth-century biblical interpretation. My thanks extend to Professors Kenneth Kuntz and Raymond Mentzer, as well. I am grateful for the questions and challenges presented to me by students taking my course on the history of Christian monasticism over the years. They have helped to keep things in fresh perspective. My colleagues at Sacred Heart University, especially Professor Brian Stiltner, have played a major part in ensuring my continued work on the project, and their efforts are appreciated. So, too, the support provided by my wife, my children, both sets of parents, family, and friends. Professor Verna Ehret deserves special recognition because we have worked in the trenches together. I would like to thank Paulist Press for their kind permission to reproduce part of Ramsey’s translation as an appendix to this monograph, thereby providing greater context to those not familiar with Cassian’s work. Finally, all thanks go to my publisher, Sarah Lloyd, and Ashgate Publishing Ltd., for her patience, attention to detail, and constant enthusiasm.

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Chapter 1

Cassian and the Conferences

A Question of Realized Meaning For the Church Fathers the texts that eventually would comprise the canon of sacred scripture stood as a rich resource from which a vast array of interpretations could be made. To be sure, I expect that anyone at least peripherally familiar with patristic exegesis has had a moment of pause when confronted by a particularly unusual reading of a biblical verse. Seeming contradictions and drastic variations in interpretation may be frustrating (or fascinating) to modern readers, but they draw attention to one of the most important characteristics of early Christian exegesis. The process of reading the scriptures was primarily a spiritual exercise. The Church Fathers committed themselves to a thorough engagement with the texts in and of themselves, without considering that they acquired meaning because they pointed to some reality outside of themselves.1 Their exegesis did not rely on some exterior reference point to bring clarity. Instead, the scriptures were approached as a totality, a unified whole that made sense on its own terms. The key to understanding them was the conviction that Jesus Christ lay at their center. Ultimately, the entirety of the scriptures communicated the person, mission, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Jesus Christ was both the message and the means by which that message could be discerned. Familiarity with the savior bred familiarity with the text, and vice versa. As O’Keefe and Reno suggest, For the fathers did not hold Jesus Christ as an inert truth; they believed that they could only dwell in him, and he in them, if they dwelled in his illuminating light. To read under his guidance was to dwell in his light; to interpret the mosaic of scripture was to catch a glimpse of his image.2

Faith in Jesus as the revealed word of God brought the scriptures into focus. It is the basis upon which the various themes, characters, images, and allusions fall into 1   This is the assertion of John J. O’Keefe and R. R. Reno’s insightful Sanctified Vision: An Introduction to Early Christian Interpretation of the Bible (Baltimore, 2005). 2   O’Keefe and Reno, pp. 43‒44.

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place and the true meaning of the text is made clear. But what does dwelling in the illuminating light of scripture mean in any practical sense? What did it mean to “catch a glimpse” of Jesus? To what extent could these goals be realized, how would one begin the attempt, and how could success be measured? Then, as now, responses to these questions are not obvious. Traditionally, the history of exegesis has identified two dominant methodological approaches to biblical interpretation in Late Antique Christianity, each labeled according to the locale of the catechetical school that produced its prominent exponents. The “Alexandrian school” was represented by Origen and favored allegorical interpretation as integral to determining the “real” meaning of scriptural verse. In Antioch, fear of unbridled and fanciful explanations led men like Theodore of Mopsuestia to emphasize the importance of the historical sense of the text in the process of appropriating its intent. Recent scholarship has questioned the effectiveness of drawing sharp distinctions between Alexandria and Antioch, for each employed techniques of the other in practice and each considered the reality of Jesus as definitive cipher, but the questions generated by O’Keefe and Reno remain. Did patristic authors intend something metaphorical by dwelling in the light of the scriptures, or was there more to it than just characteristic image? Topographically far removed from the urban environments of Alexandria and Antioch, communities of men in the deserts of Syria, Palestine, and Egypt in the third and fourth centuries gave rise to an ascetic movement that would produce the formal, disciplined institution of monasticism so recognizable in both the Latin West and the Greek East.3 Theirs was a unique role, withdrawal from the world in order to live what they considered to be the most authentic Christian life possible. The particulars of their circumstances conditioned their approaches to and understanding of sacred scripture. As a result, early Christian monasticism had its own variety of exegesis. As Jean Leclercq’s classic study The Love of Learning and the Desire for God suggests, within monastic circles the reading of scripture has always been closely linked with the basic observances of monastic life.4 Reading and meditation have always been important elements of the religious life, and the monk approached the text as the means of salvation. The personal dimension and immediate value of scriptural meditation within the Christian monastic tradition suggests a potentially fruitful avenue of investigation with regard to the practicality of scriptural exegesis.   Although early Christian monasticism was overwhelmingly a male enterprise, it should be noted that valuable contributions from female ascetics are still being discovered. See Laura Swan, The Forgotten Desert Mothers: Sayings, Lives, and Stories of Early Christian Women (New York, 2001). 4   Jean Leclercq, The Love of Learning and the Desire for God, trans. C. Misrahi (New York, 1982), p. 72. 3

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It is for precisely this reason that an early fifth-century text on monastic instruction written by John Cassian uniquely responds to the disconnection between the characterization of patristic biblical interpretation and the experience of its application. For Cassian, engagement with the scriptures through reading, meditation, and, especially, imitation according to a monastic ideal had very real effects upon the monk’s body, mind, and soul. His Conferences is an exercise in patristic exegesis that affirms the possibility of the monk dwelling in the scriptures, and the scriptures in him, in the sense that the monk’s life becomes the hermeneutical medium for understanding the text. John Cassian understood the monastic life to be an emulative process. One learned how to live as a monk by following the example of the more experienced. The novice made progress by observing the actions and heeding the advice or chastisement of those who had distinguished themselves by their commitment and accomplishment. Building on the pedagogical tradition of mimesis, or “imitation,” common in the philosophical and monastic circles of the East, Cassian’s Conferences employs a subtle use of biblical archetypes to express his vision of the monastic ideal. The result is an interpretive methodology that is primarily tropological and designed to complement the transformative effect of scriptural reading that Cassian and his contemporaries took for granted. Cassian’s mimetic exegesis of scripture was the primary medium for communicating his monastic ideal. Because he was writing for the fledgling monastic movement of the Latin West, Cassian’s goal was to ensure that the ideals and practice of the Desert Fathers assume normative status. The surest way to accomplish this was to establish a line of authority originating in the sacred scriptures that was mediated through accomplished elders and exercised over novices. If the inexperienced were to learn from their masters, both were to look to biblical archetypes for Cassian’s monastic ideal. I use the term “archetype” to refer to those characters in the Hebrew Bible and New Testament whose lives and actions, aspirations and personalities are interpreted as epitomizing the goals and requirements of the monastic life. The term “monastic ideal” synthesizes those sets of assumptions that make up the goals and practices of anachoresis, or “withdrawal” from the world. In his use of scriptural models Cassian interpreted the eremitic standard of Egyptian monasticism for a western style that had little tradition of its own. The result is a monastic ideal the realization of which hinges upon the extent to which one is able to identify with and manifest the sacred text within one’s life. Cassian makes use of scripture in the Conferences, especially its biblical models, to convey his understanding of the desert ideal to the monastic communities of Gaul. My fundamental intent here is to draw attention to Cassian as an exegete whose methodology demonstrates the immanence of scripture felt by patristic authors. Much has been written concerning the influence of the “four senses” (historical,

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allegorical, tropological, and anagogical) of scripture that Cassian identifies in Conference XIV, but analyses of Cassian’s own exegesis of the sacred text are lacking.5 Cassian offers us an opportunity to better understand how the scriptures were read and interpreted in Late Antiquity and, more specifically, within the monastic milieu. Not only were Cassian’s Institutes and Conferences meant to be guidebooks and inspirational sources for those seeking holiness, but they can also be read as an extended apology for the ascetic movement in an unsettled Gallic environment, an environment in which Cassian’s monasticism would have to gain the respect, if not the trust, of the Church hierarchy.6 His use of scripture in them is an example of how early Christian monks approached the text as a dynamic force in their lives. Cassian intended the scriptures, and, implicitly, his Conferences to be the voices of authority and “orthodoxy” in the Gallic environment. My use of the term “orthodoxy” is simply to denote an eastern form of monastic practice that had an established tradition. Cassian’s interpretive methodology is geared toward establishing the scriptures and the Conferences as what he calls the “sound of the watchman,” the strong, clear voice that offers security and warns of impending danger. Cassian draws the phrase from his recollection of Proverbs 11:15b. Neither the Septuagint nor the Vulgate, however, use the term “watchman.” In these versions Proverbs 15:11 reads “A wicked person does evil whenever he mingles with a righteous person, and he hates the sound of security.” Of course, in ancient times a watchman would stand as a symbol of vigilance and security, so Cassian’s interpretation does not do an injustice to the intent of the text. Indeed, his personification of the concept may be another example of his mimetic strategy.

The Bible and Early Monasticism Contemporary scholarship in early Christian monasticism has become increasingly aware of the inadequacies of considering the subject to be a monolithic entity. The who, when, where, how, and why regarding the origins of Christian monastic life are complex questions not sufficiently addressed by stock answers. Numerous examples of preexisting ascetic sentiments that favored the spiritual world over 5   The standard text concerning the significance of this fourfold division is Henri de Lubac’s Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture, trans. Mark Sebanc (Edinburgh, 1998). See also Manlio Simonetti, Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church: An Historical Introduction to Patristic Exegesis, trans. John Hughes (Edinburgh, 1994). 6   See Conrad Leyser, “Lectio divina, oratio pura: Rhetoric and the Techniques of Asceticism in the ‘Conferences’ of John Cassian,” in Giulia Barone (ed.), Modelli di santita e modelli di comportamento: contrasti, intersezioni, complementarita (Turin, 1994), pp. 79‒105.

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the physical world preclude any notions that Christian monasticism developed sui generis. New Testament exhortation, various Gnostic and Manichean movements, the legacy of first century Essene communities, the desire for martyrdom, pagan ascetic traditions, and even attempts at tax evasion all contributed to the emergence of the monastic lifestyle.7 A multiplicity of intentions, charismatic leaders, and geographical locations implies varied interpretations of what we can identify as a “monastic ideal.” What did it mean to be a monk? What was one supposed to do? Again, answers to such questions are not obvious, but this is where early monastic literature can be informative. The biography of Antony of Egypt penned in the middle of the fourth century by Athanasius of Alexandria, for instance, was of singular importance. The Life of Antony was precedent-setting in that it catapulted Antony to biblical status and established a template for hagiography that was to be emulated for hundreds of years. The Life of Antony is also instructive because it provides insight into what was considered fundamental for living the eremitic life. The text not only inspired others to become monks, but it also provided an ideal, a standard of measure towards which one could strive, at least with regard to the development of Egyptian monasticism. Of course, Antony was considered saintly not because he independently charted his own way, but because in his view and that of hagiographers he willingly participated in the unfolding of the divine plan of salvation. With this in mind, Athanasius molded him in the image of several biblical characters, including Elijah, Jacob, and Job. Such men were models from the past who manifested God’s will in their persons and their actions. This sort of heroic construction is indicative of the central influence scripture had on the development of a monastic ideal. Pagan Stoic traditions and various Gnostic and Manichean philosophies had their parts to play, but early Christian monasticism was centered on the biblical text. The work of scholars such as Samuel Rubenson, Roger Bagnall, and Douglas Burton-Christie suggests a higher rate of literacy within the early monastic communities in Egypt than previously assumed.8 Without dwelling on any debate, it suffices to suggest that within each community there may well have been at least a few monks who could read and write. The question, though, is not a pressing one 7   Elizabeth A. Clark offers a concise presentation of some of the historically perceived motives for ascetic withdrawal and some nuances on these theories in Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton, 1999), pp. 22‒27. 8   Douglas Burton-Christie, “Oral Culture, Biblical Interpretation, and Spirituality in Early Christian Monasticism,” in Paul M. Blowers (ed.), The Bible in Greek Christian Antiquity (Notre Dame, 1997), pp. 417‒418. Samuel Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony: Origenist Theology, Monastic Tradition and the Making of a Saint (Philadelphia, 1995). Roger Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity (New Jersey, 1993).

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because the desert culture in which the movement developed can be described as one of “residual orality.”9 Its world was still in the process of moving from an oral culture to a written culture. As a result, scripture was never just words on papyrus; it was alive in the actions of hearing and speaking. One’s encounter with the sacred text was always dynamic. Early Egyptian eremitic communities would gather at the weekly synaxis (assembly) to hear both the reading of scripture and the counsel of the elders. In each instance the spoken word shaped their experience and provided practical guidance. Both encounters were fonts of revelation, both resonated with authority. Sacred scripture oriented the lives of the first monks, and, what is more, the content of the interaction between monk and narrative was not theological speculation but practical application. Scripture was not something one read, but something one did. Two points bear noting. Firstly, the early monks engaged scripture as an active, authoritative force in their lives. It gave expression to their aspirations and guided their actions. Secondly, scripture and its interpretation were often mediated through an elder, or abba. This latter assertion has an important corollary: the monastic life was primarily an emulative process. One learned how to be a monk by following the example of others. An initial apprenticeship, whether formal or informal, was common. Within the coenobium, the community, more experienced monks had seniority, and their words carried great weight. The inexperienced learned by listening to the admonitions of the wise and by imitating their actions. John Cassian is heir to this tradition. However, there were no abbas in Gaul to whom novices could turn for guidance. The example of Martin of Tours (d. 397) was not acceptable because his biography was too cluttered with stories of the miraculous to be practically beneficial. Martin had founded monasteries in Ligugé, Tours, and Marmoutier, but evidence seems to suggest that they may have been lacking in austerity and discipline.10 Instead, Cassian needed a way to transplant those masters nurtured and tried in the desert from Egypt to Marseille, Lyon, and Lérins. First and foremost, this could be accomplished by reading the scriptures, because they lay at the heart of the monastic endeavor. Additionally, though, the Conferences itself could take the place of the Desert Fathers; it could embody the wisdom and discipline of the holiest men of renown in literary form. Constant   Burton-Christie, “Oral Culture.”   See Elie Griffe, “Saint Martin et la monachisme gaulois,” Studia Anselmiana

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46 (1961); John Percival, “Villas and Monasteries in Late Roman Gaul,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 48 (1997). For the state of Gallic monasticism prior to Cassian’s arrival see Friedrich Prinz, Frühes Mönchtum im Frankenreich: Kultur und Gesellschaft in Gallien, den Rheinlanden und Bayern am Beispiel der monastischen Entwicklung (4. Bis 8. Jahrhundert), Second Edition (Munich, 1988); John M. Wallace-Hadrill, The Frankish Church (Oxford, 1983).

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engagement with and the Conferences’ mimetic exegesis of scripture would then, in time, create new abbas as they began to embody the texts in the same way as their desert counterparts.

Cassian Although not as well known as Jerome, Augustine, Benedict, or Gregory I, no other figure was as influential on the early development of monasticism in the West as Cassian. His fluency in Latin and Greek, extensive experience in the deserts of Egypt and Palestine, practicality, and profound commitment to the monastic endeavor combined to produce a formidable force whose contributions are still acclaimed and studied by scholars and religious alike. References to the esteem in which Cassian was held arise shortly after his death and continue through the early medieval period and stem from such names as Gregory I, Cassiodorus, Alcuin, Rupert of Deutz, and Thomas Aquinas.11 Very few details of Cassian’s early life can be confirmed. He has no biography, and in his own works he is extremely reticent in providing any factual information. He does on two occasions refer to himself as “Iohannes” (Inst. V.35 and Conf. XIV.9.4), and in the preface to his Institutes he likens himself to Hiram of Tyre, a foreigner brought in by King Solomon to help build the Temple (I Kgs 5), which suggests he was not native to Gaul. Precious little else in Cassian’s works provides any clue as to biography. References to Cassian by other late antique authors do not add much more. He is mentioned briefly in a letter of Pope Innocent I and in Palladius’ Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom. Gennadius of Marseilles provides a sketch in On Illustrious Men, in which Cassian is noted as hailing from “Scythia,” but what this means has been the subject of much debate among scholars.12 Based upon Cassian’s bilingual ability and obvious classical education, modern scholarship has tended to favor the region of Dobrudja, in modern Romania, as the likely candidate for Cassian’s place of birth. The area lay at the boundary between the eastern and western spheres of the empire and would have provided Cassian with the linguistic and cultural background to move comfortably between the two.

  Cassian’s legacy is ably described in Columba Stewart, Cassian the Monk (New York, 1998), pp. 24‒25; Owen Chadwick, John Cassian: A Study in Primitive Monasticism (Cambridge, 1968), pp. 148‒162; Boniface Ramsey, John Cassian: The Conferences (New York, 1997), p. 7. 12   Gennadius, De viris illustribus 62. See Stewart, Cassian, for scholarly references regarding debate over Cassian’s national origin. 11

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For unknown reasons, sometime around 380 he and an older friend named Germanus traveled to Palestine and became monks in the area around Bethlehem. There they became cellmates with Abba Pinufius, who, in search of a simpler life, had run away from his position as abbot of an Egyptian monastery. Pinufius regaled the companions with tales of the wonderful accomplishments of monks in the deserts of Egypt. Soon thereafter (ca. 385) the two gained leave to see such sights for themselves. They spent the majority of the next fifteen years visiting various monasteries such as Thenneaus and Diolcos in the Nile delta, and further inland, such as Scetis and Kellia, where Cassian encountered Evagrius of Pontus. Germanus and Cassian, and a great many others, eventually left Egypt as part of the “Origenist exodus” of circa 399.13 Those sympathetic to Origen’s allegorical interpretation of scripture, especially with regard to anthropomorphic depictions of God, were forced to flee from the wrath of Theophilus, the anti-Origenist bishop of Alexandria. The two made their way to Constantinople and entered the service of that city’s bishop, John Chrysostom. Here Chrysostom ordained Germanus a presbyter and Cassian a deacon. The two must have made a significant impression on the bishop and those close to him, for both were chosen to be part of a delegation sent to Rome in 404 to plead Chrysostom’s cause in the wake of his exile amidst charges of corruption and disobedience. Cassian’s activities for the next ten years or so are unclear. It seems likely, though, that he stayed in Rome and cultivated a friendship with the future Pope Leo, whom he warmly acknowledges in the preface to On the Incarnation of the Lord. Circa 415 Cassian settled in Massilia (Marseilles) on the southeastern coast of Gaul. Here he founded two monasteries, one for men on the outskirts of the port (St. Victor) and one for women (possibly St. Savior) traditionally located within the town. It is also here that he composed the only three texts known to come from his hand. Cassian’s works include two major contributions to monastic regulation and spirituality and one apologetic text purportedly a defense against the errors of Nestorianism, but it too is rooted in Cassian’s monastic outlook. Cassian’s most important works are the Institutes and the Conferences. Both have the express purpose of bringing the practices and ideals of eastern monasticism to the West. Both played a central role in the development of the Latin monastic rule. A direct line can be drawn from Cassian to Caesarius of Arles to the Regula Magistri to the Regula Benedicti to the Dialogues and Moralia of Gregory the Great. The dedications and references found in the prefaces of these two texts show that Cassian, after his arrival in Gaul circa 415, very quickly became aware of whose favor he should garner and what steps he should take to manifest the “light 13   See Elizabeth A. Clark, The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate (Princeton, 1992).

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from the East” to western Christendom. The evidence suggests he had a vested interest in establishing what he considered to be a more orthodox or sublime form of monasticism. Although he established at least two monasteries of his own at Marseilles, it was Cassian’s influence on the monastic island retreat of Lérins that solidified his stature. Lérins had been founded in 408 by Honoratus as a haven for those pursuing the spiritual life. Situated off the coast of southern Gaul, its topography and relative isolation afforded monks of the western empire an approximate spatial equivalent to the desert environment so cherished by the fathers in the east. Eucherius of Lyons, one of the first generation of monks on the island, made the connection explicit in his In Praise of the Desert, which extols the value of Lérins as both a metaphorical and very real “unwalled temple.” Lérins quickly gained a reputation as a beacon of sanctity.14 Cassian’s own reputation may have preceded him there, for the deserts of Egypt, Palestine, and Syria had a firm hold on the religious imagination of the western monks, and here was a man who had lived with and learned from the great abbas in the birthplace of the monastic movement. Whatever the case may have been, Cassian’s preface to the second part of the Conferences makes it clear that his spiritual insight was enthusiastically welcomed. Indeed, Cassian dedicates Conferences 11‒17 to Honoratus and Eucherius. In the course of the preface it becomes clear that both men were familiar with Cassian’s previous work but expressed the desire for more. Cassian’s monastic spirituality came to dominate the community of Lérins. Names no less distinguished than Hillary of Arles, Maximus of Riez, Faustus of Riez, Vincent of Lérins, and Caesarius of Arles all fell under Cassian’s influence. Dozens of monks were selected from Lérins and appointed to sees throughout Gaul. Cassian’s thought and practice went with them.

The Conferences After arriving in Marseilles, Cassian quickly established a presence for himself. The prefaces to his works indicate an active engagement with the developing monastic movement and its leaders in the West. Within five years or so he produced what was intended to be the first of two complimentary texts. This was the Institutes, and some mention of it ought to be made in order to better understand its sisterwork, the Conferences.15 The preface to the Institutes dedicates the work to Castor,   See Adalbert De Vogue, “Les Debuts de la vie monastique a Lérins,” Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 88 (1993). 15   The text also can be found under the title The Institutes of the Cenobites, and the Remedies for the Eight Principal Vices. However, as noted by Guy in his translation (Sources chrétiennes 109, Paris, 1961, 9, n. 2), until modern editions the manuscript tradition carried 14

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Bishop of Apt, who desired to found monasteries that had more concrete links to established tradition and enlisted Cassian’s assistance. As Cassian notes, “you [Castor] are concerned that the simple life of holy men be explained in simple language to the brothers in your new monastery” (Instit. praef. 3). The result is a primer on what monastic life ought to resemble if in accordance with the practices and principles of Eastern and, especially, Egyptian monasticism. As such, Cassian works to identify and explain the practical, day-to-day building blocks of the kind of monasticism he considers perfect to movements identified as “unrefined” (rudi) that improvise as they develop. The word “institutes” (institute) means “rules” but, more inclusively, in the sense of “fundamental principles.” In praef. 1.2 Cassian allegorizes Castor’s mission (and his) as the attempt to construct a “spiritual temple for God not out of unfeeling stones but out of a community of holy men.” The Institutes was to serve as its solid foundation. Although Cassian acknowledges that he could, he strives not to dwell on the wondrous abilities of the Egyptian masters, their miracles and astounding feats of prowess. Instead, the plan for the twelve books of the Institutes is to avoid the marvelous acts of God and focus on the means necessary to bring about “the improvement of our behavior and the attainment of the perfect life, in keeping with what we have learned from our elders” (Instit. praef. 8). This was accomplished by dividing the text into two parts. The focus of the first four books is on external manifestations of the religious life, what Cassian calls the behavior of the “outer man” (exterior hominis) in Instit. II.9.3. Book One concerns how Egyptian monks dress, Book Two their method of evening prayer and psalmody, Book Three their method of daytime prayer and psalmody, and Book Four how novices (renuntianti) are received and trained. It should be noted that although Cassian describes seemingly practical matters, he does at the same time imbue them with spiritual import. For instance, the monk must never assume that his staff is a mere walking stick; it is a reminder that he “must never go unarmed in the midst of numerous barking dogs of the vices and the invisible beasts of the evil spirits” (Instit. I.8). Reflecting on Cassian’s pastoral intent, the common theme guiding these early books is unquestioning obedience to one’s superiors. Having set the stage for uniform practice in the first four Institutes, the remaining eight books crystallize the lifelong struggle every monk must face to overcome vice and cultivate virtue. Books Five through Twelve are a litany of the eight principal vices and what ought to be done to counter them. The list is not original to Cassian but reflects the influence of Evagrius of Pontus, who identifies the same forces and with it no clear title. Cassian himself refers to the work simply as the Institutes in Conf. IX.1 and Conf. XX.1.1, but as The Institutes of the Cenobia in 2 praef. 2.

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analyzes their interplay in the first section of his Praktikos. The vices of Gluttony, Fornication, Avarice, Anger, Sadness, Acedia, Vainglory, and Pride are dealt with in turn. As Ramsey has noted, the order of the list is not random but proceeds from that which is considered most carnal to that which is considered most spiritual.16 Additionally, the motifs of the Christian as spiritual athlete and spiritual soldier appear throughout the second half of the text, emphasizing the notions of struggle and the need for concerted effort.17 The suggestion is that success, meaning the elimination of vice and the accumulation of virtue, is difficult to achieve and can occur only when one proceeds in a logical fashion. As one progresses, so one gains experience and is better prepared to take on the next challenge. Cassian’s treatment of the principal vices a monk must overcome reflects an initial foray into more psychologically reflective material and provides a springboard for what will become his magnum opus. Evidence from the texts themselves indicates that Cassian conceived of his two most famous works as complementary. Institutes II.1, II.9.1, II.18, and V.4.3 delay further explanation of the subjects at hand (namely, the correct method of canonical prayer in Instit. II and the vice of Gluttony in Instit. V), until “the conferences of the elders” (seniorum conlationes). The Conferences is the followup text. Just as the Institutes dealt with the workings of the exterior hominis, so the Conferences progresses to more complex material, the character of the interioris hominis (inner man). The allusion to the biblical patriarch Jacob that follows in the preface confirms that Cassian wants to engage his audience in a transformative experience. Those who have put into practice the recommendations of the Institutes can consider themselves “spiritual” Jacobs and are ready to begin the next level of internal struggle that will, if they are successful, make them worthy of the name “Israel,” or “the one who sees God” as Cassian understands the term. The Conferences is divided into three sets that originally circulated separately and purports to convey the wisdom gained by Cassian and Germanus through their discourse with fifteen abbas in the deserts of Egypt. Conferences I‒X comprise the first set and, for the most part, effectively satisfy the promises to provide more insight made in the Institutes. Within them six abbas from Scetis and one from Kellia address such topics as the goal (scopos/destinatio) and end (telos/finis) of monastic life, purity of heart, discretion, and unceasing prayer. There are, however, some deferred issues that are not treated in this first set, and, as Columba Stewart

  Boniface Ramsey, John Cassian: The Institutes (New Jersey, 2000), p. 6.   Cassian draws these images from Paul, especially Romans 13:12, 2 Corinthians

16 17

6:7, Ephesians 6:11‒17, 1 Corinthians 9:26‒27, Philemon 3:13‒14, and 2 Timothy 4:7‒8.

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suggests, during the course of his writing Cassian recognized the need to include more in another installment.18 The second set, Conferences XI‒XVII, relate conversations the companions had with abbas near Panephysis in the Nile Delta shortly after their arrival from Palestine. Chronologically, these seven Conferences occurred before the first ten. They are concerned with questions of perfection, grace, chastity, and friendship. Cassian’s third set, Conferences XVIII‒XXIV, stem from his encounters at Diolcus, Panephysis, and Scetis and bring the work to an end. The treatment of what Cassian considers to be the three forms of monastic life (cenobitic, eremitic, and sarabaitic) in Conferences XVIII‒XIX mirrors the purpose and meaning of the entire monastic enterprise established in the first Conference. The remaining Conferences cover the notion of repentance, nocturnal emissions, the impossibility of sinlessness, and questions of mortification. At the beginning of the final Conference (Conf. XXI.1.1) Cassian notes that the number of Conferences “mystically corresponds” to the vision of the twenty-four elders “who have received crowns of glory because of the worthiness of their teaching” (Conf. XXIV.1.1) recounted in the Book of Revelation (4:4). This biblical association not only serves to emphasize an eschatological dimension, something fundamental to Cassian’s thought, but also endows his opus with a sense of authority. Style Cassian’s erudition, his inclusion of Greek and occasionally Coptic terminology, the eloquence of his Latin, and the precision of his grammar are indicative of a cultured, educated man. His role as spokesperson for Chrysostom suggests diplomacy and tact. His monastic experience and sophisticated treatment of the character of the interior hominis negate the possibility of classifying him as a simple cataloger of Egyptian practice. It should not go unnoticed that Cassian wrote the Conferences using the classical rhetorical technique of dialogue, or erotapokriseis, in which a question posed by a novice or student is answered by a master. The question is: to what end? Was it simply a reflection of his own training according to the norms of the Greek paideia, or did he have a pedagogical strategy in mind? Some contemporary scholars have argued that Cassian specifically adopted the genre of philosophical dialogue as an oblique means of reaching his real audience,

  Stewart notes the examples of fasting and kneeling during Easter mentioned in Instit. II.18 that are explained in Conf. XXI and the idea that different forms of monastic life ultimately culminate in the same end mentioned in Instit. V.4.3 that is explained in Conf. XIV.4, 18‒19. See Stewart, Cassian, pp. 32, 162 n. 46. 18

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the Roman elites of the West.19 Accordingly, the desert fathers in his work assume the roles previously held by the great philosophers of ancient Greece, offering their wisdom to those seeking counsel. This literary style would have been immediately recognizable within sophisticated circles, which often were contemptuous of the ascetic movement as it made its way westward. Cassian knew that the litterati he wanted to reach would understand and appreciate his strategy if it was framed in such terms. His goal, then, was not only to defend the ascetic ideal but also to make it appealing by fashioning it in such a way that it reflected a classical heritage. Within the rhetorical tradition, the integrity of one’s discourse was a measure of one’s moral fiber. So, within Cassian’s schema, reading of the Bible, primarily, or lectio divina, effected a moral transformation, and those to the agenda would demonstrate the results in the purity of their speech. This meant that an ascetic commitment on the part of an individual in public office was no cause for concern, but would, in fact, prove to be a benefit to all. The classical dialogue format afforded Cassian the best opportunity to promote this message. This argument’s emphasis on the transformative power of engagement with the biblical text is an important point, but it does not give sufficient weight to the fundamentally monastic framework of the Conferences, nor does it consider that the dialogue format is consistent with actual practice and the genre of early monastic writings. The principal means of instruction in the earliest communities was the interaction between experienced abbas and novice monks at the daily or weekly synaxis. In addition to a liturgy service, prayer, and scriptural reading, the synaxis offered and opportunity for the unseasoned to have their questions answered by those considered more advanced in the spiritual life. The masterdisciple relationship not only encouraged the virtue of humility but also afforded a means of protection from error, doctrinal or otherwise. The image would indeed have resembled that of the sage dispensing philosophical wisdom in the vein of the classical pedagogical tradition. One need not look too far to find evidence of this practice in early monastic literature. Athanasius’ Life of Antony deliberately paints a picture of Antony as a wise man to whom all manner of people, from fellow monks to pagan philosophers, judges, and even representatives from Emperor Constantine, came for wisdom and guidance.20 In almost all cases the medium is an audience with Antony in which a question is asked and the abba responds. Similarly, the Apophthegmata Patrum is filled with encounters between senior and junior monks in which the standard catalyst is the petition “Abba, give me a word.” The ensuing dialogue is often

  Leyser, “Lectio divina, oratio pura.”   See Athanasius, Vita Antonii 73‒81, 84 (SC 400:322‒342).

19 20

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brief, direct, and sometimes arresting but always focused on providing insight into the spiritual life. Cassian’s choice of the erotapokriseis format blends right in with the literary current of monastic writing. Indeed, he is the only Latin author included in the alphabetical collection of the Apophthegmata Patrum. Having noted this, however, few texts match his level of detail and development of thought. Cassian chose a dialogue format for his master work for two reasons: 1) it was a realistic portrayal of how monastic instruction occurred, and 2) in the absence of actual desert fathers in Gaul, he wanted his monastic audience to relate to the Conferences as a portable abba in book form. The Conferences was to stand as an authoritative text, a guide and corrective. As such, Cassian utilized archetypes after whom novices ought to model their behavior, attitude, and orientation.

Patristic Exegesis In Conference XIV Cassian puts the following statement into the mouth of Abba Nesteros: “Then, once all worldly cares and preoccupations have been cast out, you must strive in every respect to give yourself assiduously and even constantly to sacred reading.” The instruction sounds simple enough, and at a certain level it is mundane. Oral recitation of the scriptures was an important part of monastic daily life. However, the scriptural catalog was not just suitable reading material, it was formative. For Cassian, knowledge of scripture and spiritual progress shared a reciprocal relationship. Before the deepest mysteries of the sacred text could be revealed, the monk had to strip away all worldly attachments. He first had to recognize his own faults, discipline his body, and commit his mind to the quest for sanctity. Constant engagement with the scriptures both inspired and facilitated such actions. Yet, as we have noted earlier, the act of “reading” is a rather complex process. To read is to interpret, to bring meaning into existence. The question at the heart of my investigation asks, “How does Cassian render the biblical text meaningful?” Cassian’s use of the scriptures is detailed in later chapters, but it may be useful to consider briefly concepts central to Cassian and late antique biblical interpretation: allegory, typology, and mimesis. One could argue that if, within the context of Christianity, we broadly define “exegesis” (from the Greek meaning “narrative,” “explanation,” “interpretation”) then the entire ecclesiastical and doctrinal history of the Church is the history of exegesis. Institutions and teachings developed in response to what was perceived to be the intention of Jesus and the early disciples. However, exegesis traditionally has meant something more specific. It requires a text, and in the history of exegesis

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in the West that text is usually closely associated with, if not directly identified with, the Bible. Of course, the word “text” also can be troublesome, for it need not necessarily refer to a book or some other collection of written material. A text could be a painting, music, or even conversation, an “oral text.” For present purposes, though, we shall restrict our considerations to a more rigidly defined exegesis as interpretation of the written expressions of both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. In a certain sense exegesis has been going on within Christian circles since the first century of the Common Era. Influences upon its character arose from the work of the early rabbinical schools and other sources, in particular, Philo of Alexandria. The earliest voices of Christian apologetics such as Justin Martyr and Iranaeus of Lyon certainly made use of the scriptures to justify their claims, but they did not engage in any sort of systematic inquiry as to the meaning contained therein or how one could find it. The development of such an approach has its beginnings in Clement of Alexandria and Origen. Of the two, Origen’s legacy with regard to biblical interpretation rightly receives preeminence. In Origen we see the first instance within the Christian paradigm of an attempt to systematically work one’s way through an entire book of the scriptures, providing explanation and guidance for the benefit of others. Origen believed that because of its divine source, every word in the Bible had a hidden, more profound meaning beyond the obvious literal interpretation. He therefore divided scripture into three senses: historical, moral, and allegorical. The third of these senses proved most problematic, for no guidelines existed to delineate the boundaries of what constituted an appropriate allegorical interpretation of a particular word, narrative, or image presented in the text. For some, this left the scriptures at the mercy of the fancies of imagination. In application this meant that allegorical interpretation could be limited only by one’s creativity. Such a notion was not acceptable to members of the so-called “Antiochene school” of exegesis represented by the likes of Dorotheus, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and John Chrysostom. The Antiochenes did not disregard or deny that scripture had a spiritual component, or theoria, that was divinely inspired, but for them any figurative interpretation had to make sense within the bounds of the literal setting of the biblical narrative. The notion of progressive revelation was of central importance, thus the historical framework of the sacred narratives had to be taken into account. Images, figures, events in the Old Testament were identified as “types” that pointed to a future reality that found its fulfillment either in the New Testament or the early Church. So, for instance, Solomon’s Temple, as well as being a very real building in ancient Israel, could be symbolic of the heart of the faithful believer. The one contained the Law written on tablets of stone. Within the other could be found the will of God “written” in the spirit, through the

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mission and message of Jesus. The analogy works because both images form part of the continually unfolding tradition. What was begun in the Old Testament was fulfilled in the New Testament. Into this very general consideration of patristic exegesis we must add mimesis as an option.21 How mimesis works is the stuff of the rest of the book, but allow me some general observations. The word means “emulation” or “imitation” and forms the basis for how Cassian understands and employs the sacred scriptures as a vehicle for the transmission of his monastic ideal. As a methodology, mimesis understands that the details of the scriptural narratives contained not just a story but revealed dogma and ethics that were conveyed through images. These images, figures, and events were didactic and most often contained a strong moral component. The task of the exegete was to discern their meanings and explain them in ways that promoted imitation. This is Cassian’s intent, yet he has in mind a very specific kind of emulation. For the Church Fathers engagement with the scriptures demanded a response from the reader. Cassian’s response was mimesis in action.

21   Seminal to the consideration of mimesis as an interpretive tool for patristic exegetes is the work of Frances Young. See Frances Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Cambridge, 2002).

Chapter 2

Martha and Mary: Distraction and Discretion

Despite appearances to the contrary, given the length of a work like the Conferences, John Cassian was adept at saying much while writing very little. It is hard to ignore that his entire corpus divulges almost no personal information whatsoever. Rhetorically, this is somewhat odd, especially for one who was the product of a classical education, and given his desire to promote what he would consider a more sincere form of monastic expression in Gaul. It would seem logical to establish the superiority of eastern monastic spirituality by demonstrating its effects on one’s own life. Cassian chooses not to, at least with regard to biographical information. Consider too that Augustine of Hippo, who, in exquisite personal detail, writes the blueprint for how to demonstrate the absolute necessity of the Christian life, is Cassian’s contemporary. It is not that Cassian did not have the ability or creativity to weave the details of his own life into the Institutes or the Conferences. Nor is Cassian’s reluctance an attempt to distance himself from certain names (Origen) or ideas (apatheia) that were associated with questionable orthodoxy. Cassian’s silence stems from his singular orientation: contemplation of the divine. Whereas Augustine was a bishop, Cassian remained a monk. Unlike Augustine, who in his Confessions gains an identity in absolute reliance upon the grace of God, Cassian advocates a loss of identity in contemplation of the scriptures. His self-effacement discloses what he considers to be the primary concern of the monastic life. In addition, if he is to argue for strict lines of authority extending from the scriptures through experienced elders he needed to make sure his “character” in the text remains humble and unseen. Although the same could be said for analyses of all human endeavors, the above observation illustrates the need for caution when reading Cassian’s works. This is particularly true of any investigation of Cassian’s use of biblical models for the monastic life. Nowhere in his texts does Cassian present a comprehensive description of a biblical figure and his or her laudable qualities, unlike Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses, for instance.1 This does nothing, however, to diminish   De vita Moysis, MG 44, 297‒430. Gregory’s text initially summarizes the life of the biblical patriarch and then allegorically interprets it so as to elevate Moses as the ideal of virtue. See Jean Daniélou, Moïse exemple et figure chez Grégoire de Nysse (Cashiers Sion, 1955), pp. 386‒400. 1

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the singular value of some biblical figures for Cassian’s thought. The present chapter introduces Martha and Mary of Bethany from Luke’s gospel as biblical archetypes employed by Cassian to express his vision of monastic spirituality. An initial consideration of the purpose of Conference I, which lays the foundation for the entire Conferences, demonstrates the central importance Cassian lays on understanding the scopos (immediate goal) and telos (ultimate end) of monastic life and introduces the concept of “purity of heart.” This is followed by an examination of the manner in which Cassian interprets the roles of Martha and Mary. Within his framework, the examples of the two women emphasize the key notions of caritas (love), puritas cordis (purity of heart), and theoria (contemplation). Subsequent sections establish Cassian’s eschatological orientation based on his treatment of the “Kingdom of Heaven” and the nature of the soul. The chapter concludes with an indication of how Cassian draws everything together under the guiding principle of “discretion,” the cardinal virtue for monastic life.

Conference I: Setting and Intent Cassian and Germanus spent approximately fifteen years (ca. 385–399/400) in the Nile Delta region of Egypt, soaking up the wisdom of various desert fathers. Within this area, places like Diolcus, Panephysis, Kellia, and Nitria had gained considerable prestige as refuges of monastic sanctity. Cassian visited each of these places but spent the majority of his time in a monastic settlement deep in the desert of Skete (Scetis) revered above all others for the holiness of its inhabitants. Seven of the fifteen abbas with whom the companions converse in the Conferences live in Skete. Conference I begins here for this is “where the most experienced fathers of the monks and every perfection dwelled” (Conf. I.1).2 Cassian and Germanus had come in search of Abba Moses, who was noted for his sanctity even among such elite company “because of both his practical and contemplative virtue.” The declaration of Abba Moses’ twofold sanctity is important because it not only foreshadows the qualities of Martha and Mary, but it also establishes Moses as the authority when it comes to questions concerning praxis in the religious life. Cassian notes that because of his sanctity Abba Moses exuded a “particularly sweet odor” even amongst those “splendid flowers” of the desert (i.e. the monks). Moses is thereby assigned an elite status amongst the holy desert fathers. The

  Although not included here, the Latin text used in this study follows Petschenig’s edition of Cassian’s Conlationes (CSEL 13). The English translations follow Boniface Ramsey’s edition in the Ancient Christian Writers series, except where I have made occasional changes. 2

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implication is that of all the Egyptian monks Abba Moses had most successfully integrated the practical concerns and spiritual aspirations of life in the desert. The first eight chapters of Conference I are dominated by two requirements: commitment and hard work. From Cassian’s words we glean that Abba Moses did not immediately welcome the two travelers and zealously engage them in edifying instruction and discourse. After having found the venerable desert father, Germanus and Cassian had to “tearfully beg” (lacrimis posceremus) for any word from the master. Moses is reticent for two reasons. Firstly, he does not want to fall victim to the sin of vanity. A monk’s credibility is established by action, not by rhetoric. Positions of power are distracting and dangerous, and make it easy for pride to stake a claim and slowly infiltrate the rest of one’s being.3 Secondly, Moses wants to make sure that the companions are indeed serious about the life they have chosen. Cassian suggests that Moses’ “inflexible attitude” was well known, and that it was motivated by a refusal “to open the portal of perfection except to those who faithfully desired it and who sought it in utter contrition of heart” (Conf. I.1). Cassian and Germanus had to demonstrate their earnest intent before Moses would say anything. Whether or not Cassian actually ever met Abba Moses, the circumstances here would not have been unusual. It was common for anyone wishing to enter monastic life to have to prove one’s mettle and commitment before being accepted as an apprentice to a desert hermit or as a novice in the coenobium.4 The implication is that the religious life is a daunting challenge that must not be accepted lightly or flippantly. Any reader of Cassian’s Conferences can readily identify himself or herself with the position in which such novices would find themselves, and an intentional double meaning is reasonable. Cassian’s observation implies that the covers to his text, his own “portal of perfection,” ought not to be opened by any save those who are willing to commit to the demands found within. The book itself assumes the status of abba.

3   Such reasoning was fundamental to the refusals many monks provided when asked to fill the episcopate. See Andrea Sterk, Renouncing the World Yet Leading the Church: The Monk-Bishop in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 2–3. 4   This sort of character proof is best exemplified in the regulations regarding entrance into the Pachomian Koinonia. Pachomius’ Rules required an initial phase in which the potential renunciant underwent an interview process to determine his motivations. The novice’s commitment was then challenged by the requirement that, if illiterate, he learn to read and then memorize significant sections of scripture.

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“Scopos”and “Telos” Satisfied that their persistence is evidence of their commitment, Abba Moses (Cassian) proceeds to introduce three metaphors to describe the religious life, each of which requires not only serious commitment but also a considerable amount of hard work that is governed by an eye toward the future. The point he intends to make is that in all things a distinction must be made between goals and ends. Cassian writes, All the arts and disciplines, have a certain scopos or goal, and a telos, which is the end proper to them, on which the lover of any art sets his gaze and for which he calmly and gladly endures every labor and danger and expense. (Conf. I.2.1)5

The farmer endures the burdens of heat and cold, the physical labor of plowing the fields, and the fatigue that ensues, all with the immediate goal (scopos) of transforming what was once wild into a rich environment in which produce can grow. The telos is to reap a bountiful harvest, thereby ensuring one’s livelihood and prosperity. In such an enterprise one is not concerned with present hardship because one’s eyes are focused on an abundant future. In similar fashion, Cassian notes that those who are engaged in commerce take chances with the various problems associated with the transportation of goods across vast distances. Merchants are willing to gamble with the “uncertain behavior of the sea” because there exists the possibility of future profit. Those soldiers who hope to attain the telos of honor, rank, and power are willing to risk injury and death, whether in combat or as a result of the hardships of military life. Whether experienced by farmer, merchant, or soldier, present hardship pales in comparison to future benefit. Having established his point through metaphor, Abba Moses turns his attention more directly to religious life. He notes, Our profession also has a scopos proper to itself and its own end, on behalf of which we tirelessly and even gladly expend all our efforts. For its sake the hunger of fasting does not weary us, the exhaustion of keeping vigil delights

  The terms scopos and telos are Latin transliterations of the Greek σκοπος and τελος. Their usage can be traced back to Plato and to the Stoic philosophical tradition. See Edouard des Places, Lexique de la langue philosophique et religieuse de Platon (Paris, 1964), s.vv. σκοπος and τελος. For uses of the term in early Christian literature, see Marguerite Harl, “Le guetteur et la cible: Les deux sens de scopos dans la langue religieuse des chrétiens,” Revue des études gréccques 74 (1961): pp. 450‒468. Cassian probably owes his disctinction between the two terms to Clement of Alexandria. See A. Ménager, “Cassien et Clément d’Alexandrie,” La Vie Spirituelle 9 (1924): pp. 138‒152. 5

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us, and the continual reading of Scripture does not sate us. Even the unceasing labor, the being stripped and deprived of everything and, too, the horror of this vast solitude do not deter us. (Conf. I.2.3)

What remains is to identify this scopos and the ultimate telos of the monastic life. When pressed by the abba to provide an answer, the companions respond that all hardships are borne for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Abba Moses is delighted with their answer but quickly warns them not to get ahead of themselves. His words foreshadow Cassian’s use of Mary as monastic archetype. Cassian has Moses say, “‘Good! You have spoken well about your end. But before anything else you should know what ought to be our scopos or our goal, by constantly clinging to which we may be able to attain our end’” (Conf. I.4.1). For Cassian, in any profession the scopos, or immediate goal (destinatio), must take precedence. It must be “the mind’s constant intention” (incessabilis mentis intentio). Only in achieving the scopos is one afforded the possibility of reaching the telos, the end (finis). Through the mouth of Abba Moses Cassian identifies this scopos as “purity of heart” (puritas cordis), which he summarily equates with “holiness” and “love” by drawing on Paul’s epistle to the Romans.6 The monk’s immediate concern ought to be the attainment of purity of heart, and the quest for it must be all-consuming. Striving for Purity of Heart Cassian emphasizes this singularity of intent by using phrases like “constantly clinging” and “fixing our gaze” and by numerous warnings against the dangers of wandering attentions.7 He uses a sports analogy to stress the importance of the scopos as an orienting beacon on the way to one’s telos. Without some visible marker indicating where one should aim, a javelin thrower’s attempt at hitting a target situated a great distance away beyond one’s line of sight is for naught.8 The analogy is bolstered by reference to chapter three of Paul’s epistle to the Philippians, in which the apostle writes, “Forgetting what is behind, but reaching

6   Following the Vulgate, Romans 6:22 reads, “Having your reward, indeed, in holiness, but your end [finem] in eternal life.” 7   No less than sixteen references of these sorts are scattered throughout the first Conference. Indeed, they become the reference points for what Cassian believes to be one of the primary virtues: discretion. 8   For a more detailed discussion see Terrence Kardong, “Aiming at the Mark: Cassian’s Metaphor for the Monastic Quest,” Cistercian Studies Quarterly 22 (1987): pp. 213–20.

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out to what is ahead, I press on to the goal, to the prize of the heavenly calling of the Lord.”9 Cassian interprets Paul’s words, It is just as if he had said: By way of this goal I forget what is behind— namely, the vices of my earlier life—and I strive to attain to the end, which is the heavenly prize. Whatever therefore can direct us to this scopos, which is purity of heart, is to be pursued with all our strength, but whatever deters us from this is to be avoided as dangerous and harmful. (Conf. I.5.3)

Purity of heart is the target toward which the monk must aim, the goal he should strive to attain. The farmer endures whatever is necessary to cultivate sufficiently the earth in order to reap the harvest. In turn, the monk has his own sacrifices to make to achieve purity of heart. For it is for its sake that we do and endure everything, for its sake that family, homeland, honors, wealth, the pleasures of this world, and every enjoyment are disdained—so that perpetual purity of heart may be kept. With this goal always set before us, therefore, our actions and thoughts are ordered to attaining it in the most direct way. If it is not constantly fixed before our eyes, not only will all our labors be rendered equally useless and shaky and be made vain and profitless, but all sorts of confusing thoughts will be aroused as well. (Conf.I.5.3‒4)

The quest for purity of heart provides a focus for the mind that would otherwise be side-tracked by whatever whims and outside influences presented themselves. But the monk must be careful not to confuse those sacrifices and tasks that need to be endured and performed in order to progress toward holiness as ends in themselves. To do so would be contrary to the spirit intended, and the monk would be engaged in fruitless exercise. The fixation must always be on purity of heart, not on what Cassian calls the “tools of perfection,” such as fasting, poverty, and meditation upon scripture. The monk who becomes indignant or despondent when his vigil is disturbed by the insensitivity of another or the demands of charity is not properly oriented. At the same time, he should not be content or especially pleased when able to successfully fulfill the rigors of monastic life within a hostile environment. Pride in one’s abilities or satisfaction in accomplishment belie a focus on the tasks themselves, rather than the goal they are meant to assist one in attaining. With this in mind, Cassian introduces the two women from Bethany.

9   Philomen 3:13‒14. Paul’s use of scopos here has the connotation of a finish line in a foot race, and it therefore correlates well with Cassian’s prior reference to javelin throwing.

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Martha and Mary As ironic or nonsensical as it may seem, the biblical model par excellence, the one person who best exemplifies the ideal monk, is Mary of Bethany, whose interactions with Jesus are briefly documented in only two gospels. The story of Martha and Mary found in Luke 10:38‒42 (additional verses can also be drawn from chapters 12 and 13 of John’s gospel) reads as follows: While they were on their way, Jesus came to a village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.10

The scene has a long history of allegorical interpretation.11 Although he makes his own contributions to this history, Cassian certainly would have been familiar with contemporary interpretations, including those of Origen and Evagrius. In fragment 171 of his homilies on Luke Origen briefly interprets the two women in a series of “progressions.” Initially, Martha represents the active life and Mary the contemplative. The implicit assumptions here are that Jesus favored Mary’s role over her sister’s (largely supported by the biblical verse) and therefore the contemplative life is superior to the active.12 As Origen puts it, “For, the mystery 10   Cassian, following Origen, uses a slightly different Latin translation based on an early Greek version of the New Testament that includes the additional phrase “paucis vero” in 10:42a. Additionally, rather than “better part” Cassian uses “bonam partem,” or “good part.” The English translation of Luke 10:42 quoted by Cassian reads, “Martha, Martha, you are disturbed and troubled about many things; indeed few things are needed, or even one. Mary has chosen the good part, which will not be taken from her.” 11   For concise yet articulate presentation of the dominant interpretations from largely western sources consult Giles Constable, Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought (Cambridge, 1995). Constable also provides documentation for contemporary studies of the story and its main characters, including feminist perspectives such as Suzanne Wemple, Woman in Frankish Society: Marriage and the Cloister, 500 to 900 (Philadelphia, 1981) and Robert W. Wall, “Martha and Mary (Lk 10.38–42) in the Context of a Christian Deuteronomy,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 35 (1989): pp. 19–35. 12   It should be noted that Origen does recognize a reciprocal relationship between the two lifestyles that seems to temper his bifurcation somewhat. In fragment 171 he writes that “Action and contemplation do not exist one without the other.” Yet, given that all emphasis

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of love is lost to the active life unless one directs his teaching, and his exhortation to action, toward contemplation.”13 For Origen, Martha receives Jesus corporally into her house. Jesus’ physical presence prompts her to physical acts of hospitality and kindness. Origen, citing 1 Corinthians 13:11,14 suggests that Mary had already surpassed her sister in the “introductory” and immature elements of the divine economy and was thus able to cling to Jesus’ feet and receive him “spiritually,” rather than busying herself with physical concerns. Placed in distinction Mary is the “adult” while Martha remains a “child.” The disparity between the two sisters continues as Origen asserts that Martha also stands for the Jews, who received Jesus in their own territory, both physically and in the Law. As befits the immature, however, the Jews concerned themselves with the letter of the Law. Mary, the Gentile Church, seizes hold of the spirit of the Law and expresses it as the “one thing necessary,” i.e. love. Similarly, Origen also interprets Martha as those faithful who still keep the precepts of the Jewish Law. They are beginners on the path of righteousness, whereas Mary depicts those of them who are no longer concerned with things of the earth. Other Greek sources, including the more monastically inclined Evagrius and Basil, were less allegorically oriented than Origen and interpreted the Martha and Mary story as a warning about the dangers of excessive concern for hospitality in the monastic endeavor or as a springboard for developing the philosophical details surrounding a movement from “many things” to “one thing.”15 Although Cassian is aware of such observations, the story of Martha and Mary in the Conferences acts as a foreshadowing and distillation of his monastic vision. The scene at Martha’s house in Bethany is referenced twice in the Conferences, once at the outset (Conf. I.10) and once more toward the end (Conf. XXIII.3.1). Although one may construe that the characters then “bookend” Cassian’s work, two references in almost nine hundred pages hardly seems noteworthy. Yet, their presence (Mary’s especially) remains implicit throughout Cassian’s presentation of the life of the inner man. It is significant that Martha and Mary are the first

is on the spiritual and given the ensuing inference of the superiority of Christianity over Judaism, in this case Mary clearly emerges as dominant. 13   Joseph T. Lienhard, trans., Origen: Homilies on Luke. Fragments on Luke, The Fathers of the Church (Washington, D.C., 1996), p. 192. 14   Chapter 13 of Paul’s epistle concerns the necessity and eternal nature of the gift of love. The verse in question reads, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” 15   Evagrius, Rerum monachalium rationes, 3, PG, 1253D. Basil, Regulae, 20.3, PG, 31, 973B. See Daniel A. Csanyi, “Optima pars. Die Auslegungsgeschichte von Luk 10, 38–42 bei den Kirchenvätern der ersten vier Jahrhunderte,” Studia Monastica 2 (1960): pp. 5–78.

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biblical figures mentioned in the Conferences proper.16 Cassian’s first Conference presents the themes and concepts that will dominate his work, and these two women embody everything that he considers essential to authentic monastic life. Rescuing Martha Cassian notes in Conf. I.8.1 that the gospels portray Martha and Mary as examples of the attitude and behavior the abba is trying to describe. His exegesis of the scene is remarkably sympathetic to Martha’s position. Although Mary has to be seen as the protagonist because Jesus calls attention to her, Cassian is careful to note three times that Martha’s actions were absolutely praiseworthy. She was “devoting herself to a holy service” in ministering to Jesus and his companions. Her motivation stemmed from “devout concern” (pia sollicitudine). In voicing her frustration, Martha was not calling Mary “to a disreputable task, to be sure, but to a praiseworthy service” (Conf. I.8.2). Cassian wants to make it certain that Martha is not shunned for her preoccupation with meeting the physical needs of her esteemed company. She is engaged in the work of charity, one of the cardinal virtues of the Christian ideal. Yet, Cassian cannot ignore that Jesus clearly favors Mary’s response to his presence over Martha’s. Despite Martha’s laudable ministrations in the kitchen, Mary was intent only on spiritual teaching and was clinging to Jesus’ feet, which she was kissing and anointing with the ointment of a good confession, yet it was she whom the Lord preferred, because she chose the better part, and one which could not be taken from her. (Conf. I.8.1)

Rather than subordinating all preoccupations, Martha is “troubled by many things” and fails to recognize that “few things are necessary, or even one.” Not only is she distracted by her charitable endeavors, she is also distracted from her distractions when she notices that Mary is not helping. For Cassian, Jesus’ words serve to bring things into focus. In “clinging to Jesus’ feet” Mary has chosen the one thing

  The patriarch Jacob is mentioned in Cassian’s preface (1 praef. 5) and is intimately linked with the example of Mary in Cassian’s thought, but his significance is not developed other than to allude that those who have already read and taken to heart the Institutes should consider themselves “spiritual” Jacobs. They have started on a journey that leads into the desert of the Conferences, in which they will become worthy of the name Israel, or, as Cassian understands it, “one who sees God.” Three quotations (Rom 6:22; Phil 3:13‒14; and 1 Cor 13:3) and one allusion (1 Cor 13:4‒7) from the Pauline corpus also precede the reference to Luke 10, but each is offered as a prooftext rather than a model for emulation. 16

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necessary, which Cassian identifies as theoria, or divine contemplation.17 Mary has recognized the relevant nature of domestic service and chooses to cling to the feet of Jesus, to adore his presence and learn from his counsel. In doing so she epitomizes the ideal of puritas cordis. Purity of heart means having one’s mind constantly attached to divine things. Despite all that could distract her, Mary chooses to fix her mind on Jesus. Given the actions of the respective sisters, interpretations of the scene in Bethany have tended to separate the two women into models of the practical life and the contemplative life. But Cassian intends so much more than such a simplistic exegesis. Cassian is not championing one way of life over another. He is demonstrating stages of growth within the soul who chooses to tread the royal road of monastic vocation. Because she is favored, Mary clearly has traveled far along this road. Martha may not have covered as much ground as her sister, but within Cassian’s scheme she is no novice. She stands as an example of one intimately engaged in the spiritual concerns intrinsic to the quest for holiness. Martha has died to her old self in accepting Jesus as the savior but has not yet developed sufficiently to recognize his presence when he comes into her house. She, like Cassian’s intended reader, has stripped away her old identity and the layers of vice and is now replacing them with virtue. Upon entering the monastery the novice was expected to give up his old identity and adopt a new one. For Cassian, this was reified in relinquishing all possessions, accepting new clothes, and a new name. The process was not immediate or complete, of course, so Cassian sees progress in the spiritual life as the life-long wearing away of a materially-oriented self-identity. The ideal is that, eventually, all is laid bare before the beatific vision. Martha has taken the first few steps along this path. She is not only working in the kitchen, but, to use Cassian’s metaphors, she is ploughing in the field, sailing the tempestuous ocean, and fighting in a military campaign. She is enduring all the hardships and cultivating all the virtues that are prefatory and preparatory to an advanced spiritual life. In the same way, prospective readers of the Conferences are expected to have read the Institutes and be in the process of cultivating virtue (as opposed to eliminating vice). But, no matter how necessary and efficacious, working in the kitchen can be a dividing and disruptive task, and Mary has lost sight of the guiding scopos. Still, she stands as an example of one intimately engaged in the spiritual concerns intrinsic to the quest for holiness.

17   Cassian more frequently uses the Latin term contemplationem or the verb form contemplatio elsewhere throughout his work.

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Distraction and Charity The key distinction between the two sisters lies not in practical application but in distraction. Whereas Martha has not yet developed the virtue of discretion, Mary has achieved the highest state of purity of heart possible in life because of her willingness and ability to set aside all preoccupations and “cling” to Jesus. Cassian uses the same form of the word “to cling” (inhaerere) when he has Abba Moses counsel that the mind must fasten itself on the intended scopos and be constantly aware of the dangers of losing focus. If only for a short time, Mary is fully in the presence of Jesus. This is made possible, we infer, because she has spent enough time “in the kitchen” to recognize what it means to be visited by the Lord and respond appropriately. She chooses the “good part” and becomes enraptured in divine contemplation. For Cassian, when Jesus recognized Mary’s actions he placed the highest good not in carrying out some work, however praiseworthy, but in the truly simple and unified contemplation of him, declaring that “few things” are necessary for perfect blessedness—namely, that theoria which is first established by reflecting on a few holy persons. (Conf. I.8.3)

Two related points are worth noting here. First, the notion that authentic contemplation is “simple and unified” is characteristic of desert monastic spirituality and reflects a Christianized version of the Platonic ideal that envisaged a scale of perfection ascending from the many to the One.18 Second, theoria has its beginning in the “reflection” (consideratione) on holy persons. The monks whom Cassian is addressing will not see the physical manifestation of Christ. What Cassian wants them to do, though, is abide in his presence in the sacred text. Imitating her actions, the monk mirrors Mary’s role in his contemplation of the scriptures. It is concentration on the contents of scripture that serves to sharpen the mind, to move from the many distraction to the One reality. Cassian’s specification that one ought to reflect upon “holy persons and their wonderful works” clearly suggests the centrality of biblical models in his monastic schema and emphasizes the significance of the master-servant dynamic. Focusing on those individuals who best exhibit the monastic ideal allows one to progress to a point at which examples are no longer necessary and the soul is “fed on the beauty and knowledge of God alone” (Conf. I.8.3). Again, there is the movement, a simplification, from the many to the one, the vision of God. The beatific splendor 18   See Bernard McGinn, The Foundations of Mysticism, Vol. I of The Presence of God: A History of Western Christian Mysticism (New York, 1992), especially Chapter 2, “The Greek Contemplative Ideal.”

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that Mary enjoys is the bonam partem that “will not be taken from her” (… quae non auferetur ab ea). Comment on this latter assertion allows Cassian to introduce an eschatological frame of reference that is central to his understanding. Despite Martha’s plea to Jesus to tell Mary to get back to work, Cassian does not interpret “quae non auferetur ab ea” as a refusal on Jesus’ part to send Mary away into the kitchen. Instead, for Cassian, the clause suggests that Martha’s preoccupation is somehow deficient. Martha’s activity could be taken from her, and it is to this extent that Martha “occupies a lower position” (inferiorem esse pronuntiat) than her sister. Martha’s decision relegates her status not because what she was doing was wrong but because, by implication, her “part” could be taken from her. For Cassian, it is a fact of life that “a person cannot uninterruptedly practice a ministry in the body,” which is exactly where lies Martha’s primary concern (Conf. I.8.4). But Abba Moses’ suggestion that works of material charity and asceticism, which Martha represents, can be “taken away” is disturbing to the companions, especially since such acts seem to carry with them the gospel promise of entrance into the kingdom of heaven. Will the burden of fasting, diligence in reading, and the works of mercy, righteousness, piety, and hospitality be taken from us and not remain with their practitioners, especially since the Lord himself promises the reward of the kingdom of heaven for those works when he says: ‘Come, blessed of my Father, take possession of the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me to drink,’ and so forth? How is it, then, that these things, which lead their doers into the kingdom of heaven, will be taken away?19 (Conf. I.9)

Such a question provides evidence that the companions have not fully understood the abba’s words and sets up Cassian’s eschatological orientation. Abba Moses assures his audience that he has not just undermined the gospel assurances because his words focus on the relevancy of the actions themselves, not their reward. To be sure, heavenly reward awaits those who perform corporal works of mercy and endure all manner of hardship, not as ends in themselves, but as means of cultivating puritas cordis. However, the abba’s perspective is much broader, much more future-oriented. Cassian writes, “But I am saying that the action, which either bodily necessity or a requirement of the flesh or the inequity of this world calls for, will be taken away” (Conf. I.10.1). Cassian’s world of the present is dominated by the Pauline paradigm in which “the desire of the flesh is against the spirit,” in which the human being is pulled in two opposing   Cassian quotes from Matthew 25:34‒35.

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directions.20 In such a state of existence meditation, self-denial, and charity are absolutely essential in order to discipline and control the flesh and cleanse the heart. But such measures are transitory in nature, as indicated by the fact that often the elderly and infirm are unable to undertake them. Even those healthy and determined enough to embrace such practices cannot sustain them indefinitely. For Cassian, the impermanence of physical actions will become startlingly manifest in the future when the corruptible human being assumes an incorruptible nature, when the death of the fleshly body gives rise to the birth of the spiritual body. In this new state of existence there is no battle between flesh and spirit and, hence, no need for asceticism and charity. His audience is not there yet, though. The “wickedness of men” in the world results in an “overwhelming number of poor, needy, and sick people.” This, in turn, necessitates the performance of works of piety and mercy to counter the inequity created by those “who have seized for their own use—but not used— those things that were bestowed upon all by the Creator of all” (Conf. I.10.4). For Cassian, the continued presence of injustice forms the basis for Christian charity, which then provides limited benefit to those who engage in it. He writes, “As long as such inequity is rampant in this world, then, this behavior will be necessary and beneficial to the one who practices it, crowning a good disposition and a pious will with the reward of an eternal legacy” (Conf. I.10.5). Before too much stock is put in self-denial and ministry to others, however, Cassian again calls on Paul, who in 1 Timothy 4:8 declares that “bodily discipline is beneficial for a few things, but piety is beneficial in all respects, since it holds the promise of the life that now is and of the one that is to come.” For Cassian, what Paul means by “piety” ought “undoubtedly to be understood as love” (Conf. I.10.2). But this interpretation appears vague. Although he has mentioned the word “love” (caritas) six times, Cassian has not developed it as a concept thus far. The issue is further complicated by the fact that caritas is frequently translated as “charity,” with all of its concomitant notions of alms-giving and acts of mercy and kindness. Given the context of his argument, though, it would be an error to interpret caritas as simple charity. To do so would undermine Abba Moses’ claim that such actions “will be taken away.”

Caritas, Puritas Cordis, and Theoria Cassian has made caritas a central concern by contrasting it with “bodily discipline” and extolling it as holding “the promise of the life that now is and of the   Cassian quotes Galatians 5:17.

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one that is to come.” He already has asserted the ephemeral nature of asceticism and works of piety.21 Such practices cannot, therefore, form the foundation for the highest levels of spiritual growth. They are extremely useful for the novice, but the spiritually mature must recognize them for what they are in the larger eschatological spectrum: temporary tools and responsibilities. Discounting caritas as “charity,” though, still leaves unresolved Cassian’s intended meaning. Its importance is re-emphasized when Cassian again mentions the term in Chapter 11, in which Abba Moses contrasts caritas with Paul’s gifts of the Holy Spirit found in 1 Corinthians 13. Again the point of contention has to do with impermanence and future perfection. Cassian notes that in his epistle Paul exclaims that all personal charisms bestowed by the Holy Spirit are transitory. For Cassian, despite their utility and necessity such gifts “are temporal [tribuluntur ad tempus] and they will certainly pass on as soon as the present age has been consummated” (Conf. I.11.2). For the apostle, however, caritas endures, for “love never disappears” (caritas numquam excidit). There is something about caritas that transcends time, for “not only in the present world does it operate effectively in us but also in the one to come it will, once the burden of fleshly necessity has been laid down, abide and be still more effective and excellent” (Conf. I.11.2). In some manner caritas is a dynamic force that is active in the present and finds fulfillment in the hereafter. It is the notions of permanence and future glory that Cassian finds attractive, but adding these two qualities still does not give us a clear picture of what Cassian means by caritas. Another instance in which Cassian interprets Paul to fit his own agenda helps bring caritas into focus. It has been noted already that Cassian equated his notion of puritas cordis, the scopos of the monastic vocation, with Paul’s term “holiness” (sanctificationem) in Conf. I.5.2. As spontaneous as the equation may seem to be, Cassian’s point is to emphasize the singular intention needed for those who are serious about being monks. Everything that stands in one’s way must be eliminated. That means depriving oneself of family, homeland, and possessions. But isolation and relative poverty mean nothing if one’s heart is not properly oriented. To use Cassian’s example, thus it is that formerly wealthy monks may successfully disdain gold and property but become upset about sharing a needle, a pen, or a book. Cassian’s next sentence is telling: “If they assiduously focused on cleanliness of heart they would never allow this to happen with respect to small things, since lest this happen   In Chapter 9 Cassian includes “opera ... pietatis” (“works ... of piety”) in a long list of practices that Abba Moses labels as temporary. Cassian’s Latin version of 1 Timothy 4:8 uses the same term pietas. However, the addition of the interpolation “quae sine dubio caritas intellegitur” clearly indicates that Cassian wants Paul’s “piety” to mean something other than or, perhaps, in addition to practical works of mercy and kindness. 21

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to them with respect to great and precious things they prefer to give those up completely” (Conf. I.6.1).22 Attention to cultivating a clean heart (cordis mundi) is the distinguishing characteristic of the monk who is “holy” and the monk who is laboring in vain. For Cassian, cordis mundi means the same thing as puritas cordis. One’s actions must always be oriented toward attaining the scopos of purity of heart. Those monks who have given away all their wealth for the sake of Christ’s love, but still retain the heart’s old affection for the littlest things and are always quickly irritated because of them, they become in every respect fruitless and barren, like those who do not have the love of which the Apostle speaks. Foreseeing this in the Spirit, the blessed Apostle said: ‘If I gave all my goods to feed the poor and handed my body over to be burned, but I did not have love, it would profit me nothing.’ Hence it is clearly proved that perfection is not immediately arrived at by being stripped and deprived of all one’s wealth or by giving up one’s honors, unless there is that love whose elements the Apostle describes, which consists in purity of heart alone. (Conf. I.6.2‒3)

Holiness is the product of authentic, properly-oriented love (caritas), which is equated with puritas cordis. The three are inseparable in Cassian’s mind. This allows Cassian to interpret Paul’s pietas in Conf. I.10.2 as caritas, the kind of love that “holds the promise of the present life and of the one that is to come” and that “never disappears.” For Cassian, caritas means puritas cordis. This can be taken a step further, however, when we recall that Mary of Bethany epitomized the ideal of purity of heart in her steadfast contemplation of Jesus. Active engagement in theoria is a key ingredient in and an outcome of puritas cordis. It begins in the reflection on exemplars and ends in the eternal beatific vision. In this sense, theoria is associated with caritas, for it also transcends time and reaches fulfillment after death. Cassian uses Germanus to raise the question that will stress his point:

  Here Cassian uses the term mundus (“clean”) rather than purus (“pure”) to convey the puritas cordis ideal. He does this infrequently (see also I.6.3 and I.10.5), and its use can most likely be attributed to Cassian’s familiarity with the Latin version of Matthew 5:8, which reads, “Beati mundo corde, quoniam ipsi deum videbunt” (“Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God”). The Greek uses the term καθαροί (katharoi, “pure”), which connotes a more inclusive purity of mind, heart, and soul than does the Latin mundo. See Stewart, Cassian the Monk, p. 43 for relevant discussion. Why Cassian does not cite the Greek, as he does for various terms elsewhere (e.g. I.5.3 or VI.10.1), to emphasize the nuance of the term is unclear. 22

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Who then, enclosed in perishable flesh, can be so fixed upon this theoria that he never thinks of the arrival of his brother, or of visiting the sick, of the work of his hands or at least of showing hospitality to travelers and visitors? And who, finally, is not troubled by care and concern for the body itself? We also want to learn to what degree the mind is able to cling to the invisible and incomprehensible God. (Conf. I.12)

Abba Moses responds, “To cling to God unceasingly and to remain inseparably united to him in contemplation … is impossible for the person who is enclosed in perishable flesh” (Conf. I.13.1). Although continuous enjoyment of it may be unattainable, the beatific vision exists as part of the scopos of monastic life. As Abba Moses puts it, “we ought to know where we should fix our mind’s attention and to what goal [destinatio] we should always recall our soul’s gaze” (Conf. I.13.1). This knowledge is foundational and essential for those still living, who set themselves the “task” (conatum) or “duty” (officium) of pursuing the unattainable scopos of perfect puritas cordis. Purity of heart stands as a beacon for those devoted to the monastic quest, and the monk must choose to focus upon it and strive to achieve what can only actually occur “once corruption has been laid aside” and the beatitude of Matthew 5:8 (“Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God”) is realized. For Mary, the very source of purity of heart, the brightest beacon possible, was personified in Jesus, and in her contemplation of his presence she gained a foretaste of the kingdom of heaven. Barring the physical manifestation of Jesus, Cassian’s words encourage his audience to seek out and direct the “soul’s gaze” toward the divine presence in the scriptures. Again, though, perfect theoria cannot be constant. There will be joyful moments when the mind (mens) “seizes [upon] it” (obtinere), but also there will be mournful occasions when the mind is distracted from its task.

The Kingdom of Heaven In Chapters 13–15 Cassian digresses somewhat into an explanation of what is meant by “kingdom of heaven” (regnum caelorum) and a discussion concerning the nature of the soul. His underlying purpose is to emphasize the eschatological orientation of his monastic ideal. Cassian states that the kingdom of heaven can be interpreted three ways: either as the heavens that are to reign, that is, as the holy ones with respect to others who have been placed under them, according to the words: “You be over five cities, and you be over ten” (Lk 19:19, 17), and according to what is said

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to the disciples: “You shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel” (Mt 19:28); or as the heavens that will begin to be reigned over by Christ, when God, once all things have been subjected to him, will have begun to be “all in all” (1 Cor 15:28); or as the holy ones who are to reign in heaven with the Lord. (Conf. I.13.6)

Each of these interpretations rests on a future occurrence, and each requires faith in a future glorification. All who are now living “must be committed to that special task or ministry to which he has given himself in this life as a participant and a laborer, and he ought not to doubt that in that everlasting age [perenni saeculo] he will also be the partner [particeps] of him whose servant and companion he now wishes to be” (Conf. I.14.1). Like the two good servants in the parable from Luke 19, those who willing serve the Lord in the here and now will sit with him in the hereafter. In every case, though, the key lies with future expectation. Yet, Cassian is also aware of the gospel assertion that “the kingdom of God is within you” (Lk 17:21).23 Such a statement would seem to suggest that entrance into the kingdom can be gained in the present. Cassian does note, “Thus, if the kingdom of God is within us, and the kingdom of God is itself righteousness and peace and joy, then whoever abides in these things is undoubtedly in the kingdom of God” (Conf. I.13.3). Yet, it must be remembered that Cassian’s understanding rests on the firm conviction that any beatific vision experienced by the monk is but a fleeting glimpse of what one day will be. Like Mary of Bethany, those dedicated to the quest for purity of heart will have their moments of intimacy with the divine, but distraction will eventually cause this intense theoria to pass, and they must return to the kitchen. This is the nature of religious life, indeed of life in general. One cannot remain always at the feet of Jesus. Constant inhaerere is not possible. Yet, it remains the scopos of those who endure the labor to gain but a foretaste of what is to come after death. For Cassian, such as these chase an illusive state of being that on occasion and with divine help only a few are privileged to enjoy but for a moment. When discussing the extent to which Cassian believes a monk may experience the kingdom of heaven on earth, we should note that the Conferences presents three points of view: one that is quite optimistic, one that suggests brief moments

  Unlike some other patristic authors, most notably Evagrius, Cassian does not distinguish between the terms “kingdom of heaven” and “kingdom of God.” In the Praktikos Evagrius equated the kingdom of heaven with knowledge of creation, and the kingdom of God with knowledge of the Trinity (Prak. 2‒3). See Stewart, Cassian the Monk, pp. 57–58 and the relevant endnotes. Cassian treats the two terms as synonymous. 23

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of beatific joy, and one that understates any expectations.24 Cassian appears most optimistic when discussing the virtue of chastity (Abba Chaeremon in Conference XII). Chastity was highly regarded as a sign of holiness, or, in Cassian’s terms, puritas cordis, by early Christian monks, and Cassian seems to allow for an advanced degree of sexual abstention. For instance, Stewart notes Cassian’s claims that a monk may be able to control the natural human orientation to such an extent that sexual desire can be “extinguished” (Conf. XII.3.1) and sexual fantasies and dreams can be purged from one’s being (Conf. XII.8.2, XXII.6.10). One can even go so far as to suspend the production of seminal fluid within the body (Conf. XII.7.6). Cassian notes, however, that such a level of sanctity, is rarely attained, and when it does occur full credit has to be given to the beneficence and power of God rather than any human ability of the ascetic. Yet, even if one is granted such holiness, one still remains a target for temptation, and the frail nature of human beings ensures that sin will triumph at some point, perhaps in another area of one’s life. This reality marks the foundation of Cassian’s second understanding of the possibility of some kind of realized eschatology, that of temporary moments of bliss in a chaotic world. This point of view is most frequently presented in the Conferences. The mind is fundamentally unstable. Therefore, unceasing theoria is impossible. The third option can be characterized as something like a purchase on heaven. Those who commit to monastic life and pursue purity of heart already to a certain extent occupy the place destined for them after death (Conf. I.10.5).Perpetual beatific splendor will be enjoyed when the monk joins the “holy ones who are to reign in heaven with the Lord,” when caritas (puritas cordis, theoria) “will never be corrupted by any defect but will cling to God more ardently and intently because of its perpetual incorruption” (Conf. I.11.2). Peace and joy can only be considered authentic if they are eternal. The Nature of the Soul Cassian spends chapters 8‒15 discussing the nature of the soul, in order to emphasize that it is only after the death of the physical body that feelings (sensus) are in their purest form and experienced most intensely. Citing two of Paul’s epistles (1 Cor 11:7; Col 3:10) Cassian presents the soul (animus, anima, cor, mens) as that part of the human being made in the image and likeness of God.25 24   The following assertions are drawn from Columba Stewart’s astute observations in Stewart, Cassian the Monk, pp. 58‒60. 25   Cassian uses the terms animus, anima, cor, and mens interchangeably. Each connotes the seat of human identity, the locus for all rational and spiritual experience. See

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It is the source of rational thought and animates the “dumb and unfeeling matter of the flesh” (Conf. I.14.8). One of the major problems of the human condition is that the soul inhabits a physical body that “weighs it down” (hebetatur) and prevents one’s intellectual faculties from achieving their potential.26 The body becomes a burden by which the soul is “weakened in the present world” (retunditur in praesenti), and full potency is only achieved once the soul is free of the fleshly impediment that stifles its freedom and ability. At the resurrection of the spiritual body, the soul “will recover its intellectual faculties for the better and will receive them back purer and finer” (Conf. I.14.8). Again following Paul (Phil 1:23; 2 Cor 5:6), Cassian notes that the reason the soul achieves this state of being “most alive” (vivacissimo animarum statu) after physical death is that it is now able to be intimately united with Christ. Commenting on 2 Corinthians 5:6, he writes, “Thus he [Paul] declares that the soul’s sojourn in this flesh is a removal from the Lord and an absence from Christ, and he believes with absolute confidence that its separation and departure from this flesh is a being present to Christ” (Conf. I.14.9). In eschatological terms, on a cosmic scale, life in the temporal world is lived “in the kitchen” where, like Martha, the monk often busies himself with and is distracted by the requirements of charity necessitated by inequity. It is only after death that he enters fully and eternally into the presence of Christ and thereby achieves the telos of monastic life. In the quest to attain the scopos of puritas cordis, the monk may be granted an occasional glimpse of this intimacy, but in order for such experiences to occur, he must forever be attentive to the transitory nature of the present and the permanence of a heavenly future. Cassian succinctly makes his point in a clever interpretation of Exodus 33:20 when he writes, “as the Lord says: ‘You shall not be able to see my face, for no one shall see me and live’—namely, to this world and to earthly desires” (Conf. I.15.3). The intention is twofold: 1) any chance at momentary beatific splendor requires single-minded attention to purity of heart, on guard against the distractions of the world; and 2) in a literal sense, the monk will not fully “see” God until after physical death. The person who enters into religious life, who pursues puritas cordis, must cultivate a key virtue in Cassian’s monastic ideal: discretion (discretio), the ability to determine what leads one toward the scopos, and what leads one away. The struggle to nurture and refine discretion takes place within the mind (mens), a mind whose faculties are dimmed by the “weight” of the physical body. The topic of this virtue’s significance dominates the final chapters of the first Conference. Ludwig Wrzol, “Die Psychologie des Johannes Cassianus,” Divus 32 (1918): pp. 428–430. 26   The term hebetatur comes from hebeto, -are, meaning “to make blunt or dull,” but it can also imply intellectual or mental dimness.

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Discretion and the Troubled Mind Displaying his psychological acumen, Cassian has Germanus question Abba Moses about the fluid and ephemeral nature of the human mind: Why is it, then, that superfluous thoughts insinuate themselves into us so subtly and hiddenly when we do not even want them, and indeed do not even know of them, that it is very difficult not only to cast them out but even to understand them and to catch hold of them? Can the mind, then, sometimes be found free of these, and is it ever able to avoid being invaded by illusions of this sort? (Conf. I.16)

The question voices a very practical concern of everyday life for those committed to the monastic endeavor. The central concern is one of focus. To what extent can the religious “cling” to the feet of the Lord and hear his words, as Mary did? Moses’ response is that it is impossible for the mind to avoid being troubled by uninvited thoughts. They are simply one of the many challenges that characterize life for the soul separated from the clear vision of heaven. However, the abba does assert that it is up to the individual to decide whether to accept or reject whatever thoughts arise. Human free will (liberum arbitrium) affords one the opportunity to determine in which direction to proceed.27 For Cassian, the monastic life requires an attentive mind that must constantly decide whether “holy and spiritual thoughts or earthly and carnal ones increase in our hearts” (Conf. I.17.2).28 Cassian compares the real world experience of the heart to the activity of millstones powered by a source of rapidly flowing water. As long as the force of the water is constant, the millstones cannot stop their spinning. Although nothing can be done about the “swift rush of the waters” or the “furious revolving” that results, “it is within the power of the one who supervises to decide whether to grind wheat or barley or darnel” (Conf. I.18.1). In the same way, the heart “cannot be free from agitating thoughts during the trials of the present life, since it is 27   Cassian’s optimistic view of human free will earned him the epithet “SemiPelagian” and is primarily responsible for the fact that he received almost no official recognition as an influential figure after Pope Gregory the Great, who lauded Cassian’s spiritual insight in the sixth century. Conference XIII, “On God’s Protection,” concerns the question of grace and free will and is a reaction to Augustine’s hardline stance against any human initiative and his teachings concerning predestination. At no point does Cassian side with Pelagius, however. He takes great care to emphasize throughout the Conferences that without divine assistance nothing can be accomplished, no matter how extreme one’s ascetic practice. 28   Here Cassian exchanges mens (mind) for cordibus ([in our] hearts), but, again, such terms he finds interchangeable. Each expresses his understanding of the soul.

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spinning around in the torrents of the trials that overwhelm it from all sides. But whether these will either be refused or admitted into itself will be the result of its own zeal and diligence” (Conf. I.18.2). The nature of the human condition means constant exposure to experience after experience, thought after thought. Life is a bombardment of pressures, temptations, preoccupations, and all manner of influences to such an extent that the mind is tossed every which way. For Cassian, it is up to each individual, each supervisor of the mill of the heart, to differentiate between these elements and determine which is most beneficially productive. The task of the monk is to steer a course through the many distractions to the one Reality. To do so, given the human condition, requires grinding the grain of scripture. In Cassian’s worldview the Bible is the best defense and surest guide along the via regia, the “royal road” that is the monastic endeavor.29 It provides an anchor that prevents the buffeted soul from straying into deadly waters. Constant engagement with the text simplifies and prioritizes the monk’s vision and establishes a platform upon which the highest virtues may be nurtured.30 He writes, “Therefore we practice the frequent reading of and constant meditation on Scripture, so that we may be open to a spiritual point of view” (Conf. I.17.2). It is with the aide of scripture that the monk is able to ensure that the mind remains focused on the “holy and spiritual” and not the “earthly and carnal.” Scripture becomes a focal point, a place at which the monk may join Mary at the feet of Jesus and hear his words. In such a state of contemplation the mind recognizes the reality of the spiritual, the desire for perfection is rekindled, and hope in future blessedness flourishes. Without this touchstone, it is easy for the monk to be overcome by laziness and negligence, to engage in destructive behavior, or, like Martha, to become entangled in “worldly concerns and unnecessary anxieties” (Conf. I.18.3). The Origins of Thought As the discussion continues in chapter 19, Abba Moses lists three sources for the currents of thought that swirl around the mind. Following Origen, Cassian notes that all mental images and sentiments are prompted either by the Holy 29   The term via regia was commonly used in early Christian discourse to characterize the spiritual journey to God. 30   For more regarding simplification and the role of scripture in Cassian, see Douglas Burton-Christie, “Scripture, Self-Knowledge and Contemplation in Cassian’s Conferences,” Studia Patristica 25 (1993): pp. 341–344. Burton-Christie characterizes the interplay between text and spiritual development as a hermeneutical circle in which constant rumination upon scripture purifies the heart, thereby making it more sensitive to divine presence. This, in turn, allows for a more profound insight into the mysteries of Scripture.

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Spirit, Satan, or oneself.31 Scripture corroborates the theory, and Cassian offers representative biblical figures as evidence for each point of origin. Thoughts come from the Holy Spirit when they castigate for lapses and laziness, inspire to new heights, and produce a change in orientation for the better. The example here is King Ahasuerus from the Book of Esther, who Cassian believes was chastised by God and divinely inspired one night to read the annals of the royal court.32 Once the king was reminded how Esther’s cousin, Mordecai, had foiled an assassination attempt on his life, he honored Mordecai and repealed the sentence of death pronounced for all Jews. Through the influence of the Holy Spirit Ahasuerus’ intent and orientation were transformed. Cassian also offers a number of gospel and Pauline verses that indicate an indwelling of the Spirit as further evidence for God as an animating force for the mind.33 The content of mental activity can also have a more diabolical origin. As is common in desert monastic literature, the devil pays frequent visits to the faithful and tries to subvert “by delight in wickedness and by hidden snares, fraudulently passing off evil things for good with the most subtle finesse and transforming himself for us into an angel of light” (Conf. I.19.3). The two prime examples Cassian chooses to illustrate such malevolent inspiration are Judas and Ananias. According to the Gospel of John, by the time Jesus celebrated the Passover seder with his disciples shortly before his crucifixion the devil already had inspired Judas to betray his master.34 At the moment of truth, after receiving the morsel of bread from Jesus, “Satan entered him” (Jn 13:27) and stirred him to action. Acts 5:1‒6 relates the story of Ananias, a member of the early Christian community who set aside some of the profit from the sale of a piece of property instead of turning it all over to the apostles to distribute equitably. In 5:3 Peter chastises him saying, “Ananias, why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and keep back part of the proceeds of the land?” In both cases, demonic inspiration presents a very real threat to the individual and the faithful at large. It should not be overlooked that both men die after allowing evil thoughts to linger and influence their behavior. Judas takes his own life soon after his treachery, and Ananias dies   See De princ. 3.2.4. The order is reversed in Origen, however.   The biblical text (Est 6‒8) does not explicitly note any divine chastisement, but it

31 32

does indicate that Ahasuerus could not sleep on a particular night, so he called for the book of memorable deeds to be read. Regal restlessness is not uncommon as a motif to represent a troubled mind. Cassian interprets the lack of sleep and disturbed disposition as part of God’s chastisement. Origen references the same episode in his discussion, but he makes no mention of any divine chastisement upon the king (De pricip. 3.2.4). 33   These include John 14:23; Matthew 10:20; Acts 9:15; 2 Corinthians 13:3. 34   John 13:2 “And during supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon’s son, to betray him.”

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immediately after Peter has finished speaking to him. The warning is clear: beware of the origin of whatever comes to mind. That which springs from a diabolical source can result only in chaos and death. The final font for the origin of thought is one’s own self. It is active “when we naturally remember things that we are doing or have done or have heard” (Conf. I.19.4). Cassian points to the example of King David, who, in Psalms 76:6-7 (LXX), writes, “I thought of ancient days, and I kept the eternal years in mind, and I meditated. At night I was exercised in my heart, and I examined my spirit.” Cassian does not comment on David’s words, but it appears that it would be laudable for monks to imitate such actions. However, Cassian quickly counters with two scriptural verses that eliminate any temptation to rely on the goodness of the human mind. Psalm 94:11 reads, “The Lord knows that the thoughts of men are vain [vanae],” and in Matthew 9:4 Jesus asks the Pharisees, “Why do you think evil in your hearts?” The example of David and the inclusion of the other two verses suggest that self-inspired thought is inconsistent and erratic. Some thoughts result in a reorientation for the better, but others can be worthless or malicious.35 The point Cassian makes is that whatever occupies the mind at any given time cannot be trusted. Everything the monk thinks and experiences must be scrutinized. With this observation the Conference with Abba Moses begins its denouement. Approved Money-Changers If any spiritual progress is to be made, the monk must “be continually aware of this three-fold distinction and with a wise discretion examine all the thoughts that emerge in [the] heart” (Conf. I.20.1). Their origins, causes, and authors have to be traced in order to determine how they should be received and what course of action is required. The level of scrutiny ought to be so detailed that the monks become like “approved money-changers, in keeping with the precept of the Lord” (Conf. I.20.1).36 Such persons, Cassian notes, are highly skilled and specialize in discerning what is genuinely precious and what only appears so. By means of   It is most likely that Cassian includes the possibility of evil arising from merely human inspiration due to Origen’s insistence on this point in De princip. 3.2. Cassian’s debt to the Alexandrian in his classification of the three sources of thought is demonstrated by the fact that of the seventeen scriptural citations and allusions Cassian references in his treatment six are borrowed from Origen’s discussion. 36   Although Cassian identifies this as a gospel saying in I.20.2, nowhere in the canonical gospels does Jesus urge his followers to become “approved money-changers.” The statement is an agraphon, the authenticity of which is attested as early as Clement of Alexandria (Strom. I, 28, 177). It can be found in numerous other patristic sources. See Alfred Resch, Agrapha: Ausserkanonische Evangelienfragmente (Leipzig, 1889), pp. 116–127. 35

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“very careful examination” they are able to determine “gold of the purest sort” from “common brass … under the guise of shining gold” (Conf. I.20.1). With precise attention to detail expert money-changers also examine the image stamped on each coin to determine its legitimacy. Yet, even then one has to be careful, for it is not uncommon for a coin to portray the image of the true king yet be counterfeit. As a final safeguard each coin ought to be weighed in case it is lighter than it should be. The money-changer’s art is the art of discretion. Cassian’s monastic ideal requires that the monk evaluate the spiritual coinage that enters his heart.37 Everything to which the monk is exposed, every thought and image, every experience ought to be carefully considered to ascertain whether it will lead to earthly or heavenly ends. All teachings and doctrines ought to be tested to ensure that they have been “purified by the divine and heavenly fire of the Holy Spirit” and do not stem from “Jewish superstition” or the “pridefulness of worldly philosophy,” which have “the mere look of piety” (Conf. I.20.2). Cassian notes that there are monks who “have been seduced by elegant words and by certain teachings of the philosophers” that may have had a few “pious sentiments” and the appearance of shining gold but were, in fact, proven to be counterfeit brass coins.38 Insufficient discretion has left such persons spiritually impoverished and on the path towards heresy. Cassian warns that monks should also be on guard against any “perverse interpretation fastened on to the pure gold of Scripture” lest it deceive by giving the appearance of something precious (Conf. 1.20.4). The devil demonstrated with adroit skill how the words of scripture can be twisted and used with harmful intent when he tempted Jesus in the desert shortly before the beginning of his public ministry.39 He attempts something similar when the monk is led astray by exhortations to pursue “pious” works that are not “legitimate coinage of the elders” (Conf. I.20.4). For Cassian, such works would include extreme acts of asceticism, such as immoderate fasting or severe vigils, which lead to “vice under the appearance of virtue” (Conf. I.20.4). Works of charity can also be included in this list of snares that line the route of the via regia and “entangle the entrapped monk with baleful preoccupations” (Conf. 1.20.5). Unlike her sister, having not yet sufficiently cultivated the virtue of   The use of currency to symbolize the spiritual life developed early in Christian thought. Cassian presents a fuller treatment of it than most, but notions of “spiritual coinage” can be found as far back as Ignatius of Antioch (Letter to the Magnesians, 5). 38   Cassian may not have had anyone in particular in mind, since general distrust of philosophy was standard during the patristic period. 39   See Matthew 4:1‒11; Mark 1:12‒13; Luke 4:1‒13. The importance of the desert setting should not be overlooked. 37

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discretion, Martha fell victim to “a great many things” rather than recognize the need to focus on what was most important. She allowed herself to be distracted by the appearance of gold (i.e. preparing food and refreshment for Jesus and his companions), whereas Mary knew where to find the real gold (i.e. in the contemplation of Jesus alone). Because they “imitate the coins of the true king,” works that have the appearance of holiness are especially pernicious and very often stem from the devil, who specializes in masking his true nature (Conf. I.20.6). They target “the unskilled and ignorant,” so constant vigilance is necessary (Conf. I.20.6). Cassian points to the Book of Proverbs (Prv 11:15 LXX) to illustrate the value and the source of the virtue of discretion in this regard. He writes, And again: “An evil person does harm when he involves himself with a righteous one.” That is to say, the devil is deceptive when he veils himself in the appearance of holiness. “But he hates the sound of the watchman”—namely, the power of discretion that comes from the words and counsel of the elders. (Conf. I.20.8)

The “elders” (seniorum) provide a safeguard against deception. They are the approved money-changers who know how to correctly interpret scripture and how one ought to live the ascetic life. The seniorum that Cassian intends here are the exemplary men and women from the scriptures and the abbas from the deserts of Egypt.40 Their words and deeds provide a framework within which it is safe for the monk to operate. Whatever course of action a thought suggests be taken must be reflected upon meticulously to see if it finds common ground in the “acts and testimonies of the prophets and apostles” (Conf. I.21.2). Against such a standard the monk must place all spiritual coinage in the scale of [the] heart and weigh with the most delicate balance to see whether it has the proper weight of common goodness, and whether it is sufficiently heavy with the fear of God and integral in meaning, or whether it is too light because of human ostentation or some novel presumption, or whether the pride of empty vainglory has diminished or eroded the weight of its worth. (Conf. I.21.2)

  The word seniorum that Cassian uses literally means an old person. Age was often equated with wisdom and holiness in monastic circles. One could also suggest that Cassian’s own work is intended as a storehouse of discretion. Cassian would have been in his sixties at the time of the completion of the Conferences, and he certainly had sufficient experience and credentials to warrant the title of abba. 40

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Scriptural and traditional examples constitute one side of the scale of the heart, and whatever counterbalances them can be accepted as legitimate coinage and integral to the quest for puritas cordis. Whatever is insufficiently “heavy,” illegally minted, or bears a false image must be rejected. In its penultimate chapter Cassian returns to one of the images with which he opened Conference I: the farmer. Constant vigilance must be maintained over the “secret places” of the heart, so that whatever enters them can be scrutinized to determine its value. Through the virtue of discretion “at every moment we should cultivate the earth of our heart with the gospel plow—that is, with the continual remembering of the Lord’s cross—and we shall be able to root out from ourselves the nests of harmful animals and the hiding places of venomous serpents” (Conf. I.22.2). Such an undertaking requires a resolute commitment, the ability to endure all manner of hardship, the self-control to make the right choices, and an everpresent orientation toward future glory. The monk must constantly till the spiritual soil of the soul, and his most useful tool for doing so is the virtue of discretion. By imitating the actions of Mary over those of Martha, the monk will develop this virtue and cling to the presence of Christ in the scriptures. In a final pedagogical flourish, Cassian has Abba Moses put into practice the counsel he has offered by bringing the conference to a close because of the late hour. The abba knows that discretion demands that the monks rest, lest they incur the vice of excess. At the same time, however, Germanus and Cassian are advised to sleep on the same mats upon which they are sitting and to lay their heads on papyrus bundles rather than pillows. Discretion is the begetter of moderation, which should be employed in all things, even holy counsel.

Chapter 3

Job: The Ambidextrous Hero

The biblical figure of Job makes frequent appearances in early Christian literature, even though no commentaries on the Book of Job exist before the third century.1 References to the text bearing his name and Job’s legacy begin within the pages of the New Testament and continue through the early medieval period.2 For the early Christians, the story of Job was a powerful reminder of the value of patience, humility, and suffering.3 At the same time, various parallels between Job’s misfortunes and those of Jesus did not go unnoticed. As a virtuous man, Job’s torments were seemingly unwarranted. Betrayed by his friends, he is left alone in agony under the attentive yet distant eyes of God. Portrayed in this light, Job was often interpreted typologically by the Church Fathers as a prefigurement of the suffering Christ.4 It is this element of suffering that has characterized much of patristic Job an exegesis, even when it is unconnected to the Passion and death of Jesus. Ambrose, for instance, explicitly rejects interpreting Job as a type of Christ, for no amount 1   Serious attention to the Book of Job was probably initiated by Origen, but no commentary from him has survived. Ambrose, Chrysostom, Augustine, and Julian of Eclanum make significant contributions to Joban exegesis in the forms of commentary and sermons in the fourth and fifth centuries. See Dictionnaire de Spiritualité Ascétique et Mystique 8:1218‒1225. 2   For examples in the New Testament, see Matthew 19:26; Mark 10:27; Luke 1:52; 1 Corinthians 3:19; Philemon 1:19; 1 Thessalonians 5:22; 2 Thessalonians 2:8; James 5:11; Revelation 9:6. Pope Gregory the Great’s Moralia in Job makes the most extensive use of Job in the late patristic and early medieval era. Of course, Job’s presence continues to be felt, especially with regard to questions of theodicy. Contemporary works that engage the Book of Job include Carl Jung’s Antwort auf Hiob, C. S. Lewis’ The Problem of Pain, and Elie Wiesel’s Night. 3   See, for instance, Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.45.1‒2; Cyprian, Testim. 3, 1,6,14, 54; Basil, Ep. 2,3; Hom. 20.7; Hom.de grat. 6; Hom.quod deus 5; Chrysostom, Hom. in 1 Corinthians 10.4. Perhaps the best example of a tropological use of Job occurs in Ambrose’s Interpell. Job et Dav. See J. R. Baskin, “Job as Moral Exemplar in Ambrose,” Vigiliae Christianae 35 (1981): pp. 222‒231. 4   See Zeno, Trac. 2.15. Zeno sees many parallels between the two figures, beginning with Job’s descent into poverty as a precursor to the descent of Jesus (the Incarnation) from the riches of heaven to the poverty of the earth. The fullest expression of Christian typology in Job can be found in Gregory’s Moralia in Job.

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of human anguish can come close to the experience of the Incarnation and the Passion. Rather, Job should be viewed as a moral exemplar for human behavior.5 Like Cassian, Ambrose interprets Job in an ascetic context, yet the two understand the story in very different ways. For Ambrose, Job’s suffering had a necessary purgative effect on the protagonist, who is introduced as a very rich man in the biblical text. In Ambrose’s view, holiness could not co-exist with wealth and material possessions. One of the constant warnings issued in his On the Duties of the Clergy is the counsel to avoid worldly riches of any sort. Material wealth was both a sign of sinful living and an incitement to vice. Hence, although he is identified as a “righteous man” in the text’s opening verses, Ambrose’s Job is actually corrupted by his riches. The tragedies that he then endures serve to cleanse the evil that surrounded him, according to Ambrose. It is through his suffering that Job gains divine approval, and, therefore, God’s action (or inaction) actually had salvific intent.6 While Cassian’s schema also espouses a rejection of material possessions, his portrait is intended to depict Job as an example of monastic virtue in practice. As such, Job’s initial fame and fortune are treated as expressions of God’s favor rather than curse. They are not the cause of a rift between Job and God, as Ambrose suggests, because Job possesses the monastic virtue of discretio (discretion). Job remains virtuous in Cassian’s eyes because discretio allows him to avoid any vice associated with wealth. The same virtue nourishes his faith in a benevolent God in the face of tragedy. Job still suffers in Cassian’s interpretation, but the key factor is that Job understands the value of his trials because of his virtue and eschatological orientation. Whereas Fathers like Origen and Chrysostom saw Job as an example of a virtuous man who lived in accordance with the spirit of the Mosaic Law before its inception, Cassian saw Job as an embodiment of the monastic spirit before the development of the practice.

The Problem of Perception Cassian’s most extended use of Job occurs in Conference VI, “On the Murder of Holy Persons.” The scene is set by what appears to have been a historical event. Germanus and Cassian are “considerably disturbed” when they hear that a wellestablished community of monks living in the region around Tekoa in Palestine

5   De Lk. 4.39, provides but one instance of this sentiment among many scattered throughout Ambrose’s corpus. See Baskin, “Job as Moral Exemplar in Ambrose.” 6   See Ambrose, De officiis 2 4.15.

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has fallen victim to Saracen bandits.7 Although locally regarded as holy men of renown, the monks’ sanctity offered no protection from the Saracens, who put them all to death. Shocked and saddened by the news, the two men appeal to Abba Theodore to try and make sense of why God would have allowed such a perceived evil to take place. A tragic event prompts the nagging question of theodicy: why does an omnipotent and benevolent God allow evil? Cassian’s response, through the mouth of Abba Theodore, is to turn to scripture—specifically, the book of Job—for enlightenment and example. What begins, though, as a philosophical or theological question is transformed by Cassian into an occasion for ascetical instruction by focusing on the upright and blameless man from Uz. Job is presented as the archetype for the kind of person who best exhibits a fundamental quality for living the spiritual life: he is “ambidextrous” (ambidextri).8 Before he introduces Job, however, Theodore (Cassian) first establishes an eschatological frame of reference. Theodore’s immediate response to Germanus’ theodicial query is to wryly admonish the companions for a lack of faith and knowledge.9 Those who place their trust in Christ, the abba says, do so not with the expectation of an earthly fulfillment. It is foolish to think that full rewards for a holy life will be experienced in the present. They are, instead, “reserved for the future” and not experienced “in the short space of this life” (Conf. VI.2.1). The blessed will enjoy the fruits of their labor only in the life to come. Theodore’s appeal to the Pauline argument in 1 Corinthians 15 suggests that the future he sees refers to a communion with God and the saints in heaven when the death of the physical body results in the resurrection of the spiritual body. It is only after we can see things from this “not yet” point of view, this reference point of delayed, eschatological fulfillment, that we can come to terms with the deaths of the monks of Tekoa. Freedom from expectation precludes any temptation to see God as unconcerned with human activity or to blame God for what appear to be immoral occurrences. The heart of the problem is one of perception. According to Abba Theodore, in the world of human experience we encounter three things: that which is good, that which is bad, and that which is indifferent (Conf. VI.3.1).10 The difficulty lies in discerning which is which. For Theodore,   Ramsey points to a brief reference to the event in Acta Sanctorum, Maii 6.746.   Cassian finds it necessary to include the Greek term αμφοτεροδεξιοι in Conf.

7 8

VI.10.1, emphasizing perhaps the centrality of the concept in Egyptian monasticism, or implying some deficiency in the Latin term (aequimanus would be more precise). 9   Theodore’s words here (Conf. VI.2.1) serve not only as an example of exactly the sort of thing the abba is supposed to do, but they also are indicative of the mindset of humility required of novice monks. 10   The use of this terminology also occurs in Conf. III.7.11 and XXI.12.4ff. The categories themselves are of Stoic origin. See Johannes von Arnim, ed., Stoicorum Veterum

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however, proper knowledge of scripture makes the distinctions obvious. The abba remarks that nothing in this world should be considered the highest kind of good save virtue. The monk’s quest along the via regia has as its destination the divine reality that transcends earthly impermanence. It is virtue that guides the way and leads the soul into the presence of the eternal goodness of God. Only the virtues, then, those actions that cultivate an inner orientation toward the divine, can be considered good in and of themselves. For Cassian, the most important of these virtues include discretion, humility, and obedience. For Theodore, only the vices, those actions that widen the gulf between human beings and God, are truly bad. Sin yields only separation from the Good and enjoins the soul to the company of the devil. Cassian spends considerable time listing the eight principal vices in both the Conferences and the Institutes.11 Everything else can be lumped together into the category of the indifferent. John, Judas, and Lazarus For Cassian, most things in life such as money, power, fame, prestige, physical appearance and ability, intellect, poverty, insult and injury, even life and death are indifferent, or neutral (medium). They lie outside the boundary of classification until one’s will is brought to bear. The misappropriation, abuse, or incorrect exercise of such qualities “can have good or bad consequences according to the character and desire of the user” (Conf. VI.3.2). The accumulation of wealth and power can be a joy and have extremely beneficial consequences if one is sufficiently eschatologically oriented. The rich person who has his/her eyes focused on a future life will follow the gospel injunction to freely distribute to the needs of the poor and disenfranchised. Conversely, affluence and power can be harmful if one seeks them merely for one’s own comfort thinking that true happiness and fulfillment lie therein. Only death and destruction await those who cannot see past the “short space of this life.” Abba Theodore wants to make it clear that all human intentions and actions must be guided by an orientation to the future, by a constant awareness of the apostle Paul’s insistence that our existence here is but a temporary staging area for a future life “that is life indeed” (1 Tim 6:19b). The abba then introduces three biblical figures, two positive and one negative, to emphasize the indifferent natures of both life and death. His reasons for doing so are threefold. First, the Conference is initiated because of questions regarding holy lives and violent deaths, and referencing these individuals continues that Fragmenta (Leipzig-Berlin, 1921); Jean-Claude Guy, “La place du contemptus mundi dans le monachisme ancient,” Revue d’ascétique et de mystique 41 (1965): pp. 245‒248. 11   See Conference V especially, but references to the vices are laced throughout the work. See Books 4‒12 of the Institutes.

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theme. Second, the examples he chooses leave little doubt that it is one’s actions that determine sanctity or impurity, not the state of being alive or dead. Third, the two positive exemplars foreshadow the real hero of the discourse, Job. Theodore first juxtaposes John the Baptist and Judas Iscariot. He notes that of John it was said, “Many rejoiced at his birth” (Lk 1:14), which would seem to suggest that life itself, the mere act of being born, is a good thing. However, in the case of Judas, the abba quotes Matthew 26:24 “It would have been good for him if that man had not been born.” Similarly, of John’s death it was said, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his holy ones” (Ps 116:15). But the death of Judas elicits, “The death of sinners is very bad” (Ps 34:21). Life or death, then, can be perceived as either good or bad, depending upon one’s actions and orientation. The life of John the Baptist was exemplary because of his ascetic practice, bold proclamation of the kerygma, and hope for the future. Additionally, he stood as a new incarnation of the prophetic ideal so prominent in the Hebrew Bible. These qualities brought him into the presence of Christ at the latter’s baptism in the Jordan River (Mt 3:1‒17). They also allowed him to endure imprisonment and execution at the hands of King Herod (Mk 6:17‒29). The ideal of patient endurance of tribulation is also evident in Theodore’s third exemplar, the beggar man named Lazarus from the parable of Jesus in Luke 16:19‒30. Lazarus was covered with sores and lay at the gate of a rich man, hoping to salvage scraps of food from the overabundant tables. Despite every reason to be angry and distraught, Lazarus “very patiently bore deprivation and bodily sickness, and for this he deserved to possess Abraham’s bosom as his blessed destiny” (Conf. VI.3.5). Once again, things are not always as they seem, especially when considered from the vantage point of eternal destiny. Although onlookers might be tempted to sympathize with Lazarus’ lot in life, the silent acceptance of his fate meant that his suffering was actually a source of blessing. For those not attuned to the spiritual life, disease and misfortune are plainly undesirable. Yet, for Abba Theodore, loss, injury, scorn, and derision are not only meritorious but are, indeed, necessary for those committed to sanctity. The abba supports his assertion by pointing out that pious individuals not only never try to avoid such occurrences but even seek them out, once they have set their sights on heaven. The holy can steadfastly endure trials and tribulations and understand them as part of the price for eternal life (Conf. VI.3). In the parable the rich man, who had ample opportunity to be charitable and, indeed, was obliged to be generous by Jewish Law, ends up in torment in Hades, whereas Lazarus is lifted up by the angels to the bosom of Abraham. Despite the obvious lessons to be learned from the example of Lazarus, Cassian cannot fully incorporate him into his monastic schema because the scriptures make no mention of him actively pursuing further “deprivation and persecution and insults.” In fact, Abba Theodore notes that the gospel “mentions nothing virtuous about him apart

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from the mere fact that he patiently bore deprivation and bodily sickness” (Conf. VI.3.6). Instead, the example of Lazarus, covered with sores and suffering in silence, in conjunction with the example of John the Baptist, confident in a future fulfillment, set the stage for an archetypal Job. Having established the essentiality of an eschatological orientation, Cassian begins to make a turn that will eventually exalt Job as the preeminent model of a man who perfectly exercises the virtue of discretio and manages to sort out whatever is perceived to be good or bad. The starting point is Abba Theodore’s rhetorical question concerning “whether God has ever permitted evil to be brought upon his holy ones, either by himself or by someone else” (Conf. VI.4.1). The revered Desert Father is adamant that such a thing has never happened, for sin and vice cannot be forced on the unwilling. Only those who have the pre-existing condition of a “slothful heart” and a “corrupt will” readily accept whatever evil and temptation is set before them (Conf. VI.4.1). Only those who are already in a corrupt condition seek out and willingly exploit that which corrupts. Job is the perfect illustration for the abba’s confident assertion. Despite the bewildering array of “wicked devices” at his disposal and the overwhelming intensity of his attack on Job the devil was “utterly unable to taint him with sin because he remained unyielding through it all and did not give way to blasphemy” (Conf. VI.4.2). At this juncture Cassian has Germanus interject that scripture itself states in at least two instances that God is the creator of evil.12 Again, though, for Abba Theodore this is a matter of perception. He goes on to explain that scripture occasionally uses the term “evil” when it really means “affliction” or the like because divine providence sees fit to communicate with humanity in such a manner as we are accustomed. Afflictions are not by nature evil; we just perceive them as such and label them accordingly. Theodore acknowledges that in an attempt to express itself in human words and sentiments the scriptures often speak “loosely” (abusive) of evils rather than afflictions (Conf. VI.6.1). The abba points to the pain often inflicted by the physician who is trying to help the patient. To the poor soul suffering through the amputation of a limb the actions of the doctor appear to be most insidious, but the temporary agony is what is best for the patient’s overall health. In the same way the grieving child cannot see that a father’s discipline helps to mold good character. Again the door is opened for an eschatological reading of the human situation. The allusion is easy to make: God is the ultimate Physician and the ultimate Father. Although they may suffer from time to time in this life, the righteous need never fear evil from the Lord. Any anguish or adversity 12   Is 45:6‒7 “Apart from me there is no one. I the Lord, and no one else, form the light and create the darkness, make peace and create evil.” Am 3:6 LXX “Is there evil in the city that the Lord has not done?”

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experienced on earth serves only to improve one’s condition in preparation for fulfillment in the life to come. The conclusion of the dialogue is that the Tekoan monks endured no evil. To be sure, their Saracen murderers would be punished for their intention to kill the innocent, but the monks, because of their sanctity, experienced a death that was neutral. They endured “what nature demanded of them” (Conf. VI.6.4). What is more, they now partake of the blessed life in a manner commensurate with the level of suffering experienced in life and death. By remaining steadfast and holy, men and women such as these could actually transform whatever is hurled against them with malicious intent into a means of improving their seats in the eternal throne room.13 Patient endurance in this life affects one’s position in the next.

Intertextualizing Left and Right As a preface to the introduction of Job as monastic archetype, Cassian again has recourse to the epistles of Paul for two points that set up the heart of the teaching. First, in Romans 8:28 the apostle claims that “We know that for those who love God everything works together for the good.” “Everything” includes the pleasant and the unpleasant as well as that which appears good and that which appears evil. This puts an apostolic stamp of approval on what Theodore has already said. Second, in 2 Corinthians 6:7‒10 Paul speaks of wielding “weapons of righteousness” in the right hand and the left. Cassian quotes further, “By glory and dishonor, by bad reputation and good reputation, as deceivers and truthful, as sad yet always rejoicing, as needy yet as enriching many” (2 Cor 6:7‒10). Theodore then takes Paul’s statement and begins to re-frame it in an ascetic context. He teaches that all those things ordinarily considered praiseworthy can be interpreted via Paul to be on the right side, those occasions associated with glory and good reputation. Similarly, the unfortunate occasions of dishonor and bad reputation are attributed to the left side. Both sets of instances, however, become the weaponry of righteousness for those who persevere “in great-hearted fashion” whatever they experience (Conf. VI.9.3). Properly oriented, the perfect man is able to transform whatever befalls him into a means of spiritual growth. Occasions of adversity, that is attacks from the left side, become scenes of battle in which victory can be gained “in the very face of the enemies’ spears” (Conf. VI.9.3). In a similar fashion, attacks from the right side, occasions of prosperity and glory, must also be transformed into moments of spiritual advancement.

  The analogy is mine, not Cassian’s.

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The temptation to bask in any admiration or praise or to seek out further distinction must be resisted. Instead of accepting praise the holy person should see such moments as opportunities to practice humility. The requisite conditions for victory to be won and progress to be made are an eschatological awareness and a state of inner calm that allows one to travel straight down the middle of the via regia, being swayed neither to the right by what appears fortuitous nor to the left by what appears calamitous. The effort requires great vigilance, especially with regard to attacks from the right. It sometimes happens that experiences of adversity may serve as a corrective; they humble or correct the wayward. Instances of good fortune or accomplishment, however, can be much harder to deal with in a detached manner. They can be much more deceptive and perfidious and, therefore, much more dangerous. In the words of Theodore, prosperity “puffs up the mind with its flattering and dangerous seductions and ruinously casts down those who are secure in their happiness” (Conf. VI.9.4). Ehud Although sufficiently meritorious for the average Christian, Theodore’s (Cassian’s) words are directed toward those already engaged in the spiritual life. He attempts to present a teaching that will prepare those committed to the religious life for the highs and lows they will experience. The lesson continues with a very brief mention of the Benjaminite champion Ehud, who, according to Judges 3:15‒31, assassinated King Eglon of Moab, under whom the Israelites had suffered for eighteen years. Ehud is introduced because of his unusual ability to use both his left and right hand equally well,14 or, to put it in the more scriptural terms that Cassian references, he could use either hand as if it were his right (Conf. VI.10.1). Although his name appears almost in passing, Ehud’s presence is of singular importance for Cassian’s teaching. It should be noted that it is because of his manual dexterity that he is able to kill the king and thus liberate Israel from adversity. Theodore claims that the monk can also possess this ambidextrous ability if he properly understands and make use of the “good” and “bad” things that happen to him. The abba then explains that the “inner man” (interior homo), the expressed focus of the Conferences, also has a “right hand” (dextera) and a “left hand” 14   Virtually all modern translations describe Ehud as left-handed, but Jerome’s Vulgate and the Septuagint give him this ambidextrous ability. The original Hebrew characterizes him as ittēr, meaning “restricted in his right hand” (see also Jgs 20:16). This was most likely a roundabout way of noting that Ehud was left-handed, and that such a thing was unusual. Incorrect translation afforded Cassian, and others, a completely different perspective. See Robert G. Boling, Judges: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (Garden City, 1969). ‫׳‬

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(sinistra).15 The right hand is nurtured by successes gained in the spiritual life and comes to the fore when a certain level of mastery over one’s “desires and lusts” has been achieved. The monk experiences this right hand when, raised up from the earth, he contemplates all present and earthly realities as mere smoke and an empty shadow and disdains them as soon to disappear; when with ecstatic mind, he not only ardently desires future realities but even sees them with clarity; when he is effectively fed by spiritual theoria; when he sees unlocked to himself the heavenly sacraments in all their brightness; when he sends prayers purely and swiftly to God; and when, inflamed with spiritual ardor, he passes over to invisible and eternal realities with such utter eagerness of soul that he cannot bring himself to believe that he is in the flesh. (Conf. VI.10.2)

Evocative images, to be sure. Having gained such spiritual expertise the “righthanded” monk comes as close as earthly existence will allow to the vision of God. Rising above “smoke” and “shadow” he is released from the bonds of temporal space and time to such an extent that in perfect clarity he sees a future fulfillment in which all obstacles separating human and divine have been removed. Intense and rewarding though they may be, such experiences are not continuous. Extreme ecstasy has its counterpart. When the monk faces spiritual trials and tribulations he becomes very much aware that his inner man also has a left hand. In a conflation of the eight principal vices Cassian notes that the monk will experience this left hand when the desires of his flesh are inflamed by seething emotions and impulses; when the fire of aggravations enkindles the fury of his wrath; when he is struck by the arrogance of pride or vainglory; when he is depressed by a death-dealing sadness; when he is disturbed by the ploys and the attack of acedia; and when, in the absence of any spiritual warmth, he is dulled by a kind of tepidity and irrational mournfulness, so that not only is he deserted by good and warm thoughts but psalmody, prayer, reading, and the solitude of his cell terrify him, and every virtuous practice takes on a certain unbearable and darkly loathsome quality. (Conf. VI.10.3)

The monk must be ever mindful that the pendulum swings both ways. Theoria, the contemplation of the divine, is always countered by acedia, which Cassian characterizes as an “anxious heart” (anxietatem cordis) that paralyzes and creates

  For Cassian’s interest in characterizing the “inner man” see Conf. I praef. 5.

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disdain for all elements of the spiritual life.16 Monks, no matter how spiritually mature they may think themselves to be, are likely to experience both the right and left hand of the inner man, and they must be prepared for it. The one who is able to resist the temptation to pride or vainglory in the wake of an intense religious experience and who refuses to give in to despair in moments of doubt and spiritual dryness will prevail and make progress despite being buffeted from both sides. Such a person “seizes the arms of patience from adversity for the sake of exercising his virtue, uses both hands as right hands, and, having triumphed in both respects, snatches the palm of victory from the left as much as from the right” (Conf. VI.10.4).Between blessing and curse lies the secret to success. For Cassian, scripture shows that Job knew this better than anyone. Abba Theodore turns his attention to Job as the perfect illustration of the ambidextrous man, the archetype to whom the aspiring should look. Job As the embodiment of the covenant ideal Job’s life is clearly blessed; he is no stranger to the right hand of good fortune. Drawing from evidence in the prologue to the book of Job and Job’s own claims in chapters 29‒31, Cassian reminds the reader of the extent to which Job is exalted. Rather than in the form of an ecstatic vision of God, Job’s inner right hand manifests itself in his wealth and success. Yet, his piety and great virtue prevent such things from inhibiting his orientation toward the divine and his commitment to works of charity. The father of the ideal seven sons (Cassian makes no mention of his three daughters), Job takes great care to offer daily sacrifices to the Lord for their purification so that, in Cassian’s opinion, they should remain pleasing and acceptable to God (Conf. VI.10.5).17 Powerful and commanding the utmost respect of those in positions of authority (Conf. VI.10.5),18 Job makes himself available to the stranger, and, although capable of living a life of self-indulgent luxury, he does not hesitate to become “eyes to the blind and feet to the lame” (Conf. VI.10.5).19 The master of thousands of herd animals Job does not neglect to share their hides in order to clothe the poor and sick (Conf. VI.10.5).20 Although removed from the degradation of poverty and want, he still provides for the needs of widows and orphans.21 Finally, Cassian notes that Job did not take pleasure in any misfortune suffered by those who     18   19   20   21   16 17

See Conf. V.11.8. Cassian provides fuller treatment in Inst. X.1.1. Cf. Job 1:5. Cf. Job 29:7‒10, 21‒25. Cf. Job 29:15‒16. Cf. Job 31:20. Cf. Job 31:16‒18.

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considered themselves his enemies (Conf. VI.10.5).22 Although furnished with all the trappings that may have been the downfall for many a man, Job’s discipline and piety helped him navigate through the alluring currents of wealth and power and avoid the sin of pride. Interestingly, Cassian does not allude to Job’s refusal to put his faith in gold or rejoice in any increase of his riches.23 Within the covenant ideal, of course, wealth and power would be tangible proofs of Job’s sanctity, but Cassian chooses not to mention it. In any case, the point has been made: Job has not been corrupted by his success. The temptation to bask in the glory of the right hand experience has been overcome. The book of Job, though, is not famous because its protagonist was wealthy. In Job’s case the pendulum swings back with full force. Cassian has Job take the brunt of the left hand strike in stride. His virtuous character is so strong that it remains firm in the face of disaster upon disaster. The sudden demise of his children does not bring him to his knees in despair as Cassian suggests it would most fathers. Instead, he is able to rejoice “in the will of his Creator” as should any “true servant of God” (Conf. VI.10.6). His sudden and rapid fall from the heights of power and prosperity to the depths of ignominy and disease fails to weaken the strength of his soul. Despite all manner of adversity leveled against, him Cassian’s Job “never despairingly fell into blasphemy or murmured against his Creator on any account” (Conf. VI.10.7). He remains so unshaken because he possesses the state of inner calm required to maintain the middle course of the via regia. Job has such complete control of his faculties that Cassian notes he ripped his cloak and “laid” (abiciens) it aside in order to voluntarily increase his suffering. In similar fashion he cut his hair, the last vestige of his former glory (Conf. VI.10.7). His actions are deliberate and purposeful, not spontaneous emotional responses to catastrophe. They are indicative of the monastic ideal that recognizes the value of suffering and seeks out further deprivation and distress. Neither his cloak nor his hair, Cassian points out, had been touched by the Adversary. Yet, by giving them up of his own accord and adding to his pain and contempt Job punctuates his triumph over adversity. Not only does Job possess the requisite inner calm, but his worldview is not temporally oriented, either. By quoting Job 1:21 and 2:1024 Cassian shows that Job was not concerned with the accoutrements of “the short space of this life.” It is difficult, though, to ascribe an eschatological vision to the man from Uz. There

  Cf. Job 31:29‒30.   Cf. Job 31:24‒25 24   “Naked I came from the womb, naked I shall return whence I came. The Lord gives 22 23

and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” “If we accept good from God, shall we not accept evil?”

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is no indication in the text that Job expects a future fulfillment,25 but for Cassian, at least, it is clear that Job comprehends the transient nature of earthly existence. This is a man who has his priorities in order. It should also be noted that Cassian is aware that events in the book of Job take place before the coming of Christ, so Job was not exposed to the kerygma and could not have foreseen the kind of fulfillment Paul extols. Although Job has been the focus of Theodore’s teaching, he is not the only example of ambidextrous ability to be found in scripture. Cassian puts him in the company of the patriarch Joseph, who remained unshaken despite reaching the heights of power in the Egyptian court on the right hand side and being tempted and slandered by Potiphar’s wife and suffering the consequences thereof on the left hand side. Additionally, in reference to her groom, the bride in the Song of Songs also speaks of left and right hands: “His left arm pillows my head, his right arm is round me” (S. of S. 2:6). Cassian interprets this to mean that adversity must always be subject to “the guidance of the heart” (Conf. VI.10.9). Although both are beneficial, the bride desires his right hand “to cling to her and to hold her fast in a saving embrace” (Conf. VI.10.9). The “right hand” here refers to the one bearing the weapons of righteousness found in 2 Corinthians, rather than the challenge of prosperity. Finally, Cassian also lists Paul among the ambidextrous. He quotes Paul’s letter to the Philippians, “I have learned to be satisfied in whatever I find myself. I know how to be humbled and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in everything I have been instructed how to be full and how to be hungry and how to abound and how to endure want. I can do everything in him who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:11-13). Because of his Christocentric worldview Paul can remain undeterred and unaffected by the contingencies of earthly existence. The door is open, though, for still more to join the elite group. Speaking of those devoted to the monastic life, Cassian has Abba Theodore turn the attention to their own context. The abba affirms the possibility of the present company’s ambidextrous potential. They need only ensure that neither abundance nor lack is allowed to lead them toward laziness or despair. Praise to God ought to be offered no matter how one fares, so that both success and setback can be meritorious (Conf. VI.10.10). If one can remain in control during what are perceived to be “good” times and “bad” times, if one can retain true purity of heart, then one holds the secret to success that lies between blessing and curse.

  In fact, quite the opposite seems to be indicated by 10:20‒22, “Is not my life short and fleeting? Let me be, that I may be happy for a moment, before I depart to a land of gloom, a land of deepest darkness, never to return, a land of dense darkness and disorder, increasing darkness lit by no ray of light.” 25

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At this point Cassian digresses somewhat into a discussion of the three major reasons why human beings endure trials, which actually turns out to be four major reasons.26 But he is not yet done with the book of Job. In Chapter 12 of Conference VI Cassian returns to the theme of remaining steadfast in the face of whatever happens in life. Theodore advises that the righteous man must not have a mind that is like wax—easily pliable and subject to change its shape whenever something acts upon it. Rather, the mind should be like an “adamant seal, so that it always retains its own character inviolable and shapes and transforms whatever happens to it into its own likeness, without, however, being stamped itself by the things that happen to it” (Conf. VI.12). This may have been the case for Job, but Germanus quickly questions whether it is actually possible for the mind to remain in one state, always constant, never changing. Theodore immediately qualifies his advice in response. He points again to Philippians, in which Paul writes that he is “always reaching out to what is ahead” (Phil. 3:13). In other words, Paul’s “finish line” is not yet attained; still more progress is required. The reference to Philemon 3:13 also suggests a negative: the possibility of losing ground. The attentive and committed person will strive forward, but the neglectful and lazy person will fall backwards. Theodore likens the monastic experience to a person who is trying to push a boat forward against the current of a river. He will “either go upstream by cutting off the torrent with the strength of his arms or, letting his hands drop, be thrown headlong by the rushing water” (Conf. VI.14.1). Given the ambidextrous ideal Cassian has already outlined, the significance of the analogy should not be overlooked. So, a mind like an adamant seal is not actually attainable. Theodore admits that no one can, “while living in this flesh, possess the height of the virtues in such a way that they will abide unchangingly” (Conf. VI.14.2). Every day presents the monk with challenges and opportunities. The perfect state cannot be attained on earth, so he will make progress one day and, perhaps, lose some ground the next. Sanctity is never fully affirmed; it is always subject to change. Here we not only catch a glimpse of the eschatological, but we also unmistakingly recognize the immense chasm separating the infinite God from finite existence. Cassian quotes Job 15:14‒15, “What is a human being that he should be spotless, and one who is born of woman that he should appear righteous? Behold, among his holy ones no one is changeless, and the heavens are not pure in his sight.”27 He does so as a prooftext to lend authority to Theodore’s words but also to nuance the ascetic teaching he has already lain down. 26   1) in order to be proven—such as Abraham and Job; 2) in order to be cleansed; 3) on account of sin; and 4) in order to show the glory of God. See Conf. VI.11.1‒4. 27   From the speech of Eliphaz the Temanite.

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Ultimately, one has to conclude that Job was not the perfect man. He must have been subject to change, for God alone is immutable. This serves only to reinforce Job’s usefulness as an archetype, especially since it confirms the centrality of humility. The furnace of Job’s sanctity is fueled, at least in the way Cassian reads him, by the desire to push the boat upstream. He is constantly striving after virtue, as attested by his daily sacrifices on behalf of his children, his habitual works of charity, and his refusal to be swayed by good fortune or bad. In the same way, to follow in Job’s footsteps the monk must exhibit the same level of commitment. Speaking to those who choose to make the attempt, Abba Theodore encourages continuous exertion with unwavering attention to cultivating virtue, lest a sudden stall should lead to regression. Since it is impossible for the mind to remain static, no forward progress means already to have suffered a loss. The danger of falling back becomes ever greater (Conf. VI.14.3). The religious life, the monastic quest, then, is characterized by struggle, whether it be against the strong currents of a river or against Job’s Adversary and his minions. Vigilance, discretion, and the ability to maintain one’s focus despite loss and gain (i.e. to be ambidextrous) are required at all times.

The Cell of the Heart Cassian’s mimetic exegesis of Job extends further, when Abba Theodore invokes and image central to early monastic practice that characterizes the virtue of discretio. In an effort to maintain “the desire for making progress” and to avoid setbacks, the abba advises that “one must abide constantly in one’s cell” (Conf. VI.15). Theodore’s words are meant to be taken literally, to a certain extent. The monk’s cell, a simple dwelling sparsely equipped, was considered the site in which much of his monastic discipline would be put into practice.28 Although the monk would interact with others, whether within a coenobium or at the weekly synax, progress in the spiritual life took place on an individual basis. Just as Job endured his ordeal by himself, the monk had to battle his demons alone. So, the monk’s physical shelter in the desert or within a community in many ways marked the front lines. It was also a familiar place, a place where the monk could acquire “an intensity of mind that, once let go slack, he will not be able to recover again without

  Many early monastic texts prescribe the same advice. See, for instance, Verba Seniorum 7.24; Apophthegmata Patrum, de abbate Antonio 10, de abbate Evagrio 1, de abbate Macario 41; and Palladius, Hist. Laus. 16. Cassian also notes, however, that merely taking up space within one’s cell does not make one virtuous (Conf. XVIII.16). 28

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effort and pain” (Conf. VI.15).29 In this regard, the cell acted as an anchoring environment in which the drama of the monastic endeavor unfolded. Given the context of Abba Theodore’s teaching in Conference VI and Cassian’s overall mimetic strategy, however, the monk’s “cell” ought to be interpreted in another sense. Job is worthy of the monk’s serious attention and emulation because his exercise of discretio prevents him from “wandering” from the cell of the heart. He is the embodiment of constant vigilance, forever guarding “the secret places of the heart.”30 The mutability of the mind and the constant barrage of intruding thoughts necessitate that for any virtue to be “firmly maintained once it has been acquired it must always be preserved with the same concern and effort with which it was obtained” (Conf. VI.16.3). For this to be accomplished the monk must withdraw within himself, as Job has done, in order to apply the appropriate level of scrutiny. The commitment is essential, for, according to Abba Theodore, those engaged in the monastic endeavor rarely succumb to sudden ruin. More often, “having been misled by wicked instruction at the beginning, or because of longstanding spiritual unconcern, the virtue of the mind gradually decreases and thus, as sinfulness slowly increases, a person falls into a wretched condition” (Conf. VI.17.1). A monk’s downfall (ruina) begins in less than spectacular fashion, with a minor error in judgment here or a lax in discipline there, hence the need to withdraw to and remain in one’s “cell.”

The analogy between the monk’s living space and the “cell” of the heart is supported by Theodore’s appeal to certain passages from Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. Quoting Proverbs 16:18 (LXX), the abba teaches, “For ‘injury precedes destruction, and an evil thought precedes ruin.’ In the same way a house never suddenly collapses except because of some old weakness in the foundation or because of extended disregard by its tenants” (Conf. VI.17.1). Neglecting to repair a tiny leak in the roof, the abba maintains, allows it to become a much larger breach through which a “stormy tempest of rain” can pour through and dooms the building to destruction. Justification for his assertion is drawn from Ecclesiastes 10:18 (LXX), “By slothfulness a dwelling will be brought low, and through lazy hands a house will leak.” Just as physical dwellings require constant attention, so does the cell of the heart. Theodore then turns to Proverbs 27:15 (LXX), “Leaks drive a person out of his house on a stormy day,” to bring things together more clearly. For the abba, Solomon compares spiritual carelessness to a porous “roof” through which tiny 29   We should also note that the question of perception can again be brought to bear here. For the outsider, the monk’s cell resembles a place of confinement. For the monk, however, it is sacred space in which future glory can be attained. 30   See Conf. 1.22. In this regard, Job is an “approved money changer” (see Chapter 2).

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“leaks of passion” (stillicidia passionum) penetrate to the soul. Left unattended, the “structure of the virtues” (tigna virtutum) will weaken and eventually let in a “heavy shower of sinfulness” (imbre largissimo vitiorum), leaving the occupant exposed to the elements (Conf. VI.17.2). Without due diligence, the monk could be expelled from his “dwelling” when the stormy days occasioned by times of trial assail his heart. Job presents the monk with the example of one who constantly attended the “upkeep” of his “cell” and was thereby able to withstand the temptations of both tragedy and triumph. Some parting remarks from Theodore serve not only to emphasize his point, but they also add a rather somber tone to the teaching. The abba states, “It is said: ‘You should not call a person blessed before his death’ [Ecclus 11:28], because whoever is still involved in this struggle and—as I might say—wrestling match, even though he usually overcomes and obtains the palm of victory, still cannot be free of fear and of concern about an uncertain result” (Conf. VI.16.2). Constant striving is the ideal. Complacency is never an option. Even though a particular monk may usually prevail against attacks from the right and the left, victory is never assured, and no one can know what may happen before death. The promise of fulfillment lies only in an eschatological future. Job works as an archetype for Cassian’s monastic ideal because he is driven to pursue virtue and because he is ambidextrous. He lives a life of suffering that can be described as ascetic, never loses sight of the transient and precarious nature of existence, and is forever convinced of God’s goodness. That being said, however, the careful reader cannot help but note some potential problems that may mitigate the usefulness of Job as a model for the monastic life. Brief reflection suggests the following: 1) according to the text, Job is already perfect from the beginning; he comes pre-equipped for battle; 2) Job does not voluntarily give up his family and wealth, nor are his sufferings self-imposed; and 3) eschatology does not seem to play a part in Job’s story if he gets everything back again before his death. Cassian does not address these issues, so no clear response can be discerned. It must be remembered, though, that Cassian is not interested in presenting a systematic commentary. It is not altogether necessary that these questions occurred to him, either. Like all patristic authors, Cassian was not constrained by the techniques of modern textual criticism. The fact that such questions occur to us is a reflection of our fixation on method not a glaring inconsistency on Cassian’s part.31 Within the patristic tradition, scripture was a unified repository of truth, a means of providing order and of discerning the divine oikonomia. Its meaning 31   For similar sentiments, see O’Keefe and Reno, pp. 5‒13; Young, pp. 1‒5; James L. Kugel and Rowan A. Greer, Early Biblical Interpretation (Philadelphia, 1986) p. 112.

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went beyond the words on the page, so Cassian’s intent is to draw the monk into the text by having him engage in mimēsis. Imitating the actions and orientations of Job revives the sense of human mortality in the face of transcendent Infinity. The practice of discretio assists the monk in his self-effacing quest for an audience with the Divine.

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Chapter 4

Abraham and Moses: Withdrawal and Obedience

For the faithful, the Hebrew Bible offers a panoply of covenantal exemplars, men and women who are steadfast in their loyalty to the biblical God, who know the fate of the people of Israel rests on human response to the offer of a unique relationship with the Divine.1 Shining brightly within this array are the ancient patriarchs, who reveal God’s will and personify what it takes to fulfill it. Within the Jewish tradition, men like Abraham, Jacob, and Moses were considered especially worthy to receive the promises of the covenant and to establish Israel as the people of God. The Church Fathers also recognized the brilliance of such luminaries but recontextualized their roles within a Christian paradigm that saw Jesus not only as active in the pages of the Hebrew Bible but also as the fulfillment of God’s message. As a result, such figures were often interpreted typologically. Their primary importance lay in the extent to which they prefigured Christ or pointed to a future Christian reality.2 Cassian makes frequent reference to various patriarchs and prophets in the Conferences, but his usage is not what could be considered strictly typological, i.e. specifically linked to the person of Jesus. Rather, as this chapter will indicate, Cassian interpreted these characters in two related ways. On the one hand, they served as models for personal emulation; and in this regard they suited the monastic vocation well. On the other hand, Cassian saw such men as the originators of a line of authority that extended from Abraham to the Desert Fathers with whom he associated. Under the guidance of the patriarchs and prophets the people of Israel turned or “re-turned” to the biblical God and made their way to the Promised Land. From a monastic context, these men were the first abbas, the watchmen who paved the via regia and whose example, according to Cassian, continues to guide whomever seeks the ideal of puritas cordis.

  See Alan J. Hauser and Duane F. Watson, “Introduction and Overview,” in Alan J. Hauser and Duane F. Watson (eds), A History of Biblical Interpretation: The Ancient Period (2 vols, Grand Rapids, 2003), pp. 1‒54. 2   In the case of Moses, for instance, see Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 3.18.6‒7, 5.11.8; Origen, Hom. In Num 7.2; Cyprian Ad Fort. 8; Cyril of Jerusalem, Catech. 13.20. 1

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Renunciation A fundamental practice of early monasticism was the adoption of a way of life that entailed a withdrawal from the world at large. It was so intrinsic that the epithet “monk” derived from the Greek monachos (μοναχός), meaning “one who lives alone.”3 In actual practice, the level of isolation or seclusion varied from almost totally eremitic existence to a communal setting in which time alone would be spent in one’s cell during particular hours of the day. However one chose to live, part of being a monk meant engagement in anachoresis, a physical and mental separation from the lifestyle of the everyday Christian with all of its comforts and temptations.4 For Cassian, anachoresis was a complex process that unfolded in two major movements. One first needed to remove oneself from populated locales. Physical relocation marked the beginning of a new life and established a set of conditions in which one could embark in earnest upon the quest for self-awareness and, ultimately, God. This is where the unique geography of the desert revealed its power. Barren landscapes, extremes of climate, and the lack of plentiful food and water combine to focus the mind inward, to the extent that one is constantly aware of one’s precarious condition. Physical anachoresis occurs when one leaves home and either joins a monastic community or retreats to the desert alone, which Cassian does not recommend and was a rare occurrence.5 As such, it loosely corresponds to the ideal portrayed in Cassian’s Institutes, in which the fundamental and “mundane” trappings of the coenobium are explained. Once relocated in body, the second movement in Cassian’s intricate web of anachoresis can commence. Although a much more important step, it is also much more difficult because it requires a psychological withdrawal from all with which one is familiar. Once the monk has some sense of who he is, he must then attempt to focus all of his attention on the person of Christ, to the exclusion of his own identity. The goal is to sit with Mary of Bethany at the feet of the Master with eyes firmly fixed on the divine presence.6 This is an arduous task, for it requires stripping the mind of all that one holds dear, including attachment to worldly possessions that may have already been abandoned and family who have already

  See E. Judge, “The Earliest Use of Monachos for ‘Monk,’” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum, 20 (1977): pp. 72‒89. 4   See Antoine Guillaumont, “Anachoresis,” in Aziz S. Atiya (ed.), The Coptic Encyclopedia (New York, 1991) pp. 119‒120. 5   Even Antony initially apprenticed with several elders just outside of town, rather than disappearing into the desert alone. See Life of Antony 3. 6   See Chapter 2. 3

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been left behind. For Cassian, one’s physical removal from people, places, and things is no guarantee of authentic psychological withdrawal. Paphnutius Conference III is delivered by Abba Paphnutius while Cassian and Germanus are in Scetis and concerns what will be the hallmarks of anachoresis, “the Three Renunciations.”7 It begins in familiar fashion, with effusive praise for the particular abba with whom the companions share an audience and from whom they seek spiritual instruction. Whereas Abba Moses in Conference I was lauded as the most sweet smelling of the desert “flowers,” in Conference III Abba Paphnutius is pictured as “resplendent with brilliant knowledge as if he were a large celestial body” within “that choir of holy men, who shone like bright stars in the night of this world” (Conf. III.1.1). Again, the intent is to establish the abba as beyond rival when it comes to the practice of a particular virtue. In this case, Abba Paphnutius had mastered anachoresis. Cassian, and therefore his audience, could find no better teacher. Cassian recounts that Paphnutius had entered the coenobium as a youth and made rapid progress in the elimination of vice and the cultivation of virtue because of his fervor and diligent obedience: Mortifying each aspect of his will with the discipline of humility and obedience, he thereby extinguished all his vices and achieved perfection in every virtue that the institutes of the monasteries and the teachings of the earliest fathers had laid down. Having gone on to higher things and burning with zeal, he strove to penetrate the remote parts of the desert.8 (Conf. III.1.2)

Paphnutius retreated further and further from human contact in an effort to enjoy the “ceaseless and divine theoria” for which he could only long “while

  Or, “De Tribus Abrenuntiantibus.” Abrenuntiationibus is formed from the conflation of the preposition “ab,” here indicating the temporal reference “after” or “later,” and the noun “renuntiatio,” meaning an official “resignation,” “withdrawal,” or “renunciation.” 8   It is interesting to note that Cassian specifically mentions “the institutes of the monasteries,” a phrase that may allude to the title eventually assigned to his first work, the Institutes. The suggestion is that Paphnutius exemplifies one who successfully made the first movement of anachoresis and mastered all of the fundamental principles and practical techniques of the cenobitic life, all that Cassian offered in the Institutes. In going on “to higher things” and desiring to “penetrate the remote parts of the desert” Cassian has Paphnutius enter into the territory of the Conferences, the next phase of withdrawal. 7

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surrounded by a multitude of brothers” (Conf. III.1.3).9 Cassian’s words suggest that interaction with others was too great a distraction and frustrated Paphnutius’ intention “to cling inseparably” (inseparabiliter inhaerere) to the Lord.10 Withdrawal to a hermit existence meant his virtual disappearance and provided the kind of environment that elevated Paphnutius’ virtue to such an extent that it was believed he conversed daily with angels. Cassian does not explain why Paphnutius returned to the form of communal monastic setting found at Scetis, but he does note that he was burdened by the effects of advanced age, which may have had something to do with his relocation.11 What is clear, however, is Cassian’s intent to assert the abba’s authority. With this in mind, Cassian introduces a subtle change in tone in the second chapter of Conference III. After waiting in silence for a period of time, Paphnutius praises Cassian and Germanus for their intent to commit to religious life (Conf. III.2.1).12 The companions respond that although they have sought out the abba in order to receive his tutelage, they neither want nor deserve any acclaim. Instead, Cassian writes, “Therefore we begged for that which would bring forth compunction and humble us rather than things that would flatter us or exalt us” (Conf. III.2.2). With these words Cassian demonstrates the same kind of diligence Paphnutius exemplified as a youth in the coenobium. The message conveyed is that humility and obedience are the bedrock upon which the monastic life is based. If any progress is to be made in anachoresis one must subject oneself to the charge of the elders. The elders themselves, however, are part of a tradition that has its origins in the sacred text.

9   The Latin turbas connotes a general commotion or confusion that would accompany a large group of people. 10   The use of inhaerere calls to mind the example of Mary of Bethany. 11   According to legend, Paphnutius was instructed by Onouphrios the Great, an older hermit also drawn to the deep desert, to return to the coenobium and recount the lives of the anchorites. This directive is repeated when an angel confirms that it is God’s will that Paphnutius return to a more communal life so that he may teach others in the ways of anachoresis. Paphnutius is also mentioned in Palladius’ Historia lausica, 47.3ff. in Cuthbert Butler, The Lausiac History of Paladius: A Critical Discussion, Together with Notes on Early Monachism (Cambridge, 1898‒1904) and the Apophthegmata patrum, Abba Eudemon (PG 65:71‒440). 12   Paphnutius’ praise contains some specifics that become important emblems of his teaching in action and also help to confirm Cassian’s authority for his Gallic audience. More regarding these specifics follows below.

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Biblical Exemplars and the Three Callings Anachoresis begins when the monk feels compelled to relinquish his lifestyle and enter the coenobium or the desert proper. How this awareness is recognized and authenticated marks the starting point for Paphnutius’ teaching in Conference III. According to Paphnutius, there are three kinds of “callings” (vocationes) that ought to prompt a reaction from anyone to whom one or more may be addressed. The first comes directly from God, the second is inspired by some manner of human agency, and the third results from some sort of privation. Each is distinctive and has a corresponding biblical exemplar. Paphnutius cautions that the monk ought to be aware of the kind of calling to which he has responded, because its origin will affect the way in which he fulfills the vocation (Conf. III.3). Although the callings vary in levels of distinction, from divine instigation to the personal realization of loss, the monk should have no illusions about the requirements of his new orientation. A life of service to God that results from the first kind of calling requires that the monk adopt a manner of life commensurate with its “grand nature” (sublimitas), for “it will be useless to have begun in sublime fashion if from such beginnings we do not finish in a corresponding manner” (Conf. III.3.1). Similarly, “if we see that we have been removed from worldly familiarity by the last kind, then we should take care to push ourselves with spiritual fervor all the more eagerly to a better end since we seem to have started out from a rather shaky beginning” (Conf. III.3.2). A divinely initiated vocation carries with it no guarantee of success, so the monk must strive to maintain the standards and expectations that accompany such an auspicious calling. Even so, the monk called more “directly” from God would seem to have an advantage over the monk who feels compelled to the religious life because of some need. He would, as suming the appropriate level of dedication and humility, progress quickly along the via regia, whereas the other would require more time and effort to reorient a self-centered life.

Paphnutius states that the first kind of calling to the monastic life comes from God. Such a calling can manifest itself through obvious and direct contact with a divine source, subtle inspiration of the heart, revelation through the scriptures, or a combination of the three. The prime example here is the patriarch Abraham, who in Genesis 12:1a is suddenly called away from his familiar surroundings by the voice of God. In Abraham’s case there is little room for confusion and, perhaps, no option but submission. Cassian, however, does not emphasize the remarkable feature of this calling, i.e. that a human being would plainly hear the actual voice

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of God. He certainly would have accepted a literal interpretation of Genesis 12:1a, but his exegetical methodology also accepts a more nuanced interpretation of what it means to hear the divine call. Before presenting the example of Abraham, Cassian offers an insightful comment. He writes, “As often as some inspiration comes into our heart, even sometimes when we are sleeping, which spurs us on to desire eternal life and salvation and which encourages us to follow God and to adhere to his commands with a salutary compunction, it is from God” (Conf. III.4.1). He immediately follows this with “Thus we read in Holy Scripture that it was by the Lord’s voice that Abraham was called out” (Conf. III.4.1). Cassian allows for a lot more than an audible command at the beginning of Abraham’s vocation. The “Lord’s voice” heard by the patriarch carries with it the suggestion of an ongoing and more subtle line of communication. It is possible that Cassian had in mind some notion of a lifelong “wooing” or “grooming” of Abraham on the part of the biblical God, a notion sustained by tradition.13 In such a scenario, the “Lord’s voice” would have been active in a less obvious manner than the forceful command to leave family and security. Thus, the vigilant and contemplative person need not perceive actual words in order to “hear” a divine call.

  Legends concerning Abraham’s worthiness to receive the divine call are of two versions and stem from Hellenistic and Rabbinic sources. Wilfred L. Knox considers the earliest Hellenic source to be the “Orphic” fragment, which mentions but does not identify an “only-begotten offshoot of the race of the Chaldeans, who apparently was enabled to come to the vision of God through his knowledge of the stars.” Clement of Alexandria quotes this text and interprets it as referring to either Abraham or Isaac. Abraham is often credited with discovering astrology and astronomy. A later fragment credited to Eupolemus by Alexander Polyhistor specifically states that Abraham excelled all “in noble birth and wisdom,” discovered astrology, and “found favor with the Lord.” Josephus in Ant. 1.154‒156 also suggests that Abraham inferred the truth of monotheism from his observations of the irregular activity of the stars long before his departure for Canaan. The implication is that Abraham abandoned astral cults as the result of spiritual growth. Philo presents a similar position in De Abrahamo 77. The Book of Jubilees (ca. 135‒105 BCE) states that Abraham distanced himself from his father at the age of two weeks so as not to be associated with idol worship and later tried to convert Terah. In this scenario, Abraham’s already-evident virtue is rewarded at a later stage by the divine call. Such is the case, for instance, in Genesis Rabbah 39. See H. Freeman and Maurice Simon, trans., Midrash Rabbah: Genesis, Vols. 1‒2 (London: Soncino Press, 1939). Other Rabbinic sources see Abraham as predestined to receive his mission from God regardless of his moral fiber beforehand. See Wilfred Lawrence Knox, “Abraham and the Quest for God,” Harvard Theological Review 28 (1935): 55‒60 and Samuel Sandmel, “Abraham’s Knowledge of the Existence of God,” Harvard Theological Review 44 (1951): 137‒139. For Josephus, see Annette Yoshiko Reed, “Abraham as Chaldean Scientist and Father of the Jews,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 35 (2004): 119‒158. 13

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The example of Abraham is followed immediately by that of the most revered of desert fathers, Antony of Egypt. In Antony’s case the voice of God is mediated through the scriptures. According to Athanasius’ account, while on his way to church one day Antony had been pondering the ability of the apostles to leave all behind them and follow Jesus. Upon entering the worship site he heard the presbyter quote Matthew 19:21, in which Jesus tells the rich man to sell all he possesses in order to gain treasures in heaven.14 Antony interpreted this as a personal invitation and immediately left the building and responded accordingly, reserving a little from the sale of his estate for his sister’s benefit. The next time he attended church services Matthew 6:34 was quoted: “So do not be anxious about tomorrow; tomorrow will look after itself. Each day has troubles enough of its own.” As soon as he heard “be not anxious about tomorrow” he realized his error and distributed the remaining funds, placed his sister in a convent, and “henceforth devoted himself outside his house to discipline.” Like Abraham, Antony received his vocation from a divine word, and it is significant that Cassian links the two great figures in this regard. Close association with the biblical hero defines Antony as an honorary member of the biblical pantheon and bolsters his status as the leading authority in the monastic life. Elevating Antony to such heights carries with it the implication that successive abbas are due the same reverence because they are part of a lineage predicated upon humility and obedience. Making such connections between the leading protagonists of the sacred text and the contemporary abbas of the desert is critical to Cassian’s quest to establish a more “Egyptian” form of monasticism in Gaul. For Cassian, the line of succession that validates the authenticity and value of monastic life begins in the Hebrew Bible and continues in men such as Antony, Paphnutius, and, implicitly, himself, or his text. Cassian makes use of this hermeneutical strategy on a number of occasions, and this is a point to which I shall return. Paphnutius designates the second kind of calling as that which “comes about through human agency, when, moved by the example or teachings of certain holy persons, we are inflamed with a desire for salvation” (Conf. III.4.3). This vocation is a key component in the development of monasticism as an enterprise and is central to Cassian’s project. The significance of Antony is again demonstrated when Abba Paphnutius acknowledges that he and his company were drawn to the monastic life because they had been affected by the teachings and virtues of the great desert hero. It should be noted that although the Letters of Antony also 14   Matthew 19:21: “Jesus said to him, ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come and follow me.’” See De vita Antonii 2.

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mention Paphnutius’ first and third types of calling, they do not include this second type, the vocation by example.15 Cassian has to present it and recognize it as privileged because it provides the foundation for his schema. It is also emblematic of his mimetic reading of scripture. In addition to the looming figure of Antony, Paphnutius suggests that the liberation of the people of Israel from captivity in Egypt was effected by the example of Moses. The image foreshadows one of the most common metaphors for the monastic endeavor: the monk is in the same situation as Israel in that he too is “wandering” in the desert seeking entrance into the “Promised Land.” The third type of calling occurs during times of trial and suffering and receives the most attention in Conference III. Cassian has Paphnutius state that this vocation arises when those who have enjoyed the riches and pleasures of the world, yet not acknowledged the God from whence they stem, are suddenly faced with the possibility of their own deaths or the death of loved ones or are in danger of losing property and good fortune. Such individuals are compelled, perhaps involuntarily at first, to seek out God (Conf. III.4.4). Here again Cassian chooses to use the example of the people of Israel as an illustration. The familiar biblical theme of “exile and return” works to exemplify how the vocation is employed. Drawing from the Book of Judges, Paphnutius recalls how “on account of their sins, the children of Israel were delivered over by the Lord to their enemies” (Conf. III.4.5). The subsequent domination and suffering brings Israel to its senses, and the people cry out to God for forgiveness and salvation. The Lord responds by raising a champion from within their midst. Paphnutius mentions two such champions: Ehud and Othniel. Ehud plays a pivotal role later in Conference VI, but Othniel receives no further mention in the Conferences. In the present context, however, the heroes serve not as figures to be emulated but as proof of God’s loving concern and faithfulness to those who heed the call. Both men are deliverers, tools in the hands of a divine redeemer, who liberate Israel from oppression. The monk is to recognize the “return” of the people of Israel as acceptance of the vocatio. It is sincere acceptance and adherence that act as the common denominators regardless of the type of vocation. Although personal invitations and vocations by example are held in higher regard, neither type carries with it the guarantee of success in the religious life. Paphnutius notes that there are many who began their careers in marvelous ways but have “become tepid and have fallen from a higher level and very frequently ended up in tragedy” (Conf. III.5.1). Although the “forced” nature of the third type of calling would seem problematic for an authentic   In the first of Antony’s seven letters three different callings are mentioned: 1) from God, 2) from fear of punishment, and 3) from weariness of affliction. See PG 40.977‒978. Ramsey correctly notes that Antony’s second and third sources are equivalent to Cassian’s third. See Ramsey, Conferences, pp. 113‒114. 15

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relationship with the divine, there have been those whose vocation began in a way that was “inferior and lukewarm” who have risen to be “perfect and very fervent in spirit” (Conf. III.5.1). The initial example provided as evidence comes not from the Hebrew Bible or New Testament but from monastic circles. Paphnutius recalls the case of the famous Abba Moses the Ethiopian. Abba Moses had been a slave but was dismissed by his master because of his immorality. He joined a band of brigands and so impressed his criminal compatriots that he quickly became their leader. At the height of a career of robbery and murder Abba Moses converted and entered a monastery. According to Paphnutius, Moses’ transformation occurred because he was “compelled by the fear of death which hung over him because of the crime of murder” (Conf. III.5.2).16 The psychological effects of his felonious life continued to haunt Abba Moses long after he had committed to the monastic quest. He was particularly troubled by temptations against sexual continence but was able to maintain his purity by steadfast commitment to increasingly severe ascetic practices. Trepidation over possible reprisals for his crimes led Moses to attempt to make amends and helped to alter his orientation to such an extent that Paphnutius states he reached the summits of perfection. The use of Moses the Ethiopian echoes that of Antony and reconfirms the importance Cassian lays on including contemporary examples of monastic orthodoxy. The story of Abba Moses illustrates what can be accomplished in less than ideal circumstances. Monastic examples also can be found to demonstrate failure in commitment. Cassian has Paphnutius admit that there are those who had better beginnings than Abba Moses, for instance, yet faltered because of “laziness and hardness of heart” and “slipped away into a harmful lukewarmness and into the deep abyss of death” (Conf. III.5.2). It is unclear whether or not Cassian has any particular individuals in mind, for he merely has Paphnutius remark that there are those “whose names I ought not to mention” (Conf. III.5.2). Cassian’s reticence is understandable, and the ambiguous designation would also serve as a warning for the Gallic community. What Cassian avoids specifying in real life, though, he readily identifies in scripture. Paphnutius’ observations concerning the three kinds of vocationes are summed up in the persons of Judas and Paul. On the one hand, Judas was the recipient of the highest level of vocation, a personal invitation from Jesus. He “willingly accepted the most sublime honor, that of apostleship, in the same way that Peter and the other apostles were received into it” (Conf. 3.5.3) but merited a very different   The example of Moses is also attested in Palladius (Hist. laus. 19) and Sozomen (Hist. eccl. 6.29). Palladius attributes Moses’ conversion to the effects of a stricken conscience. Sozomen, however, offers no explanation but notes that so sudden a conversion from vice to virtue had never before been witnessed. 16

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fate. What began in sublime fashion ended in covetousness, avarice, and betrayal. Paul, on the other hand, had to be blinded before turning from persecution to proselytization. Although Paul had to be “drawn as it were unwillingly to the path of salvation” (Conf. III.5.4), his subsequent fervor (fervor) of spirit and “willing devotion” (voluntaria devotio) resulted in an unrivaled life of virtue. For Paphnutius (Cassian), these two biblical exemplars demonstrate that “Everything, therefore, has to do with the end” (Conf. III.5.4). Without discipline, humility, and diligence those who seem most privileged can be brought to ruin. Careful attention and fear of the Lord can raise those who seem most unlikely to the heights of perfection. The monk can never take anything for granted and must forever work toward a future end. Abraham, Model of Renunciation Abraham is a familiar enough figure in patristic literature. The efforts of Paul to graft the Christian vision onto the Jewish covenantal worldview assured the patriarch’s status as the “father of many” in the faith (Rom 4). For the Church Fathers, because of the actions of Jesus, the divine promises pledged in Genesis were inherited by all who placed their faith in Christ. Abraham’s faithfulness and obedience in the biblical narrative were seen as evidence for the divine oikonomia, and the patriarch was heralded as the founding father of what would become Christianity. As such, the man and his actions offered a host of interpretations for patristic authors. Origen saw the Passion of Jesus foreshadowed in the akedah, in which Abraham’s role as loving father ready to sacrifice his son corresponded to that of God the Father.17 For Cyril of Jerusalem, Abraham exhibited the kind of authentic obedience and faith necessary for belief in the resurrection of Jesus.18 In a more ascetic context, Ambrose, Jerome, and Gregory of Nyssa interpreted Abraham’s westward journey to the Promised Land as one of necessary purification before union with God.19 Origen understood Paul’s words about Abraham’s body being “as good as dead’ (Rom 4:19) to mean that the patriarch practiced mortification.20 Similarly, Didymus interpreted Abraham’s lack of children as evidence for a life dedicated to sexual abstinence.21 Cassian references Abraham twenty times in the Conferences in a number of contexts. Almost one third of these citations     19   20   21   17 18

Origen, Hom. VIII in Gen. Cyril of Jerusalem, Cathechesis V, 5–6. Ambrose, Abr. 1.2.4; Jerome, Ep. 71.2.2; Gregory of Nyssa, Eun. XII. Origen, Comm. in Rom IV, 7. Didymus, Gen 16.1‒2.

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and allusions, however, occur in Conference III, which specifically deals with anachoresis, or the renunciation required of monastic life. Having established the various means by which a calling to the religious life can manifest itself, the Conference begins in earnest by picking up the question of renunciation. Paphnutius asserts that the acceptance of a monastic vocation requires a commitment to three progressively difficult renunciations. The proof can be found in the example laid down in scripture and adhered to by the tradition of the Fathers. The abba succinctly lists the renunciations as follows: The first is that by which in bodily fashion we despise all the wealth and resources of the world. The second is that by which we reject the erstwhile behavior, vices, and affections of soul and body. The third is that by which we call our mind away from everything that is present and visible and contemplate only what is to come and desire those things that are visible. (Conf. III.6.1)

The first corresponds to the withdrawal of the monk from society, the physical relocation into a geography more suited to introspection and discipline. The second has to do with the trappings of daily life and the tools available to the monk to begin the process of spiritual maturation. This second withdrawal is the main concern of Cassian’s Institutes. The third renunciation is the purview of the experienced who have progressed far enough along the via regia that selfawareness dissipates in contemplation of the divine presence. Whether it occurred suddenly and singularly in a voice from the heavens or more subtly over a period of time, Paphnutius views Abraham’s calling as paradigmatic for monastic vocation. The vocatio itself, however, also delineated the required series of removals integral to authentic monastic life. For Paphnutius, a single sentence from the biblical God provides a three-fold instruction for Abraham. Genesis 12:1a directs the patriarch to “Leave your country and your kinsfolk and your father’s house.” Paphnutius identifies departure from “your country” as withdrawal from “the resources of this world and of earthly wealth” (Conf. III.6.2). Leaving behind “kinsfolk” means surrendering “the former way of life and behavior and vices that have been related to us from our birth by a connection as it were of a certain affinity or consanguinity” (Conf. III.6.2). Removing oneself from the “father’s house” means withdrawal from “every vestige of this world upon which the eyes gaze” (Conf. III.6.2). With the introduction of the term “father’s house” (domus patris) Paphnutius embarks on an important excursus that stresses the eschatological dimension of monastic vocation. Because the “fatherhood” of God is such a central concern within the Christian tradition, Paphnutius wants to make sure his words are understood. The faithful must be aware that they have two fathers, one of whom is

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to be forsaken and the other longed for. Paphnutius finds support for this statement in the Book of Psalms, itself a very tropological text for Cassian. Psalm 45:10 reads, “Listen, O daughter, and see, and bend your ear; forget your own people and your father’s house.” Paphnutius accepts the biblical God as the speaker in this particular case, and the use of “O daughter” clearly identifies God as a father. Equally clearly, the verse advises the daughter to forget a “second” father. Cassian resolves the duality by recourse to Paul’s eschatological vision. For Paphnutius, the second father and the domus patris in Psalm 45:10 represent one’s bodily parents as well as all the physical trappings of a life distracted by all that is in the world. A reorientation is required before any spiritual progress can be made. To forget his father’s house the monk must “die with Christ to the elements of this world” and live with a mind fixed on the unseen things, which are eternal (Conf. III.6.3).22 The reorientation begins as a physical act, but the essential movement occurs when the monk “depart[s] in heart from this temporal and visible house” and directs his eyes and mind on the eternal and invisible house in which he can live forever (Conf. III.6.3). It should be noted that Paphnutius’ words ring true not just for the “house” that represents the outside world. The monk is also obliged to withdraw from any notions of self that suggest independence and competence. As such, he could, as Paphnutius continues, “walk in the flesh but not according to the flesh” (Conf. III.6.4).23 Such was the task that lay ahead of Abraham. The “two fathers” excursus emphasizes the radical shift required of the patriarch and establishes an eschatological framework for like-minded monks. Of the three renunciations established by Abraham’s vocatio, the third is the most difficult but its effects are the most sublime. Like Abraham, the monk is called to abandon the familiar and begin a journey to a Promised Land. Entrance into this sacred geography is reserved for the very few whom the Lord assists to maintain constant meditation and divine contemplation (theoria), but it carries with it some remarkable consequences. Physical reality dissipates for the soul that has forgotten the domus patris to such an extent that in ecstasy “it will not only not hear any voices corporeally or be busied with seeing the images of present things but will not even notice with the eyes of the flesh bulky items and looming objects that happen to be nearby” (Conf. III.7.3).Cassian is suggesting that a monk may be able to enjoy the beatific vision if due diligence is paid in the third renunciation and “if the Lord has turned the eyes of his heart away from all present things”   The admonition to avoid what is visible and temporary and focus on the invisible and eternal comes from Paul. See 2 Corinthians 4:18 “provided our eyes are fixed, not on the things that are seen, but on the things that are unseen; for what is seen is transient, what is unseen is eternal.” Again, the image recalls the example of Mary of Bethany, who was not distracted by worldly niceties but fixed her eyes on the divine presence. 23   Possible reference to 2 Corinthians 10:3. 22

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(Conf. III.7.4). Time and space dissolve into “empty smoke” (inanis fumus) as the soul begins to understand the vain and temporal nature of reality. Paphnutius identifies the patriarch Enoch as one who attained to this highest level of renunciation. According to Genesis 5:24, “Enoch walked with God, and he was not found, for God took him.” In Cassian’s understanding, Enoch transcended the vanities of the material world and was transported to the divine presence before his death. Cassian has Paphnutius add a Christian eschatological accent to the account of the biblical exemplar by appealing to Paul and the gospel of John. Paul justifies Enoch’s assumption on the basis of the patriarch’s faith (Heb 11:5). In John 11:26 Jesus proclaims that “Whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.” Enoch’s good fortune, then, was the result of his faith in the future salvific act of Jesus and his abandonment of the world in both body and mind. The monk must follow suit, and to do so requires commitment, diligence, and trust in the leadership of others.24 Those aspiring to achieve the highest levels of perfection possible in the religious life should also take heed of the example of Israel in the exodus narrative. Having been physically removed from Egypt, the people’s hearts and minds began to waver when they encountered the hardships of the desert, even though they had been called out in miraculous fashion and expertly guided by Moses. Paphnutius’ comments suggest that their two most pressing concerns were a lack of food and a sense of uncertainty about what lay ahead. Although they had eaten heavenly manna, still they mused, “It was well with us in Egypt, when we sat over pots of flesh and ate onions and garlic and cucumbers and melons.”25 Although Moses had proven God’s power and loving concern for Israel, still they called upon Aaron to make gods to go before them (Ex 32:1; Acts 7:39‒40) after a prolonged absence on the part of Moses. In Egypt there was good food, and the people knew what was expected of them. Remembering these things and desiring to return to them brought disdain upon the people. The monk must be diligent that he not make the same mistake. Like Israel, he has entered the desert and physically left behind all with which he is familiar, trusting on the guidance of others and the providence of God. For Paphnutius, the “pots of flesh” (ollas carnium) and other niceties represent “the disgusting food of vice and filthiness” (Conf. III.6.5). These are to be abandoned as part of the second renunciation, for the monk need subsist solely on the spiritual sustenance   Perhaps it should not go unnoticed that the word “enoch” means “dedicated, disciplined.” See Francis Brown, R. Driver, C. Briggs, Hebrew Lexicon (Peabody, 1996), p. 335. 25   Cassian probably is slightly misquoting Numbers 11:5 “Remember how in Egypt we had fish for the asking, cucumbers and watermelons, leeks and onions and garlic.” Numbers 11:18 and Exodus 16:3 also reference a longing for “flesh.” 24

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symbolized by the heavenly manna. The monk’s own “Egypt” must needs be disavowed in both body and mind. Without the necessary diligence distraction will set in and he will find himself saying, “It was well with me in Egypt” (Conf. III.7.6). The reality of this danger is attested in Paphnutius’ cautionary observation that of the 603,000 men who left Egypt in the Exodus only two entered Canaan.26 The same sentiment, he notes, is contained in the gospel warning that many are called but few are chosen (Mt 22:14). Just as the physical removal from Egypt was “easy” for Israel, so is relocation into the desert for the monk. However, many have left the domus patris in body but failed to do so in spirit. Therefore, Paphnutius urges, “we must take our models of virtue from the few and far between” (Conf. III.7.7). Only those who have demonstrated authentic renunciation of the heart should be esteemed for emulation, or else all effort will be for naught. Cassian’s experience in the deserts of Egypt, the “birthplace” of Christian monasticism, would certainly place him within those select ranks. Conference III is often compared and contrasted with Conference XIII. Once the centrality of renunciation has been established, the latter part of the Conference raises the question of free will, which is the main concern of Conference XIII. Cassian has been labeled “semi-Pelagian” because various statements in Conference XIII suggest that through the correct application of free will one can earn for oneself a measure of grace. In a monastic context this would mean that the individual monk could work out his own salvation based upon virtuous deeds, quite apart from divine intercession. However, the epithet ascribed to Cassian is not accurate. If anything, Cassian could be considered “semi-Augustinian,” for he is never shy about confessing human frailty without divine assistance elsewhere in the Conferences.27 This conviction is clearly evident in Paphnutius’ conclusion to the discussion of renunciation. Appropriately, the abba comes full circle and ends with the example of Abraham. For Cassian, following the vocatio of 12:1a, Genesis 12:1b reads, “Come to the land which I will show you.” Cassian interprets this as Abraham’s “remuneration” (remunerationis) and “reward” (praemii) for his faithful acceptance of the calling and sincere renunciation in mind and body. By extension, the monk must observe the same three-step renunciation with the full ardor of mind in order that “he deserve to enter the promised land, where the thorns and troubles of the vices do not grow” (Conf. III.10.5). For Cassian, entrance into the “promised land” means the possession of puritas cordis, the   Cassian’s figures are derived from Exodus 38:26 and Numbers 14:38, respectively.   Cf. 3.12ff., 4.4.1, 4.5, 4.15.2, 5.14.2, 5.15.2ff., 7.2.1f., 7.8.2, 10.10.5, 10.11.2, 11.9.2,

26 27

12.4.1ff., 12.8.6, 12.12, 12.15.2ff., 22.6.3.

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skopos of the monastic life. Just as in Abraham’s case, however, the entire process is initiated and completed by God. The best a monk can hope for is that he labor in such a way so as to warrant remuneration. Paphnutius states that the possession of purity of heart ultimately is not dependent upon the virtue or exertion of the one walking the via regia, for one cannot approach puritas cordis without it being revealed by God. For Paphnutius it is obvious that the call of Abraham means that in likewise manner the beginning of anyone’s salvation is dependent upon the call of the Lord. In addition, the attainment of perfection and purity is a bestowal from the Lord who shall reveal the land that no one may find by one’s own efforts (Conf. III.10.5). Just like Abraham, the monk has no idea of where he is going. Yet, by emulating Abraham’s faithful obedience, humility, and renunciation he need have no fear, for such qualities allow the monk to cooperate in his own salvation. God’s words to “Leave your country” beckon the monk and require acts of obedience and renunciation on his part. The words “which I will show you” are evidence of God’s saving grace, which can work only if the monk is authentically humble. Paphnutius unequivocally concludes that even if we practice every virtue with unflagging effort, it is by no means thanks to our own diligence and application that we are able to attain perfection. Nor would human zeal suffice to attain by its own labors to such sublime rewards of blessedness unless the Lord were cooperating with us and we had begun while he was guiding our heart in the right direction. (Conf. III.12.2)

Paphnutius’ confident assurance brings the reader back to the beginning of the Conference and explains his enthusiastic response to the arrival of Germanus and Cassian. The two companions become embodiments of the abba’s teaching, for their presence in Scetis was testament to their acceptance of the vocatio and their willingness to follow it through. In Cassian’s words, “we had abandoned our homeland and were wandering through so many different provinces for the love of the Lord, striving with great effort to endure the barrenness and the vastness of the desert and to imitate their rigorous way of life” (Conf. III.2.1). In short, Germanus and Cassian had heard the call and, by leaving home, had made the first renunciation.28 In this regard they were not much different from Abraham. Seeking 28   Nowhere in his writings does Cassian identify the exact reasons for having left his homeland in the first place. Had he received a vocatio of the first order it would have been to his advantage to describe it. In all likelihood, his departure was inspired by stories concerning the desert dwellers in Palestine and Egypt. In addition, the pursuit of eremitic wisdom does appear to have governed the course of his life, and emulation of biblical and monastic exemplars does constitute the tenor of the text.

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out the tutelage of Abba Paphnutius, however, hints at a second order vocatio and demonstrates the essential nature of humble obedience in the monastic endeavor. Cassian’s entrance into the coenobium in Bethlehem indicates the next level of renunciation, in which the focus is on eliminating vice and cultivating virtue, the subject matter of the Institutes. However, his response to the abba’s praise at the beginning of Conference III and a comment at its conclusion serve to reinforce Paphnutius’ words. The companions are reluctant to accept Paphnutius’ praise and request instruction, lest they be mistaken for being more accomplished. Cassian writes, “With suggestions of this sort the enemy sometimes titillated us when we were in our cells” (Conf. III.2.2). The words “our cells” is a reference to the time he and Germanus spent in the coenobium.29 In such an environment, progress itself in the spiritual life can be a source of one’s downfall, if one begins to take pride in one’s accomplishments. So, Cassian would rather hear harsh words that shatter any illusion of self-reliance and, indeed, words that begin to erode self-identity. By the time Paphnutius dismisses them shortly before midnight, the companions realize that they had had no idea of what authentic monastic renunciation entailed. Although they had accepted the vocatio and embarked upon the first renunciation, Cassian writes, “after having heard very little in the coenobia about the second renunciation, we discovered that we had not heard anything about the third, in which all perfection is contained and which is vastly superior to the other two” (Conf. III.22.4). In other words, one cannot simply leave home and think oneself a monk. Only by following the example of Abraham’s three-fold renunciation can one begin to deserve divine consideration for entrance into the Promised Land of puritas cordis, in which the self disappears.

Abba Moses and Monk Israel Abraham’s great contribution to Cassian’s Conferences lies in the articulation of the extent to which monastic life entails withdrawal. In the vocatio of Genesis 12 the monk must learn that physical detachment is of little avail unless one can detach oneself from the worldly distractions that intrude upon the mind. Abraham’s journey to the Promised Land begins with an obedient step into the wilderness, into the unknown. In similar fashion the monk begins his journey, but his sojourn in the desert is not without its guides. Abraham is the model of renunciation, but it is Moses who represents the archetypal abba, the watchman who steers a course through the desert guiding the chosen back to their divinely 29   They need not be limited to the Bethlehem experience, but given the reference at the conclusion of the conference this interpretation seems likely.

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ordained homeland. More than any other figure in the Hebrew Bible, Moses and his legacy are referenced or alluded to seventy-three times in the Conferences. The very term used by Cassian and others to describe the monastic life, the via regia, has its origins in the Exodus narrative (Nm 20:17, 21:22).30 In the person of Moses, especially his role in the exodus narrative, Cassian sees the embodiment of the ideal abba. Patristic authors often viewed Moses through a typological lens that produced the image of a man who prefigured Christ.31 This Christocentric interpretation gave added emphasis to the patriarch’s mission and actions, so that the Exodus from Egypt pointed to the greater accomplishment of liberation from the bondage of sin effected by Jesus’ sacrifice. Similarly, the outstretched hands of Moses in Exodus 17:8‒13 that ensured Joshua’s victory over the Amalekites foreshadowed the crucified figure of Christ.32 In addition to being a “type’ of Christ, Moses received considerable attention in patristic literature as a more banal example for those seeking perfection.33 Elsewhere, Gregory of Nyssa’s encomium to his brother Basil, bishop of Caesarea, draws specific connections between Moses and Basil in an attempt to praise the latter as the ideal Christian leader.34 Cassian’s use of the biblical hero makes no allusions to Jesus but does present a model for   According to Num 14, an initial Israelite attempt to enter Canaan was foiled by Amalekites and Canaanites. This necessitated a strategic detour that would take the Israelites through Edomite territory. Numbers 20 indicates that before leaving Kadesh, Moses sent envoys to the king of Edom requesting safe passage and promising to “keep to the king’s highway, not turning off to right or left.” The “king’s highway” was the straight and well-maintained route northwards. A similar event is mirrored in Num 21. Cassian uses the image as an allegory for the path the monk must take to reach God. Just like the people of Israel, the monk ought to stay focused and not be distracted by anything on the right or the left. For more regarding monastic use of the via regia, see Leclercq, pp. 102‒105. 31   See Origen, Hom. In Num 7.2; Cyprian, Ad Fort. 8; Cyril of Jerusalem, Catech 13.20. 32   See, for instance, Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 3.18.6‒7. 33   The fullest treatment in this regard is Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses. See also, Origen, Hom. In Jeremiah, 18.2; Jereome, In Jon. 3.4; Ambrose, De Paen. 2.11; Augustine, De Trin. II 16.27‒28; Ep. 147.13.32; Theodoret Orat. De Car. 31.5. 34   See PG 46, 788C‒817D or Gregorii Nysseni Opera, ed. W. Jaeger, 10 vols. (Leiden, 1952‒1990). Gregory outlined three stages of life shared by Moses and Basil: 1) a pagan education that is disavowed in favor of fellowship with God, 2) a retreat into solitude, and 3) a career in a position of power. For Gregory, Moses’ role as liberator is mirrored by Basil’s ecclesiastical reform in Caesarea. The intent is to present the “mixed life” (i.e. personally religious and publicly episcopal, the monk-bishop) as the ideal for authentic Christian leadership. See Andrea Sterk, Renouncing the World Yet Leading the Church (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004), 103‒104. Interestingly, the same three-stage outline also could be applied to Cassian. He is the product of a pagan education, his retreat takes him on a desert journey, and he emerges as a “lawgiver” of sorts with a set of teachings concerning the monastic ideal. 30

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emulation and a model of leadership. Moses embodies the abba ideal because he attained a high level of sanctity, delivered a set of laws, and guided Israel to the divinely ordained Promised Land. Cassian understood the authoritative presence of an abba as fundamental to the monastic life. Time and again he lauds the examples of the “elders,” and in Conference XVIII he makes some disparaging remarks about sarabaites and another unorthodox group of monks because neither type is willing to submit to the authority of an abba figure.35 For Cassian, it is the abba who best knows how to resolve any problems that may be encountered in the spiritual life. Only the abba has the requisite experience and sanctity to discern the needs or faults of those who share his company. An “elder” is not identified simply by advanced age, though. Cassian is careful to note on several occasions that the presence of grey hair, while certainly honorable, cannot be counted as proof of good character and wisdom.36 The elements that matter most include hard work, clear evidence of the fruits of such labor, and adherence to the traditions of forebears. Placing trust in the wisdom of elders and diligently taking step after step along the via regia pays off in recognizable outward manifestations of sanctity, which is why Cassian can extol the abbas in the Conferences as he does.37 Moses and Theoria Given the enormity of his role and singular distinction in the scriptures, the sanctity of Moses would not be something Cassian would have to prove. However, given the specific pedagogical intent of the Conferences, Cassian does need to demonstrate how Moses fits the monastic model of puritas cordis. This is not 35   See Conf. 18.7‒8. Despite the title “On the Three Kinds of Monks,” Conference XVIII actually identifies four kinds of monks. The first two are designated “cenobites” and “anchorites.” The third is labeled “sarabaites.” Cassian suggests an Egyptian derivation for the term, but its meaning cannot be determined. The fourth group of monks remains unnamed but, like the sarabaites, its members are the object of Cassian’s castigation for they prefer to live by themselves and forsake a rule and the presence of an abba to guide them. For Cassian, the results of such a lifestyle are disastrous: gormandizing, avarice, and spiritual lukewarmness. In the early sixth century Benedict echoes these sentiments in his Rule (cf. RB § 1). 36   See, for instance, Conf. II.13. 37   So Abba Moses is the most “sweet smelling” in Conference I, and Abba Paphnutius “shines brightest” in Conference III. While such attributes can be interpreted metaphorically, the presence of a sweet odor or glowing light accompanying holy men and women is a commonly attested phenomenon in Christian literature. See Waldemar Deonna, “Ευώδια: Croyances antiques et modernes. L’odeur suave des dieux et des élus,” Geneva 17 (1939): pp. 167‒262.

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accomplished in any single Conference but can be gleaned from various references spread throughout the text. The Mosaic narrative of the Pentateuch is quoted in all but five Conferences, and of these five, two still mention Moses by name.38 There is plenty of material from which to draw. The one image that most effectively establishes Moses as an archetypal monk, though, is that he was a man who had seen with his own eyes the glory of God. In Cassian’s visually-oriented schema, in which constant theoria is the hallmark of the blessed, there can be no higher compliment. In the Hebrew narrative, the Book of Exodus is noteworthy for recounting numerous encounters between Moses and the biblical God. The series of theophanies begins with Moses’ unexpected encounter with the burning bush in Exodus 3, reaches a highpoint at Mt. Sinai in Exodus 19 and 20, and continues with several manifestations in the Tent of Meeting, the most notable of which occurs in Exodus 33. Cassian makes use of each instance to definitively elevate Moses into the realm of the select few who in some sense share the beatific vision. As such, Moses functions well as a model for emulation, but this privileged vision also affords Moses the authority to act as an abba within a specifically monastic context, so that Cassian is able to incorporate the events and images that surround the patriarch into his monastic ideal. The process of incorporation begins with the observation that according to the scriptures Moses saw God. This observation appears at the beginning and at the end of the first set of Conferences (I‒X) and thereby frames Cassian’s intent. In Conference I Cassian establishes Mary of Bethany as the prime example of the ideal monk. In contrast to her sister Martha, who is still at work cultivating virtue, Mary has learned how to be still in the presence of the divine. She is able to enjoy the vision of Jesus because of her mastery of the monastic virtue of discretion, the subject of which dominates much of the Conference. Yet, Mary is not doing something novel. Although she is given precedence because the Incarnation marks a new manner of relating to God, Moses was a past master of discerning distraction and discretion. Cassian first alludes to Moses in Conf. I.15.3, which marks the end of an extended speech by Abba Moses. At the conclusion of his dialogue Abba Moses quotes Exodus 33:20, “You shall not be able to see my face, for no one shall see me and live.” For Cassian, the verse means that the person who lives according “to this world and to earthly desires” would never be able to see God.39 The fact that Moses does in some sense “see” God later in Exodus 33 proves for Cassian

  Conferences IV, XI, IXX, XX, and XXIII contain no quotations from the Pentateuch.   See Chapter 2.

38 39

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that the patriarch was free from all carnal desire.40 In other words, Moses had lived in such a way that he was able to steer a course through the storms of thoughts and desires that infiltrate the mind and come to the pinnacle of divine contemplation. It is this state of divine contemplation that concerns Cassian in Conference X, in which Moses is again listed as part of select company. If Cassian originally intended his work to be comprised of ten Conferences, then the “final” ninth and tenth Conferences are of great importance. His opening words in Conference IX also suggest such: “The end of every monk and the perfection of his heart direct him to constant and uninterrupted perseverance in prayer; and, as much as human frailty allows, he strives after an unchanging and continual tranquility of mind and perpetual purity” (Conf. IX.2.1). In other words, all the desert wisdom transmitted in the first eight Conferences points to Conference IX and Conference X, both of which have to do with the various degrees of prayer possible. The culmination of the monk’s journey along the via regia is his ascension into the realm of theoria, the highest degree of prayer, in which one contemplates the divine. Yet, one can only experience theoria if one has successfully fulfilled the demands of the puritas cordis ideal. The complexity of the monk’s prayer life is directly related to the level of purity of heart and mind he has achieved. Cassian has Abba Isaac remark that the more the mind can withdraw from the distraction of terrestrial and mundane things, the more its purity allows for spiritual progress, which will gradually focus the soul’s inward gaze upon a vision of Jesus—either as incarnate and humble or glorified in divine majesty (Conf. X.6.1). The brilliance of the divine vision is revealed slowly, in accordance with the monk’s level of withdrawal and virtue. What this means is that only the holiest of monks, who qualify as abbas, receive the privilege of seeing the glory of God. Moses, along with Elijah, Peter, James, and John, is counted among this number in Abba Isaac’s discourse. Cassian writes, But they alone see his Godhead with purest eyes who, mounting from humble and earthly tasks and thoughts, go off with him to the lofty mountain of the desert which, free from the uproar of every earthly thought and disturbance, removed from every taint of virtue, and exalted with the purest faith and with soaring virtue, reveals the glory of his face and the image of his brightness to those who deserve to look upon him with the clean gaze of the soul. (Conf. X.6.2)

40   According to the text, Moses is denied a face to face encounter with God, but is allowed to see God’s “back” (οπισω in the LXX; posteriora in the Vulgate).

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The event to which this passage alludes is the Transfiguration of Jesus recounted in Matthew 17:1‒7. These specific individuals were present when, according to the gospel account, Jesus became luminescent after ascending a mountain, and the voice of God could be heard claiming Jesus as “beloved son.” Moses and the others were able to enjoy an unfiltered vision of the divine glory because they had removed all trace of vice and climbed the “mount of virtues” (virtutum monte) within themselves. The Transfiguration account shares similarities with several theophanies from the Mosaic narrative, including the ascension of a mountain, the presence of a cloud, and a heavenly voice, in which Moses’ close relationship to the biblical God is made manifest.41 Moses had achieved such proximity to the divine that even as Jesus’ face “shone like the sun” in the gospel scene, so Moses’ face “shone because he had been talking with the Lord” (Ex 34:29).42 Cassian’s use of the Transfiguration reminds his audience that Moses had already claimed the pinnacle of theoria and thereby reinforces Moses’ virtue and authority. The context in which Moses is acclaimed, however, is not one that emphasizes the patriarch as the liberator of Israel or the recipient of the Decalogue, as the biblical narrative recounts. Instead, the language and images used are oriented toward Cassian’s specific monastic ideal. Cassian’s use of Moses here is both literally mimetic and tropologically mimetic. Ascending the very real mountain will help the monk scale the spiritual one. Withdrawing to the very real desert will alleviate distraction and facilitate an emptying of self. The novice monk, who has not yet mastered discretion, and the layperson, who is distracted by the activities and obligations of life, may see Jesus, but neither would see the fully glorified figure. That vision is reserved for the pure of heart, those monks who forsake all along the via regia. Withdrawal, simplicity, and hardship are part of the process, for “it was in the desert that he [God] appeared to Moses and spoke to Elijah” (Conf. X.6.3).

41   For more regarding this parallel, see Jindřich Mánek, “The New Exodus in the Books of Luke,” Novum Testamentum 2/1 (1957): pp. 8‒23. Joseph B. Bernadin, “The Transfiguration,” Journal of Biblical Literature 52/2 (1933): p. 182. 42   A similar phenomenon recounted in Athanasius’ Life of Antony gives support to the idea of a lineage of abbas stretching back to the Pentateuch. In paragraph 10 of the Life a beam of light descends upon Antony while the monk is suffering a particularly painful assault from demonic forces. The demons depart and Antony is refreshed in the wake of the divine presence. Athanasius hints at Antony as a “new Moses” figure in other ways too. On his deathbed he tells his followers to “remember the exhortations that you have heard from me” (93.1; Dt 4:9). Like Moses, “to this day no one knows where” the body of Antony lies (92.2; Dt 34:6). See Tim Vivian and Apostolos N. Athanassakis, trans., The Life of Antony: The Coptic Life and The Greek Life (Kalamazoo, 2003), p. xxxiv.

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The Promised Land of the Heart Cassian appropriates Moses into his monastic paradigm in a way that clearly establishes the patriarch’s high level of sanctity expressed in monastic terms. Observations throughout the Conferences suggest that Moses possessed the requisite qualities for the office of abba. Cassian then puts the patriarch to work, so to speak, doing what an abba does best, providing guidance and discipline. The clearest example of this can be found in Conference V, in which Cassian recounts the eight principal vices that he had already identified in the Institutes. Conference V is not a mere repetition of the earlier work, however. Its treatment of the vices is much more nuanced and more narrowly focused on how the relationships between vices function in the process of overcoming sin. The Conference presents a detailed analysis in which the vices are categorized as natural or unnatural, assessed as to whether or not their consummation requires bodily action, and evaluated as to whether they are motivated by outside forces or interior ones. The specifics of Cassian’s analysis are impressive, but it is the pervading image of the Promised Land of the heart that characterizes Moses as an abba in action. Early Christian authors and texts often described the Christian life as a journey toward a specific destination.43 Within the monastic context that destination often was linked with images of the Garden of Eden, so that the monk would recapture some sense of paradise once he had achieved sanctity.44 Another destination common within monastic literature was the Promised Land of Canaan, the land of plenty given by the biblical God to Abraham in Genesis 12:7.45 Cassian relies on the latter of these two images in his treatment of the monastic ideal. The allegory works well for a number of reasons, and not just for Cassian. Within the Christian worldview, the promises of God are inherited by the followers of Jesus, the new Israel. As such, the Promised Land is interpreted as “heaven.” The liberation of Israel from bondage in Egypt becomes an allegory for the liberation from the bondage of sin that results from Jesus’ sacrifice. Life itself then becomes a journey toward a heavenly reward. This interpretation is open to Cassian as well, but he sees some of the particulars of the story with a view to monastic application. The   See, for instance, Origen, In. Num 27.4 and Augustine, Serm. 177.2.   For instance, such is the case for Antony when he plants a tree and rebukes wild

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animals as he takes up residence at the Inner Mountain. The garden motif and dominion over creatures is reminiscent of Genesis 2. See Life of Antony 50. 45   Origin’s use of the imagery is perhaps the most notable, although he does not restrict himself to a monastic context. In his twenty-seventh homily on the Book of Numbers Origin interprets the forty-two stages through which the Israelites had to pass on their journey from Egypt to Canaan as successive stages through which the soul must pass on its journey to God. See Origin, In Num 27.

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Exodus narrative is especially important to Cassian precisely because the people are led by one man who shares a close relationship with God, because the people wander through the desert wilderness, and because the people arrive at a divinely ordained homeland. The topographical elements of the story are essential. On the one hand, they are mirrored by the monk’s own physical location. On the other hand, they convey the qualities of the kind of interior withdrawal Cassian considers crucial for spiritual growth. The monk must not only endure the hardships of the real desert, he must also make a desert of himself before he can see God. He must identify with Israel and obey Moses if he is to reach his goal. Conference V is led by Abba Serapion, who is rather tersely introduced by Cassian as “particularly adorned with the grace of discretion” (Conf. 5.1). Without receiving further flattery, the abba begins an analysis of the eight principal vices. Underlying Cassian’s treatment is the allegorical interpretation of the enemy nations occupying Canaan in the Pentateuch as the embodiments of said vices. Speaking of the principal vices and referencing Deuteronomy and 1 Corinthians, Serapion recalls how God promised to hand over the land occupied by seven nations to Israel following the Exodus event.46 Paul, too, understood the promise as literal and as a prefigurement for the instruction of future generations. Serapion introduces a new, monastic application for Israel’s victory by God’s providence (Conf. V.16.1). Just as Israel had to battle foreign nations in order to reclaim the land of promise, so the monk must engage in spiritual warfare to enter the promised land of the heart. The purpose of the juxtaposition is to demonstrate the necessity of good counsel, obedience, and humility. Through the counsel of Moses the monk must understand that, as in the biblical account, credit for success in conquering vice must be given to God. For Cassian, Moses’ words to the Israelites in Deuteronomy speak now to those devoted to monastic life, and his counsel emphasizes faith and humility. The keys to victory for both the people of Israel and the monk lie in the hands of God, for in the battle against the vices one is not deserving of victory until one realizes that no victory is possible solely by means of one’s own efforts. Yet, the need for attentiveness, caution, and fidelity at all times remains (Conf. V.14.2). Success can only be available to the monk who maintains his diligence, all the while knowing that his efforts alone are not sufficient for victory. Such is the counsel of Moses. Quoting Deuteronomy 7:21‒23 Serapion adjures his audience to trust in the divine battle plan rather than their own stratagems. As was the case for Israel, so shall God be in their midst and consume the enemy “nations,” little by little, until they are completely destroyed (Conf. V.14.5). Cassian transforms the “plan of battle” for the Israelite settlement of Canaan into the process of withdrawal   Cf. 1 Corinthians 10:6 and Deuteronomy 7:1‒2.

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and all it entails in the quest for puritas cordis. Serapion’s dialogue echoes the desert wisdom that Cassian interprets as nascent in the Moses’ words to Israel. The teaching continues, But he likewise warns that we must not be proud of our victory over them: “Lest after you have eaten and are filled,” he says, “have built beautiful houses and lived in them, have acquired cattle and flocks of sheep, an abundance of everything, of silver and gold, your heart be lifted up and you not remember the Lord your God, who led you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, and was your leader in the great and terrible desert.”47 (Conf. V.15.1)

In Cassian’s schema, progress along the via regia, ironically symbolized here by the “beautiful houses” and “abundance of everything,” can be the source of a monk’s downfall if any sense of pride of accomplishment is allowed to take hold. Despite the necessity of constant self-striving, at no time can the monk take credit for any success he may have in his quest.48 It is God who is ultimately responsible for the defeat of the foreign nations inhabiting Canaan and for the uprooting of vice within the monk’s heart. Although Conference V begins with the identification of eight principal vices, thus far Serapion’s dialogue has only considered seven and symbolized them as the seven enemy nations within the Promised Land. As if anticipating the voice of the reader (perhaps purposefully so), Germanus posits, “Why, then, are there eight vices that attack us, when Moses enumerates seven nations that are opposed to the people of Israel?” (Conf. V.17). Serapion responds that the one vice not associated with the occupiers of Canaan is the special case of gluttony (gastrimargia), which is symbolized by the nation of Egypt. Moses’ words were addressed to a people who had already left Egypt, already been freed from bondage. In the same way, the monk who had at least withdrawn to the desert and adopted an ascetic lifestyle has been freed from the vice of gluttony. Like Israel, his conflict is with the remaining enemies.   Cf. Deuteronomy 8:12‒15.   Cassian, demonstrating acute insight, actually allows for the possibility of some

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beneficial effects of what he calls “vainglory” (cenodoxia) for novice monks, those beginners “who are still stirred up by carnal vices” (qui adhuc vitiis carnalibus instigantur). It is better for them to be able to overcome sexual temptation by taking pride in the dignity of their vocation and the holiness associated with it than to fall into fornication (fornicatio). In this way they are “restraining the greater evil with a lesser one” (minore malo id quod maius est retundentes). Cassian considers the vice of fornication especially difficult for youth to overcome. This opposition between the vices of vainglory and fornication is also suggested by Evagrius (Prak. 58).

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According to Serapion, Israel is never commanded to uproot or destroy Egypt but to “abandon it forever and leave it” (Conf. V.18.2). For Cassian, this is because “the desire for food and for things to eat will always live in us as an inborn and natural quality, although, we should make an effort to cut off its superfluous appetites and desires. Since these cannot be destroyed altogether, they should be avoided by a certain turning away” (Conf. V.19.1). No matter how enthusiastic or committed a monk may be, he can never escape the physical need for nourishment. Food forever remains an element with which, of necessity, the monk must have daily contact. The temptation to return to Egypt, where, for Israel, food was plentiful, is always present, but it ought to be managed and resisted by moderate consumption. Because the Lord commanded the destruction of the other seven nations and not Egypt, Serapion concludes that the appropriate response to the vice of gluttony is to “withdraw from it through a certain discretion, by not thinking of superfluous or elegant fare but by being content, as the Apostle says, with ordinary food and clothing” (Conf. V.19.2).49 Even more forceful are the words of Moses quoted and explained by the abba, “‘You shall not abhor the Egyptian, because you were a sojourner in his land.’ For food that is necessary for the body is not refused without hurting it and involving the soul in sin” (Conf. V.19.3).50 Cassian’s use of the image of the Promised Land transforms the biblical event and the words of Moses into monastic instruction. In the process Moses is presented as an abba whose wisdom speaks directly to Cassian’s monastic ideal. Just as it is Moses who inspires Israel to leave Egypt, so the abba draws others to the pursuit of virtue. Similarly, just as Moses guided the Israelites to the borders of Canaan, so does his counsel assist the monk seeking puritas cordis. The goal for the Israelites is to reclaim the Promised Land of Canaan. The goal for the monk is to reclaim the Promised Land of the heart, so that he may be worthy of the name of Israel, or, as Cassian understands it, the soul that sees God.

  See 1 Timothy 6:8.   See Deuteronomy 23:7b LXX.

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Chapter 5

Prophets, Psalms, and Proverbs: The Continuity of Experience

Like many patristic texts, Cassian’s Conferences refers to the prophetic narratives and wisdom literature of the Hebrew Bible with dizzying frequency. More quotations come from the Book of Psalms, for instance, than from any other book within his text, and they appear in all but one Conference.1 The presence of so many of these verses is not surprising but is further testament to the flexibility of the scriptural canon and the fundamentally exegetical orientation of patristic authors. At first glance, Psalms and Proverbs would not seem to lend themselves to Cassian’s mimetic strategy. Neither book contains a hero-figure whose image and actions personify the monastic ideal. However, his use of these texts suggests a sophisticated pedagogical technique that puts the scriptural verses into the mouths of his audience, who, for the most part, would read his work aloud as part of monastic routine. This technique allows for an immediate association in which reader and text merge. The words of the psalmist come alive again in audible speech and contribute to the monk’s spiritual formation. If the patriarchs were the initial partners in the covenants that characterized the divine-human relationship in the biblical narrative, the prophets were their prominent successors. Men like Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Elijah stood ready both to call Israel to task for its failures and, at the same time, to offer the chance of reconciliation with an all-merciful and just deity. For Cassian, this meant that they were the inheritors of the office of abba established by the likes of Abraham and Moses. Their words and actions presented the necessary corrective for Israel, especially in times of crisis, and inspired greater diligence in the application of covenantal standards. Cassian’s interpretation rendered their counsel no less instructive for the monk as he made his way along the via regia. Unlike Cassian’s use of particular biblical archetypes, his mining of prophetic and wisdom literature required neither narrative detail nor context. For Moses to represent the perfect abba it mattered that he actually guided Israel to the Promised Land. For Abraham to be the model renunciant it mattered that he gave up everything he knew and 1   Only Conference XV, the shortest of all the Conferences, is devoid of any quotation from Psalms. It does, however, contain two proverbs.

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stepped out into the wilderness. Cassian’s application of verses from the prophets, Psalms, and Proverbs, however, does not require such detail in order to be effective. Although often used in harmony, they stand alone as sources of encouragement or sharp critique. Cassian inserts quotations from various prophetic books and from Psalms and Proverbs in order to mold those seeking puritas cordis according to an authentic ideal that originates in the Hebrew Bible. The successful integration of these elements accomplishes three things for Cassian. Firstly, it supports his assertion of a lineage of spiritual instructors for Israel stretching all the way back to Abraham. Secondly, it establishes the Desert Fathers, who by their example bring the words and sentiments of the prophets to life, as part of that authoritative lineage. Thirdly, it provides an avenue of introduction for the novice to begin the process of personifying the scriptures in his own life. The analysis of such widespread diffusion of prophetic and wisdom verses necessitates some measure of restraint, so attention shall be given to their application in Conference XIV. It is in this Conference that Cassian presents his conviction that in order to truly understand the scriptures, one must live the scriptures.

Sacred Text and Sanctified Heart Conference XIV, “On Spiritual Knowledge,” is ordinarily recognized as one of the two sections of the Conferences that warrant some scholarly mention concerning the influence of its author in the Latin West.2 In it Cassian develops the notion that scripture is open to four kinds of interpretation, the historical (historia), the allegorical (allegoria), the anagogical (anagoge), and the tropological (tropologia). This fourfold division becomes the standard for all medieval biblical exegesis, hence the need to acknowledge Cassian’s pivotal role in its introduction into Latin Christendom.3 The Conference is purportedly delivered by Abba Nesteros in response to questions about the memorization and understanding of scripture.   See Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture, trans. by Mark Sebanc (Grand Rapids and Edinburgh, 1988); Bernard McGinn and John Meyendorff, eds, Christian Spirituality: Origins to the Twelfth Century (New York: Crossroad, 1985), p. 15. The other notable section is Cassian’s attack on Augustine’s notions of grace and predestination in Conference XIII. See Andrew Louth, “The literature of the monastic movement,” in Frances Young, Lewis Ayres, and Andrew Louth (eds), The Cambridge History of Early Christian Literature (Cambridge, 2004), p. 379. 3   It should be noted that Ambrose (Exp. Evang. Sec. Luc., prol. 2) and Augustine (De util. cred. 3.5ff) also suggested slightly different fourfold divisions of scriptural interpretation. 2

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Although Nesteros (Cassian) begins in an analytical and methodical fashion one would think better suited to a scholastic treatise, he is, in fact, restating the monastic schema Cassian has advocated all along, which can be identified as the process of renunciation and withdrawal. The heart of the teaching is that the key to understanding scripture is experiential. Practical and Theoretical Knowledge Nesteros recognizes that there are many different sorts of “arts and disciplines” (atrium disciplinarumque) in the world, each requiring its own “order and method of instruction” (ordinem atque rationem) in order to gain access to specialized knowledge.4 So too does the monastic profession require a defined order and method in order to approach a kind of knowledge that is twofold. The abba identifies these two forms of knowledge as practical (πρακτική/actualis) and theoretical (θεωρητική/contemplativa), respectively.5 For Cassian, practical knowledge refers to all the actions and motivations required of the exterior hominis as the monk progresses along the via regia. Cassian offered such knowledge in the Institutes, which specified a dress code, suitable meals, a method of psalmody, and various other concrete activities designed to begin the process of sanctification. Proficiency in this regard allowed the monk to become sufficiently mature that his attention could turn to the well-being of the interior hominis. The value of the knowledge gained by the monk lies in the recognition of vice and the acquisition of virtue. The second type of knowledge required within the monastic profession is theoretical knowledge, which, according to Abba Nesteros, “consists in the contemplation of divine things and in the understanding of the most sacred meanings” (Conf. XIV.1.2). It can never be attained without having first grasped its practical counterpart. The abba explains that theoretical knowledge is of two kinds, historical and spiritual, the latter of which can be further subdivided into the allegorical, the anagogical, and the tropological senses. As an illustration, Nesteros quotes Psalms 147:12 “Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem; praise your God, O Zion.” Viewed through the abba’s fourfold lens, “Jerusalem” is interpreted historically

4   Cassian’s observations here echo the assertions of Conf. I.2 concerning the skopos and telos of the world’s various professions. As such, it confirms that although Cassian considered monastic life to be privileged, he did not regard it as the only authentic means of salvation. 5   Cassian’s use of the Greek here contributes to the overall analytical tone of the conference. Ramsey traces the distinction between the two forms of knowledge to Aristotle (Metaph. 2.1). Evagrius (SC 170:38‒56) is Cassian’s more immediate source, however. See Ramsey, Conferences, p. 499.

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as the city of the Jews, allegorically as the Church of Christ, anagogically as the heavenly city of God, and tropologically as the human soul (Conf. XIV.8.4). Although Nesteros furnishes this example, he does not then provide a methodology for applying the senses to particular scriptural verses. Rather, he recalls the fundamentals of Cassian’s monastic ideal, withdrawal, obedience, humility, and discretion. Scripture cannot be approached as something simply to be read but as something to be lived. The monk who concentrates his efforts in an attempt to analyze it has missed the point. For Cassian, the scriptures constitute the subject matter for contemplative knowledge, and the deepest levels of understanding can be attained only by the pure of heart, only those who have so molded their lives that they walk in the footsteps of biblical exemplars along the via regia. Nesteros explains that those who are open to achieving spiritual knowledge by the grace of correction rather than empty boastfulness will first be filled with the desire to personify the beatitude of Matthew 5:8, “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God,” and thereby fulfill Daniel 12:3, “Those who are learned shall shine like the splendor of the firmament, and those who instruct many in righteousness like the stars forever” (Conf. XIV.9.1). If a monk is more concerned with dissecting and classifying scripture, then he is guilty of “empty boastfulness.” Those truly worthy of understanding and teaching the sacred text are those who “see God” and “shine like the splendor of the firmament.” Hence the importance of the resplendent figure of Moses, for instance. For Cassian, Moses’ glorious countenance was the result of his intimacy with God. By engaging scripture on a mimetic level the monk keeps the patriarch “alive” and thereby engenders his own immanent relationship with the divine. As an abba, however, he reifies the patriarchal ideal for the community and represents the possibility of an intimacy with God heretofore relegated to characters in the closed scriptural canon. Nesteros also points to the prophets Elijah and Elisha in an effort to emphasize that there is no shortcut. In Elijah’s case it was only in the remoteness and silence of the desert that he heard God’s voice (1 Kgs 19:9‒18). The prophet not only entered the literal desert, but he also was able to quiet the noise that characterizes the life of a mind not yet fully withdrawn from the world. In tandem with such prophets Nesteros also includes the examples of Antony, Abba John, and Abba Macarius, thereby reinforcing the idea of the abba as the embodiment of the canonical hero. The patriarch and the abba “inhabited the same plane of reality.”6 The point is that the monk can only approach his goal through lived experience. Familiarity with the scriptures and imitation of biblical exemplars and their abba avatars, on even 6   Rebecca H. Weaver, “Access to Scripture: Experiencing the Text,” Interpretation 52/4 (2001): p. 369. See also Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert, p. 21.

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the most rudimentary level, provide a solid foundation for the novice monk. The more he is able to associate with such characters, however, the closer he will get to purity of heart. The closer to purity of heart he gets the more the scriptures reveal themselves, and it is in the monk’s own manifestation of the scriptures that he achieves the monastic ideal. He becomes Israel, the one who sees God. Cassian’s emphasis on experience is not, however, a wholehearted rejection of scholarly inquiry. But Cassian’s own anxieties about the distracting nature of the “silly fables and stories of wars” (fabularum nugas historiasque bellorum) that he so assiduously studied as part of the classical curriculum from childhood on indicate that it was a cause of some concern.7 Of course, Cassian’s opera are the products of a mind that knew how to communicate effectively. Without his classically-trained eloquence and organizational skill, the Conferences may well have resembled the Apophthegmata Patrum, a text no less infused with desert wisdom but significantly less ordered and unfocused. For Cassian, the topics and techniques of the paideia could be hazardous, but the classical teaching philosophy also could be put to use in the development of souls dedicated to attaining spiritual knowledge of God. Unwavering commitment to the acquisition of practical knowledge, which, as Cassian understands it, entails the removal of vice and the nurturing of virtue accomplished by withdrawal and submission to elders, serves to counteract the drawbacks associated with scholarly activity. Consistent toil in the discipline of monastic life, especially the essential components of scriptural reading and meditation, has a transformative effect that contributes to the effacement of self such that reader and text begin to meld. Nesteros teaches, Obtaining this understanding not from meditating on the law but as a result of their toil, they sing with the psalmist: “From your commandments I have understood.” And after all their passions have been purified they say with confidence: “I will sing and I will understand in the undefiled way.” For the one who is singing the psalm, who is moving forward in the undefiled way with the stride of a pure heart, will understand what is sung.8 (Conf. XIV.9.2‒3)

The novice who sings “From your commandments I have understood” does not “understand” much at first. However, continual engagement with scripture in the context of monastic discipline strips away the layers of confusion and distraction, 7   This is one of the very few times in the Conferences that Cassian himself speaks. In deference to his older companion, Cassian has Germanus converse with the abbates almost exclusively. 8   Cassian quotes Psalm 119:104 and Psalm 101:102, respectively.

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so that eventually, as a mature monk, he will assume the spirit of the psalm and embody the psalmist within the community. In response to Cassian’s concerns over distractions caused by thoughts and images from pagan literature, Abba Nesteros proposes a simple remedy. Cassian need but transfer the same “diligence and urgency” (diligentiam atque instantiam) he applied to his “worldly studies” (saecularibus studiis) to the reading and meditation upon the scriptures. The abba notes, “For your mind will inevitably be taken up with those poems until it harvests for itself other things within itself, pursues them with similar zeal and interest, and bears spiritual and divine realities in place of those fruitless and worldly ones” (Conf. XIV.13.1). Cassian cannot unlearn that with which he was so familiar as a youth, but he can choose to constantly occupy his mind with subjects more beneficial for his spiritual development. When his mind becomes saturated and nourished by the sacred word the former thoughts can be “gradually cast out and completely abolished” (expell I … sensim … penitus aboleri). The secular learning would be replaced by the sacred. However, if the process was to be successful and effective, it required complete commitment and constant attention. A moment’s hesitation would allow distraction to again infiltrate a mind not occupied with spiritual pursuits. To protect against this possibility, the monk’s spiritual knowledge “should be stored deep in [the] mind and made as it were visible and palpable” (Conf. XIV.13.3). In other words, constant engagement with the scriptures constituted the monastic vocation. The monk surrendered his own life, his own identity, in the process of manifesting the text.

Ancient Voices Heard Again Quotations from various prophets, Psalms, and Proverbs often appear in conjunction in Cassian’s text, and they function in a kaleidoscope of ways. In application, they fulfill the prophetic role of critique and inspiration. They are the words of the ancient biblical abbates transmitted through the Desert Fathers, words each monk must hear, meditate upon, and pronounce as an essential part of the acquisition of spiritual knowledge. Two further examples from Conference XIV, one reaffirming and the other more cautionary, illustrate Cassian’s understanding of the role of prophetic and wisdom literature in the process of making the text a way of life. Toward the end of Chapter 13 Abba Nesteros presents a picture of the transformation accomplished by assiduous attention to the process of withdrawal, especially with regard to the role of scripture. Recalling an image from Psalms 104:15, Nesteros characterizes the wisdom gained from the monk’s immersion in scripture as “like certain sweet-smelling wines that ‘rejoice the heart of man’”

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(vina quaedam suaue olentia et laetificantia cor hominis). Stored deep within the mind, this elixir of wisdom is warmed by reverent thoughts and humility, all the while developing a compelling aroma, until it overflows “like an unceasing fountain out of the springs of experience and the watercourse of virtue” (Conf. XIV.13.5). The effusion transforms everything the monk does into a source of inspiration and nourishment for those around him. Nesteros continues by quoting Proverbs 5:15‒16 LXX, “Drink water from your own vessels and from the fountain of your own wells. Let water from your own fountain flow abundantly for you, but let your water pass through into your streets.” This is immediately followed by a similar image found in the prophet Isaiah: You shall be like a watered garden and like a fountain of water whose water will not fail. And places desolate for ages shall be rebuilt in you. You shall raise up foundations of generation upon generation, and you shall be called the repairer of fences, turning paths into rest. (Is 58:11‒12)

Nesteros is teaching Cassian and Germanus how to gain real access to scripture by quoting the sacred text to them.9 His words bring the monastic wisdom of Proverbs and Isaiah to life with the sort of nourishing imagery that would not be lost on those inhabiting a desert climate. The monk who loses himself in scripture becomes the conduit for the generation of life around him. In hearing, meditating upon, and reading (silently and aloud, in solitude and in community) such biblical verses the monk begins the process of fulfilling them. Finally, bringing the chapter to a close Nesteros quotes the prophet Isaiah once more: The Lord will not make your teacher flee from you anymore, and your eyes shall see your teacher. And your ears shall hear the words of one admonishing you behind your back: This is the way; walk in it and go neither to the right nor to the left. (Is 30:20‒21)

The reference here again has to do with Cassian’s dilemma concerning the infiltration of non-scriptural images into his mind. The monk should take comfort in the knowledge that if he is sufficiently engaged in the pursuit of the monastic ideal, especially the surrendering of self to the text, then the scriptures (“your teacher”) will not be chased away by “pagan” thoughts. Once he no longer sees and hears his teacher merely with the eyes and ears of the exterior hominis but with those of the interior hominis, then any digressive elements entering the mind will   By association, Cassian is doing the same thing for his audience.

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be transformed into “holy and continuous reflection on the divine law” (divinae legis sancta et incessabilis rumination). The scriptures reveal themselves in everdeepening layers of meaning and guide the monk straight down the via regia. In turn, as the personification of scriptural wisdom, the monk acts as an abba for those seeking inspiration and guidance. Prophetic Critique The images and biblical quotations presented by Nesteros in Chapter 13 are positive and affirming. If he approaches the scriptures from the path of monastic discipline the monk can become a fountain of life. An example from Chapter 16 presents the more cautionary and critical aspects inherent in the prophetic and wisdom literature of the Hebrew Bible. In response to Abba Nesteros’ teachings Germanus raises a question. The notion that true spiritual knowledge is available only to those engaged in the pursuit of puritas cordis seems to be at odds with his perceptions that “many Jews and heretics and also catholics who are entangled in different vices have acquired a perfect knowledge of scripture and boast of their extensive spiritual learning” (Conf. XIV.15). At the same time, he observes, there appear to be many holy desert monks who, despite their sanctity, are unfamiliar with the complexities of scripture.10 Nesteros responds with a litany of scriptural quotations that reassert his instruction and stand as a warning for learned monks. For Abba Nesteros, true knowledge can be possessed only by those devoted to God, for, according to Colossians 2:3, “all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are hidden” in Christ. Therefore, no matter how skilled they may be in disputation and erudition, it is impossible for Jews and heretics to penetrate the deepest levels of meaning because they have rejected Christ. All who profess to be Christian yet remain ensnared in vice reject Christ in a similar fashion, hence the scriptures remain closed to them in all but a superficial way. It is to such people that the prophets speak. Nesteros quotes Jeremiah: “Hear, O foolish people, who have no heart, who have eyes and do not see, and ears and do not hear” (Jer 5:21). Jeremiah is paired with stronger language from Hosea: “Because you have rejected knowledge, I also will reject you from acting as my priest” (Hos 4:6). Hosea is used not only to deny full intimacy with the scriptures to the nonfaithful and the unfaithful but also to express what Nesteros considers to be the only way of attaining authentic spiritual knowledge. The Abba recites, “Sow for   The latter observation concerning holy men unfamiliar with scripture does not factor significantly in Nesteros’ teaching. He returns to it almost as an afterthought to serve his point. For Nesteros, the example of the apostles and other “rustic and nearly illiterate persons” (nonnullis elinguibus ac paene inlitteratis) clearly demonstrates that “worldly learning” (eruditione saeculari) is unnecessary for true understanding of the scriptures. 10

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yourselves unto righteousness; reap the hope of life; enlighten yourselves with the light of knowledge” (Hos 10:12 LXX). The prophet’s words ring true for Nesteros, who then counsels that works of righteousness be sown so that the hope of life may be reaped. The virtues are the spiritual fruit that can be gathered if the carnal vices are expelled (Conf. XIV.16.3). If one would fully understand the sacred text then a certain discipline and order must be followed. It begins with the acceptance of a way of life, not scholarly curiosity. For Nesteros, the psalmist also makes this observation: “Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord. Blessed are those who search his testimonies” (Ps 119:1‒2). The sequence of events is important, because it gives primacy to “the way” over searching the testimonies. Nesteros concludes that because of the sequencing the psalmist “clearly shows that no one can properly arrive at searching into the testimonies of God unless he first enters undefiled upon the way of Christ by his practical way of life” (Conf. XIV.16.3). Any attempt to plumb the depths of scripture without prior experience in the spiritual life cannot succeed. According to Nesteros, those who had impressed Germanus possessed but a veneer of knowledge, even though they “diligently pursue[d] the reading of the sacred books and the memorization of scripture” (Conf. XIV.16.4). Given that these activities constitute two of the most basic prescriptions for monastic life, the abba’s words in the latter half of Chapter 16 stand more immediately as a dire warning for monks than for non-Christians. In and of themselves, the reading and memorization of the scriptures are laudable, but they are rendered ineffectual if the individual has not abandoned “carnal vice” (carnalia vitia). Nesteros recalls a rather striking image from Proverbs to characterize the ironic juxtaposition of familiarity with the surface details of the text and ignorance of its deep meaning. Proverbs 11:22 (LXX) reads, “Like a golden ring in the snout of a swine, so is the beauty of an evil-tempered woman.” How then, the abba asks, can it help someone to be adorned with the heavenly words and precious beauty of the scriptures if it all is ruined by a mind that clings to filthy thoughts and a body mired in wanton desires (Conf. XIV.16.5)? The purpose of the scriptures is rendered useless by a life wasted in worldly pursuits. The use of terms like “carnal vice” and “wanton desires” can be misleading. Although Nesteros is indeed condemning perceived sexual improprieties of non-Christian teachers and scholars to a certain extent, in the greater context of Conference XIV, such terms also apply to the kinds of “fornication” and “adultery” beyond the literal senses of the words that can affect even the most committed monk. The main concern has to do with an infidelity of the mind, rather than physical impurity. In Chapter 11 the abba identifies five ways in which the commandment “You shall not commit fornication” (Ex 20:14) could be transgressed. The first and most obvious means of transgression involves sexual indiscretion. The next two have

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to do with unfaithfulness to the standards of the Christian lifestyle. Such infidelity included involvement in pagan ceremonies, divination, astrology, and observance of Jewish religious customs and “superstitions of the law” (superstitionibus legis). The final two are related and prove to be the cause of the most serious concern for those devoted to monastic life because the transgression need not necessarily be demonstrated by an outward sign. One could also commit fornication by assenting to heretical teaching and, as a result, by allowing “wandering thoughts” (cogitationum pervagatione) to enter the mind. Erroneous belief and distraction often worked in tandem to divert the monk from his path. It was Nesteros’ fifth observation that prompted Cassian to lament his inability to rid himself of nonChristian poems and images. Hence, Cassian’s concerns deposit this notion of “fornication” into the context of the reading of scripture, which brings us back to the image of the bejeweled swine. Without first adopting the ascetic lifestyle and making progress within it, the monastic reader of the scriptures defiles the very text he is trying to understand. Without renouncing all, the monk commits fornication by mistaking what Cassian calls the “simple sound of the letter” (simplicem litterae sonum) as the reservoir of meaning. Furthermore, he easily can be distracted by the learning of non-ascetics, whose erudition is measured in memorizational skill but whose understanding is impeded by a lack of virtue, and his own superficial knowledge becomes repugnant. Nesteros teaches, For what happens is that what was supposed to be an ornament for those who used it properly will not only not be able to adorn them but in fact gets stained from contact with more filth. For “from the mouth of a sinner praise is unseemly.” To such a person it is said by the prophet: “Why do you recount my righteous deeds, and why do you take my covenant in your mouth?”11 (Conf. XIV.16.5)

The verses quoted from Sirach and Psalms are intended to be critical. They function as verbal lashes with which to upbraid the monk guilty of the vices of “empty boastfulness” and vainglory. Cassian and Germanus hear these words from the mouth of Abba Nesteros, and in the process their ancient authors live again to dispense monastic wisdom. The abba assumes the ancient role of exposing hypocrisy. The words are not only meant to be heard, however. In his own meditation and reading the monk begins to internalize the warnings. Offering further insight, Nesteros expects the monk to constantly bear in mind and continually repeat “The fear of the Lord is instruction and wisdom” (Prv 15:33 LXX), so that he does not lose focus concerning what it is he is doing. Additionally, he must remember   Cassian quotes Sirach 15:9 and Psalm 50, respectively.

11

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“Of what use are riches to the fool? For a senseless person cannot possess wisdom” (Prv 17:16 LXX). In so doing the monk guards against distraction and pride and thereby strips away layers of the self. As his own thoughts and inclinations disappear, so they are “replaced” by the spirit and intent of the scriptures. The monk first encounters the sacred text in the person of the abba. With guidance from such men, he withdraws into the chrysalis stage of monastic discipline, during which time his self-centered orientation is supplanted by the immanent sense of scripture.

The Portable Abba For Cassian, the monk’s very life becomes the hermeneutical medium for understanding divine revelation, an understanding experienced in the light of theoria. The effect is so pervasive that, as Nesteros observes in Conference XIV, even “while we are at rest and as it were immersed in the stupor of sleep, there will be revealed an understanding of hidden meanings that we did not grasp even slightly when we were awake” (Conf. XIV.10.4). For Cassian, this is possible because the more the monk is able to prepare his heart, identified here with the “sanctuary of God” (sanctuarium dei) in Leviticus 21:12, the more the Lord fulfills the promise of 2 Corinthians 6:16: “I will dwell in them and walk among them.” The implications affect two dimensions, one personal and the other pastoral. For the monk, successful navigation of the via regia through interaction with scripture produces an audience with the Divine. The monk can at last sit with Mary of Bethany and contemplate the divine presence. For the community, the monk becomes a text made flesh, a living example of authentic Christian life. Although not consistent, the literary structure of Conference XIV gives testament to the essential teaching. As is the case in each of the Conferences, Abba Nesteros is portrayed as the perfect realization of the subject matter at hand. In this case, the abba can teach about the scriptures because he has cultivated the necessary virtue, or, perhaps it is better to suggest, because his identity has become synonymous with the kerygma of scripture. The Conference begins in analytical fashion, dividing knowledge into the two categories of “practical” and “theoretical.” The initial separation suggests continued diagnostic classifications in the course of a full explanation of each category. It is exactly at this point, however, that Cassian turns to an example in the text rather than a categorization of the text. The prophet Elijah is introduced to establish the absolute necessity of a virtuous lifestyle before real understanding of the scriptures can be gained. The fact that Cassian has Nesteros point to a person before resuming an analysis that proceeds to subdivide spiritual knowledge into four categories cannot be overlooked. For

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Cassian, scholarly inquiry has its place, but, when it comes to the scriptures, the sacred text must be lived in order to be understood. Experience holds curiosity in check, and this point is exhibited in the arrangement of Nesteros’ argument. Audience Participation The real creativity of the Conferences lies in its ability not only to present Cassian’s understanding of the monastic ideal but also to provide a means of participating in that ideal. In reading and reciting his text Cassian’s audience “hears” the patriarchs, prophets, psalms, and proverbs through the abbates in the various Conferences. More than this, though, Cassian is not just telling stories; he is inviting his audience into them. In their reading, recitation, and meditation of the Conferences the Gallic monks whom he addresses assume the roles of Germanus and Cassian. In his preface to the third set of Conferences Cassian recognizes that his texts will be the media through which his monastic audience will “receive” the abbas with whom Cassian has dialogued into their cells. By reading the Conferences Cassian has composed they can engage in a virtual synaxis on a daily basis. Therefore, they would have no need to find their own means to perfection or even travel the dangerous roads to the deserts of the East. Rather, they “will become accustomed instead to lay hold of the discipline of the anchoritic life through their precepts, which both ancient tradition and the effort of a long experience have arranged for every contingency” (Conf. III praef. 3). The greater rhetorical structure of the Conferences facilitates a blurring of the line between reader and text as Cassian’s audience sits with the companions at the feet of the Desert Fathers and absorbs their teachings. Presenting his monastic ideal in the form of dialogues is a pedagogical strategy on the part of Cassian that approximates the genuine means of Egyptian monastic instruction, albeit in literary form, and allows the reader to vicariously become part of a celebrated tradition. As such, he engages in an anachoresis of sorts that removes him from his own time, place, and context.12 Cassian’s text   See Stephen Driver, John Cassian and the Reading of Egyptian Monastic Culture (New York, 2002), pp. 65‒72. Driver notes that for the most part Cassian’s audience would not have been very familiar with standard Egyptian monastic practice. Therefore, the danger that his dialectical strategy could remain unobserved or be completely ineffectual was real. The monks of Egypt had become famous in the West because of popular characterizations that pictured them as ascetic marvels and miracle workers, not because of their psychological acumen. In order for Cassian to bridge the gulf between the circumstances of a Gallic monk and his appropriation of the role of novice at the feet of the desert abbas he had to establish a common point of reference. For Driver, Cassian accomplishes this task by arranging the Conferences in an order that chronicles the companions’ transformation from ignorance to insight. Conference I, for instance, is revelatory for Germanus and Cassian, who, after some time spent in the coenobium in Bethlehem, think they have some idea of what it means to 12

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becomes the “master abba,” a portable storehouse of eremitic wisdom. In this way the abba-novice relationship, an essential component in Egyptian monasticism, is preserved as part of the legitimate line of succession originating in the Hebrew Bible. The Conferences also speaks to recognized leaders within the Gallic monastic milieu, names like Honoratus and Eucherius mentioned in the prefaces to each of the three sets of Conferences. Cassian’s work benefits those novices and immature monks far removed from the desert by withdrawing them from familiar settings and routines through the process of reading, meditation, and imitation. Additionally, though, it strengthens the image of their own spiritual masters, assuming they prove themselves according to Cassian’s schema. Towards the end of Conference XXIV, the final Conference, Cassian addresses Jovinianus, Minervus, Leontius, and Theodore, the “holy brothers” to whom the final set of Conferences is dedicated. He writes, But, O holy brothers, I have certainly not been so presumptuous in spirit as to send out to you this fire, which the Lord came to cast upon the earth and which he greatly desired to burn, as if by the addition of this warmth I could enkindle the high ardor of your chosen orientation. This is, rather, for the purpose of increasing your authority among your sons, if the precepts of the greatest and most ancient fathers confirm what you yourselves teach by your living example, not by the dead sound of words. (Conf. XXIV.26.19)

Two points in Cassian’s closing remarks provide some insight into the underlying goals of the Conferences. Firstly, the “fire which the Lord came to cast upon the earth” is a reference to Luke 12:49, which is part of an impassioned speech in which Jesus suggests that his role involves a radical upheaval of the status quo. Despite Cassian’s deferential and self-effacing words, he sees his text as accomplishing something similar. For precise reasons unknown, preexistent Gallic monasticism was found lacking in the face of the “original” and sublime Egyptian version. Cassian’s emphasis on order and obedience suggests he perceived at least the possibility of an unfocused and undisciplined monastic movement in Gaul in the early fifth century. The Institutes and the Conferences were his attempt to change the tide by establishing orthodox practice, thereby

be a monk. Abba Moses’ instruction strips them of the illusion and begins them down the path of Egyptian practice. Introducing the narrative in such a way gives the Gallic monk the same option. He too is called to give up everything he has learned thus far, which would also be the cause of some dismay, and “begin again” in a new context.

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ensuring the survival of an ascetic movement often viewed with suspicion by ecclesiastical and political leaders.13 Secondly, he specifies the standard for determining the effectiveness of one’s ability to assume or maintain a mantle of leadership. Authority is inherited to the extent that one is able to manifest “the precepts of the greatest and most ancient fathers” in one’s life. In other words, the criterion of authority rests on the extent to which one embodies the monastic ideal of puritas cordis. For Cassian, the fullest expression of this ideal involves the renunciation of self and the revitalization of scripture in living form. Hence, scripture becomes a common denominator between the vastly differing topographies and traditions of Egypt and Gaul. By recognizing the authority of the Conferences and becoming fully engaged with its contents, one identifies with and participates in a desert legacy that, in turn, provides the correct orientation for authentic immersion in scripture. The result is that the experience of Abraham and the experience of Antony are brought to life on the fertile shores of Gaul.

13   See Leyser, “Lectio Divina, Oratio Pura,” p. 83 and p. 94. For broader context see Ralph Mathisen, Ecclesiastical Factionalism and Religious Controversy in Fifth-Century Gaul (Washington, D.C., 1989).

Afterword

Transformative Knowledge and Experiential Transmission

At the risk of making the academic mistake of introducing new concepts into one’s concluding remarks, Paul Ricoeur has stated, “The ‘moral meaning’ shows that hermeneutics is much more than exegesis in the narrow sense. Hermeneutics is the very deciphering of life in the mirror of the text.”1 John Cassian’s mimetic exegesis of the scriptures in the Conferences illustrates Ricoeur’s sentiment well. It does so because, for Cassian, the reading of scripture is not a simple exercise of the eyes and mind but a complete, experiential immersion into a text that provides meaning and example. The biblical narratives and poetry are not simply the historical accounts of Abraham’s descendants. Instead, the monk should see the reflection of the monastic ideal in the “mirror of the text” as he assumes the identity of God’s chosen people. In his commitment to an ascetic life and engagement with the scriptures it is he, not Jacob, who wrestles with the stranger in Genesis 32. Perseverance and discretion in the contest merit the name change “Israel,” the one who sees God. Cassian inseparably binds together the sacred text and the monastic endeavor in a reciprocal relationship in which one cannot be fully realized without the other. As a patristic author, Cassian’s orientation is fundamentally exegetical, but his methodology in the Conferences falls outside the bounds of some of the traditional characterizations of patristic exegesis. His approach is neither imaginative allegory nor strict typology. Certainly, he employs those interpretive tools, but his primary means for understanding the scriptures lies in reproducing its content. Ultimately, the monk achieves his scopos when he withdraws sufficiently from the world and his own identity that he manifests the scriptures in his person. The monk’s life is supposed to be an extended exercise in mimēsis. In this process the scriptures and the abbas (who successfully embody the text) provide an initial entryway, but the further along the via regia the monk proceeds the more the scriptures reveal their deeper meaning. The more the monk understands and manifests the text the holier he becomes. 1   Paul Ricoeur, “Preface to Bultmann,” Essays on Biblical Interpretation (Philidelphia, 1980) p. 53.

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The dual benefit of this transformative knowledge is that the monk enjoys a small measure of the beatific vision and the community gains another abba. By keeping the biblical characters alive in his actions, the monk ensures that the biblical narrative continues even though the scriptural canon may be closed. In this way, the immanence and seamlessness of the divine-human relationship characterized by God’s relationship with Israel in the Hebrew Bible and the earthly presence of Jesus in the New Testament can be regained. The Garden of Eden and the Promised Land become viable destinations, and the Transfiguration becomes an attainable goal. The biblical landscape receives renewed importance in a nuanced interpretation, because just as the characters in the narrative gain their value and significance by virtue of their interactions with their settings, so their monastic incarnations gain theirs by living the scriptural drama within the coenobium. The majority of this study has focused on exemplars from the Hebrew Bible, for that is the source from which Cassian draws most frequently. It should be noted, however, that Cassian, like all patristic authors, saw no distinction between scriptural testaments. The entire canon expressed the single unifying message of the divine oikonomia. The preponderance of patriarchal and prophetic exemplars is understandable, given Cassian’s desire to place his text within an ancient lineage of authority. That being said, Cassian certainly does not ignore the New Testament. Indeed, the example of the apostolic church in Acts epitomizes the cenobitic ideal in its selfless charity (Conf. XVIII.5). The presence of Paul permeates the Conferences, and the apostle is continually invoked as the seal of orthodox teaching. What is peculiar, however, is that although Cassian’s vision is thoroughly Christological,2 the figure of Jesus is surprisingly absent as a monastic exemplar. Whereas the use of Jesus is frequent in other monastic literature, for instance the Apophthegmata Patrum,3 Cassian’s Jesus functions in a tropological sense most obviously in the Conferences when his example is cited by Abba Serapion in Conference V. Jesus’ victory over the devil’s temptations in the desert (Mt 4:1‒11; Mk 1:12‒13; Lk 4:1‒13) through recourse to scripture shows the monk that he too ought to find security and solace in the sacred text. Reasons for this reticence are unclear, but may have something to do with excluding any association with the

  The monk’s goal, after all, is to sit with Mary of Bethany at the feet of Jesus and contemplate the divine presence. Additionally, Jesus was considered the incarnation of the scriptures, the Word of God. Hence, any engagement with the sacred text was an interaction with Christ. 3   See Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert, pp. 198, 221‒222, 240‒245, 282‒283, 286. 2

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possibility of a human being attaining perfection. In other words, only Jesus was perfect, so no one can be exactly like Jesus.4 In light of the work of Frances Young identifying allegory as symbolic mimēsis and typology as ikonic mimēsis, one wonders the extent to which Cassian’s interpretative methodology could function as a bridge between Alexandria and Antioch. The influence of Origen (largely through Evagrius of Pontus) on Cassian is unmistakable, and examples of allegorical interpretation are easily found in his works.5 At the same time, his exegesis is paraenetic and designed to encourage the pursuit of virtue. Cassian is more concerned with the morally instructive content of the biblical narratives than with its symbolic dimension. Admittedly, Cassian’s focus is rather narrow. To adapt a phrase from Columba Stewart, Cassian writes to monks as a monk.6 He reads the biblical narrative through monastic eyes and sees in it the blueprint for authentic monastic life. Yet, the marriage of interpretation and praxis that characterizes his methodology may prove insightful when applied to other areas. Its value for understanding the development of early Christian monasticism has been demonstrated. Perhaps, though, our assessments of the various monastic reform movements that have reverberated through the Church from time to time in its long history ought to be reevaluated. Perhaps, they ought to take into consideration this hermeneutical approach as an underlying intent within the calls for a return to the fundamentals of Benedict’s Rule, for instance. The kind of mimetic theory of interpretation employed by Cassian has an explanatory benefit that has not been fully recognized. Exploring the personification of biblical characters may contribute to other fields of study, including homiletics and liturgical studies. Margaret Mitchell, for instance, has analyzed in remarkable detail John Chrysostom’s fondness for creating “portraits” of the apostle Paul in his treatises and homilies. According to Mitchell, Chrysostom saw Paul is the ultimate archetype for Christian living and sought to construct his own mimetic program.7 Chrysostom’s special affinity for Paul stems primarily from his early days in monastic retreat in which he immersed himself in ascetic practice and the   For a similar sentiment found in the works of John Chrysostom, see Margaret M. Mitchell, The Heavenly Trumpet: John Chrysostom and the Art of Pauline Interpretation (Tübingen, 2000). It may very well be that Cassian picks up this hesitance from the influence of his bishop, whom he served after leaving the desert communities of Egypt in 399. See also Elizabeth A. Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power (Louisville, 1991). 5   Cassian seems especially fond of spatial imagery. In the preface to the Institutes Cassian sees his works as facilitating the construction of a new Temple, this one constructed of the flesh and blood of the Gallic monks of the coenobium. Additionally, Cassian often speaks of an interior edifice (domus interior). See, for instance, Conf. II.4.2, XXIV.6.1, XXIV.6.3. 6   See Stewart, p. vii. 7   Mitchell, pp. 66‒68. 4

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study of the Pauline epistles. He “saw himself in the same ambivalent position as he saw Paul: an ascetic forced by circumstances to live in the world and the church to carry out the worldly duties placed in his charge.”8 Not only did Chrysostom envision himself in a similar role as Paul, but his homilies also called upon his congregations to imitate the apostles’ character. Chrysostom “painted” various portraits of Paul for the faithful to adore and emulate. How Chrysostom himself acted the part or was characterized as such by others constitutes grounds for further study. One of the fundamental questions of this study has been “How does Cassian bring meaning to the biblical text?” It is a question that would not have occurred to Cassian to ask of himself. As we stand in the post-critical era, however, it is incumbent upon us to ask a follow-up question: “How does the reader bring meaning to Cassian?” The work of Gadamer and Ricoeur, for instance, preclude the possibility of blindly accepting that the meaning of a text is constrained by the intention of its author. Texts, it is asserted, become independent entities and assume “lives” of their own and open themselves up in ways dependent upon whatever lens a reader wears. Cassian’s lens was the product of an educated and articulate Christian of the fourth and fifth centuries who engaged scripture as the fullness of Truth and whose mission was to articulate a guiding ideal for the monastic vocation. The intent of scholarly analysis is certainly far removed from the worldview of late antique Christianity, yet we are cautioned against asserting definitive conclusions in our studies. At the very least, though, it is apparent that Cassian’s mimetic connection between text and self resonates with contemporary hermeneutical theory. This sentiment exists elsewhere in patristic exegesis, but it is John Cassian’s Conferences that serves notice and ensures the attention of future scholarship.

  Mitchell, p. 68.

8

Appendix

Cassian’s Preface to the First Part 1. The obligation that was incurred with respect to the blessed Pope Castor in the preface of those volumes that summarized in twelve books the institutes of the cenobia and the remedies for the eight principal vices has, with the Lord’s help, been more or less fulfilled; our feeble nature was just capable of it. I would certainly have liked to see what his or your judgment was on this, after a careful examination had been made—whether, in matters at once so deep and so lofty, which so far as I know have never before been written about, we have said something worthy of your recognition and of the desire of all the holy brothers. 2. Now, however, since in the meantime the aforesaid bishop has left us and gone to Christ, I thought that there should be dedicated to you above all, O most blessed Pope Leontius and holy brother Helladius, the ten conferences of the greatest fathers—anchorites who dwelled in the desert of Skete—which he, inflamed with an incomparable zeal for holiness, had ordered to be written in like words, not thinking in the breadth of his charity what a heavy weight he was laying on weak shoulders. 3. One of you, united to the aforementioned man by family affection and priestly dignity and still more by the fervor of holy zeal, claims his due as a brother by hereditary right. The other, not as one who has set out to pursue the sublime institutes of the anchorites through his own presumption but taking the right road of teaching almost before he began to learn, thanks to the guidance of the Holy Spirit, has desired to be instructed not in things of his own design but in their traditions. In this respect, now that I have settled in a harbor of silence, a vast sea lies before me, inasmuch as I am daring to commit to writing something on the institutes and teachings of such men. 4. As the solitary life is greater and more sublime than that of the cenobia, and the contemplation of God—upon which those inestimable men were ever intent—than the active life that is led in communities, so must the bark of a limited understanding be tossed about amid the dangers of deeper waters. Your part, then, is to help our efforts with your devout prayers, lest the holy material that is to be presented be imperiled by us because of inexpert, albeit faithful words, or again lest our simplicity be overwhelmed in the depths of this same material. 5. Consequently, let us proceed from the external and visible life of the monks, which we have summarized in the previous books, to the invisible character of the inner man, and from the practice of the canonical prayers let our discourse

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arise to the unceasing nature of that perpetual prayer which the apostle commands (1 Thes 5:17). Thus the person who has read the previous work and is worthy of the name of that spiritual Jacob because the supplanting of the carnal vices (Gn 27:36) may now—taking up not so much my own institutes as those of the fathers and passing over to the deserts and as it were the dignity of Israel (Gn 32:29), thanks to an insight into the divine purity—be also similarly taught what must be observed at this summit of perfection. 6. And so let your prayers obtain from him who has judged us worthy to see them and to be their disciples and friends the bestowal of a complete recollection of those same traditions and a pleasing mode of expression. Thus, while explaining those things as holily and as completely as we received them, we may be able to put before you those very same men, embodied somehow in their own institutes and (what is more) speaking in the Latin tongue. Before anything else, we want the reader of these Conferences as well as of the previous volumes to be advised that if perhaps he thinks, by reason of his status and chosen orientation or from the point of view of ordinary custom and way of life, that there are things in these books that are impossible or hard, he should not judge them by the standard of his own ability but according to the dignity of the speakers, whose zeal and chosen orientation he should first mentally grasp, since those who have truly died to this world’s life are bound by no love for kinsfolk nor by any ties of worldly deeds. 7. Finally, let him also consider the kinds of places in which they are living. Thanks to them, they who have established themselves in the vastest solitude and are separated from the companionship of all mortal beings, thereby possessing spiritual enlightenment, contemplate and proclaim things that will perhaps seem impossible to those who are unpracticed and ignorant by reason of their condition and their mediocre behavior. In this regard, however, if anyone wishes to give a true opinion and desires to see whether these things can be fulfilled, let him first hasten to seize upon their chosen orientation with similar zeal and by a similar way of life. Only then will he realize that what seemed beyond human capacity is not only possible but even most sweet. But now let us get on to their conferences and institutes.

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I. The First Conference of Abba Moses: On the Goal and the End of the Monk Chapters I On our stay in Skete, and on the chosen orientation of Abba Moses. II Abba Moses’ question about what should be the scopos and what should be the end of the monk. III Our reply. IV Abba Moses’ question concerning the aforesaid suggestion. V A comparison with someone who is trying to hit a target. VI On those who renounce the world and strive for perfection without love. VII On seeking tranquility of heart. VIII On the principal effort made to attain the contemplation of divine realities, and a comparison with Martha and Mary. IX A question about why the practice of virtue does not remain with a person. X The reply, that it is not their reward but their doing that will cease. XI On the perpetual nature of love. XII A question about the duration of spiritual contemplation. XIII The reply, about the heart’s way to God and about the kingdom of God and the kingdom of the devil. XIV On the perpetual nature of the soul. XV On contemplating God. XVI A question about the constant movement of our thoughts. XVII The reply: What the mind can do about the state of thoughts and what it cannot do. XVIII A comparison between a millstone and the soul. XIX The three sources of our thoughts. XX On discerning thoughts, according to the example of an approved money-changer. XXI The deception of Abba John. XXII The four-part method of discretion. XXIII On how the words of the teacher are proportionate to the worthiness of the hearers.

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I. When I along with the Holy Germanus (with whom I was so closely befriended from the very time of our basic training and the beginnings of our spiritual soldiery, both in the cenobium and in the desert, that everyone used to say, by way of pointing out the identity of our companionship and our chosen orientation, that we were one mind and soul inhabiting two bodies), was looking in the desert of Skete, where the most experienced fathers of the monks and every perfection dwelled, for Abba Moses, who in the midst of those splendid flowers gave off a particularly sweet odor because of both his practical and contemplative virtue, and, as together we were tearfully begging for an edifying word from that abba, since we were eager to be thoroughly instructed by him, he finally began to speak, worn out by our pleading. (In fact we had been quite aware of his inflexible attitude, such that he would never consent to open the portal of perfection except to those who faithfully desired it and who sought it in utter contrition of heart. Otherwise, if he disclosed it without further ado to those who were unwilling or to those whose desire was not a consuming one, he would seem to be committing either the vice of boasting or the crime of betrayal by pandering important things, which should only be known to those seeking perfection, to the unworthy and to those who would receive them disdainfully.) II. 1. “All the arts and disciplines,” he said, “have a certain scopos or goal, and a telos, which is the end that is proper to them, on which the lover of any art sets his gaze and for which he calmly and gladly endures every labor and danger and expense. For the farmer, avoiding neither the torrid rays of the sun one time nor the frost and ice another, tirelessly tills the soil and subdues the unyielding clumps of earth with his frequent plowing, and all the while he keeps his scopos in mind: that, once it has been cleared of all the briers and every weed has been uprooted, by his hard work he may break the soil into something as fine as sand. In no other way does he believe he will achieve his end, which is to have a rich harvest and an abundant crop, with which he may thenceforth both live his life in security and increase his substance. 2. Laboring in dedicated fashion, he even willingly removes produce from his well-stocked barns and puts it in crumbling ditches, not thinking of present diminution when he reflects on the future harvest. Likewise, those who are accustomed to engage in commerce do not fear the uncertain behavior of the sea, nor are they afraid of any risks, since they are spurred on by winged hope to the end of profit. Neither are those who are inflamed by worldly military ambition, seeking as they do the end of honors and power, conscious of calamities and the dangers of their long treks, nor are they crushed by present fatigue and wars, since they wish to attain the end of high rank that they have set for themselves. 3. “Our profession also has a scopos proper to itself and its own end, on behalf of which we tirelessly and even gladly expend all our efforts. For its sake the hunger of fasting does not weary us, the exhaustion of keeping vigil delights us,

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and the continual reading and meditating on Scripture does not sate us. Even the unceasing labor, the being stripped and deprived of everything and, too, the horror of this vast solitude do not deter us. Without doubt it is for its sake that you yourselves have spurned the affection of relatives, despised your homeland and the delights of the world and have journeyed through so many foreign parts in order to come to us, men rude and unlearned, living harshly in the desert. Tell me, therefore,” he asked, “what is your goal and what is your end, which drives you to endure all things so willingly?” III. And when he insisted on having our answer to this question, we replied that we bore all these things for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. IV. 1. On hearing this he said: “Good! You have spoken well about your end. But before anything else you should know what ought to be our scopos or our goal, by constantly clinging to which we may be able to attain our end.” And when we had in all simplicity confessed our ignorance, he added: “As I have said, in every art and discipline a certain scopos takes precedence. This is the soul’s goal and the mind’s constant intention, which cannot be maintained nor the final end of the longed-for fruit arrived at except by an encompassing diligence and perseverance. 2. For, as I have said, the farmer who has as his end a secure and comfortable life, thanks to his fruitful lands, pursues his scopos or goal by clearing his field of all the briers and emptying it of every unfruitful weed, and he does not believe he will achieve his end of peaceful affluence in any other way than as it were by first possessing by toil and hope what he desires to have the actual use of. Neither does the businessman lay aside his desire of procuring merchandise, by which he may more easily get rich, since he would long for money in vain if he did not choose the means that would get him to it. And those who want to be honored with any of this world’s honors first decide on what office or position they should devote themselves to, so that within the normal course of events they may also be able to attain the final end of the sought-after dignity. 3. Hence, too, the end of our course is the kingdom of God. But we should inquire carefully into the nature of our goal. If we have not in similar fashion grasped this we shall be wearied fruitlessly by our toil, because if the road is uncharted, then those who undertake the hardships of the journey will have nothing to show for it.” As we listened to this in amazement, the old man continued: “The end of our profession, as we have said, is the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven; but the goal or scopos is purity of heart, without which it is impossible for anyone to reach that end. 4. Fixing our gaze on this goal, then, as on a definite mark, we shall take the most direct route. If our attention should wander somewhat from it we shall at once return to its contemplation, accurately correcting ourselves as if by a kind of rule that will always measure all our efforts and recall them to this

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one mark, if our mind should have deviated ever so slightly from the proposed direction.” V. 1. “It is like those who are accustomed to handling weapons of war: When they want to show off their expertise in this art before a king of this world, they strive to aim their javelins or arrows at some very small targets that have the prizes pictures on them. They are certain that other than by the targeted mark they cannot arrive at the end, the sought-after prize, which they will possess as soon as they have been able to hit the goal that was set. If perchance it has been removed from their sight, however off-course the vain thrust of the unskilled might be, still they will not think that they have departed from the direction that was set because they have no sure gauge that would show either how accurate the aim was or how bad it was. And, therefore, when they have poured their missiles ineffectually into the airy void, they are unable to judge where they have gone wrong and where they have been led astray, for there is no indication to show them how far they wandered from the direction, nor can an uncertain eye teach them how they must correct or change their aim. 2. “Thus, indeed, the end of our chosen orientation is eternal life, according to the very words of the Apostle: ‘Having your reward, indeed, in holiness, but your end in eternal life’ (Rom 6:22). But the scopos is purity of heart, which has not undeservedly been called holiness. Without this the aforesaid end will not be able to be seized. It is as if he had said in other words: Having your scopos, indeed, in purity of heart, but your end in eternal life. When he was teaching us about our immediate goal the same blessed Apostle significantly used the very term ‘scopos’ when he said: ‘Forgetting what is behind, but reaching out to what is ahead, I press on to the goal, to the prize of the heavenly calling of the Lord’ (Phil 3:13‒14). 3. This appears more clearly in Greek: κατα σκοπον διωκω, which means: I press on to the goal. It is just as if he had said: By way of this goal I forget what is behind— namely, the vices of my earlier life—and I strive to attain to the end, which is the heavenly prize. Whatever therefore can direct us to this scopos, which is purity of heart, is to be pursued with all our strength, but whatever deters us from this is to be avoided as dangerous and harmful. For it is for its sake that we do and endure everything, for its sake that family, homeland, honors, wealth, the pleasures of this world, and every enjoyment are disdained—so that perpetual purity of heart may be kept. 4. With this goal always set before us, therefore, our actions and thoughts are ordered to attaining it in the most direct way. If it is not constantly fixed before our eyes, not only will all our labors be rendered equally useless and shaky and be made vain and profitless, but all sorts of confusing thoughts will be aroused as well. It is inevitable that the mind which does not have a place to turn to or any stable base will undergo change from hour to hour and from minute to minute due

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to the variety of its distractions, and by the things that come to it from outside it will be continually transformed into whatever occurs to it at any given moment.” VI. 1. “This is why we see some people who disdain very great riches in this world—and not only large sums of gold and silver but also magnificent properties—being disturbed over a penknife, a stylus, a needle, or a pen. If they paid close attention to their purity of heart they would never allow this to happen with respect to small things, since lest this happen to them with respect to great and precious things they chose to give those up completely. 2. And often some people hold on to a book so tightly that in fact they do not easily permit another person to read or touch it, and hence they bring upon themselves occasions of impatience and death precisely when they are being urged to acquire the rewards of patience and love. And when they have given away all their wealth for the sake of Christ’s love, but still retain the heart’s old affection for the littlest things and are always quickly irritated because of them, they become in every respect fruitless and barren, like those who do not have the love of which the Apostle speaks. Foreseeing this in the Spirit, the blessed Apostle said: ‘If I gave all my goods to feed the poor and handed my body over to be burned, but I did not have love, it would profit me nothing’ (I Cor 13:3). 3. Hence it is clearly proved that perfection is not immediately arrived at by being stripped and deprived of all one’s wealth or by giving up one’s honors, unless there is that love whose elements the Apostle describes, which consists in purity of heart alone. For what else does it mean not to be envious, not to be boastful, not to be angry, not to do evil, not to seek the things that are one’s own, not to rejoice over iniquity, not to think evil and all the rest (I Cor 13:4‒7), if not always to offer God a perfect and utterly clean heart and to keep it unsullied by any passion?” VII. 1. “For the sake of this, then, everything is to be one and desired. For its sake solitude is to be pursued; for its sake we know that we must undertake fasts, vigils, labors, bodily deprivation, readings, and other virtuous things, so that by them we may be able to acquire and keep a heart untouched by any harmful passion, and so that by taking these steps we may be able to ascend to the perfection of love. “These observances do not exist for themselves. If perchance we are unable to carry out some strict obligation of ours because we are prevented by some good and necessary business, we should not fall in sadness or anger or indignation, which we would have intended to drive out by doing what we omitted. 2. For what is gained by fasting is less than what is spent on anger, and the fruit that is obtained from reading is not so great as the loss that is incurred by contempt for one’s brother. It behooves us, then, to carry out the things that are secondary— namely, fasts, vigils, the solitary life, and meditation on Scripture—for the sake of the principal scopos, which is purity of heart or love, rather than for their sake

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to neglect this principal virtue which, as long as it remains integral and intact, will prevent anything bad from happening to us whenever one of the things that are secondary has to be omitted out of necessity. For it will be of no use to have fulfilled everything if this primary object, for the sake of attaining which all things are to be pursued, has been lost. 3. It is for this reason that a person hastens to acquire for himself and to assemble the implements of a given art—not so that he may possess them without using them, nor so that he may consider the enjoyment that he hopes for from them to consist in the mere possession of those tools, but that so by making use of them he may effectively master and lay hold of the end of that discipline, for which these are helps. Thus fasts, vigils, meditating on Scripture, and the being stripped and deprived of every possession are not perfection, but they are the tools of perfection. For the end of that discipline does not consist in these things; rather, it is by them that one arrives at the end. 4. In vain, therefore, will a person undertake these exercises who is satisfied with them as if they were the highest good and who fixes his heart’s attention only on them and not on attaining the end, on account of which these other things are to be sought, and who makes every effort for the sake of virtue but, while indeed possessing the tools of the discipline, is ignorant of the end, in which all that is profitable is to be found. Whatever may disturb the purity and tranquility of our mind, then, however useful and necessary it may appear, must be avoided as harmful. For in following this rule we shall be able both to avoid the byways of error and distractions and, thanks to a clear direction, to arrive at the desired end.” VIII. 1. “This should be our principal effort, then; this should be constantly pursued as the fixed goal of our heart, so that our mind may always be attached to divine things and to God. Whatever is different from this, however great it may be, is nevertheless to be judged as secondary or even as base, and indeed as harmful. “Martha and Mary are very beautifully portrayed in the Gospel as examples of this attitude and manner of behavior. For although Martha was indeed devoting herself to a holy service, ministering as she was to the Lord himself and to his disciples, while Mary was intent only on spiritual teaching and was clinging to Jesus’ feet, which she was kissing and anointing with the ointment of a good confession, yet it was she whom the Lord preferred, because she chose the better part, and one which could not be taken from her. 2. For as Martha was toiling with devout concern and was distracted with her work, she saw that she accomplish so large a task by herself, and she asked the Lord for her sister’s help: ‘Does it not concern you that my sister has left me to serve by myself? Tell her to help me, then’ (Lk 10:40). She was calling her not to a disreputable task, to be sure, but to a praiseworthy service. Yet what did she hear from the Lord? ‘Martha, Martha, you are concerned and troubled about many things, but few things are necessary,

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or even one. Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her’ (Lk 10:41‒42). “You see, then, that the Lord considered the chief good to reside in theoria alone—that is, in divine contemplation. 3. Hence we take the view that the other virtues, although we consider them necessary and useful and good, are to be accounted secondary because they are all practiced for the purpose of obtaining this one thing. For when the Lord said: ‘You are concerned and troubled about many things, but few things are necessary, or even one,’ he placed the highest good not in carrying out some work, however praiseworthy, but in the truly simple and unified contemplation of him, declaring that ‘few things’ are necessary for perfect blessedness—namely, that theoria which is first established by reflecting on a few holy persons. Ascending from the contemplation of these persons, someone who is still advancing will arrive with his help at that which is also called ‘one’—namely, the vision of God alone, so that, when he has gone beyond even the acts of holy persons and their wonderful works, he may be fed on the beauty and knowledge of God alone. 4. So it is that ‘Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken from her.’ This too should be looked at more closely. For when he says: ‘Mary has chosen the good part,’ although he says nothing about Martha and certainly does not seem to reprimand her, nonetheless in praising the former her asserts that the latter occupies a lower position. Again, when he says: ‘Which shall not be taken from her,’ he indicates that the latter’s position could be taken from her (for a person cannot uninterruptedly practice a ministry in the body), but he teaches that the zeal of the former can surely not come to an end in any age.” IX. At this we were greatly stirred. “What then?” we said. “Will the burden of fasting, diligence in reading, and the works of mercy, righteousness, piety, and hospitality be taken from us and not remain with their practitioners, especially since the Lord himself promises the reward of the kingdom of heaven for those works when he says: ‘Come, blessed of my Father, take possession of the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me to drink’ (Mt 25:34‒35) and so forth? How is it, then, that these things, which lead their doers in to the kingdom of heaven, will be taken away?” X. 1. MOSES: “I did not say that the reward of the good work would be taken away. As the Lord himself says: ‘Whoever has given to one of these least only a cup of cold water to drink in the name of a disciple, amen I say to you, he shall not lose his reward’ (Mt 10:42). But I am saying that the action, which neither bodily necessity nor a requirement of the flesh or the inequity of this world calls for, will be taken away. For diligence in reading and the affliction of fasting are exercised for the sake of cleansing the heart and chastizing the flesh only in the present, as long as ‘the desire of the flesh is against the spirit’ (Gal 5:17). We see

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that sometimes even now these things are taken away from those who are worn out by great labors or sickness or old age, and we see that a person cannot constantly exercise them. 2. All the more so, then, will these things cease in the future, when ‘this which is corruptible will put on incorruptibility’ (I Cor 15:33) and this body, which is now animal, will rise spiritual (I Cor 15:44), and the flesh will begin no longer to desire against the spirit. The blessed Apostle speaks clearly about this too when he says: ‘Bodily discipline is beneficial for a few things, but piety’—which is undoubtedly to be understood as love— ‘is beneficial in all respects, since it holds the promise of the life that now is and of the one that is to come’ (I Tim 4:8). That this is said to be beneficial for a few things is a clear indication that it can neither be continually exercised nor of itself confer the highest perfection of our efforts. 3. The term ‘a few things’ can in fact refer to either thing. It can refer to the shortness of the time, because bodily discipline cannot coexist with a person both in the present and in the future, and certainly also to the small benefit that is gained by bodily discipline, for bodily affliction produces some initial progress but not the perfection of love itself, which holds the promise of the present life and of the one that is to come. And therefore we consider the exercise of the aforesaid works to be necessary, because without them the heights of love could not be scaled. 4. “The things that you refer to as works of piety and mercy are necessary in this age, as long as inequity continues to dominate. Their practice would not be called for even here were there not an overwhelming number of poor, needy, and sick people, which is the result of the wickedness of men who have seized for their own use—but not used—those things that were bestowed upon all by the Creator of all. 5. As long as such inequity is rampant in this world, then, this behavior will be necessary and beneficial to the one who practices it, crowning a good disposition and a pious will with the reward of an eternal legacy. But this will cease in the world to come, where equity will rule and when there will no longer exist the inequity that made these things obligatory. Then everyone will pass over from this multiform or practical activity to the contemplation of divine things in perpetual purity of heart. Those whose concern it is to press on to knowledge and to the purification of their minds have chosen, even while living in the present world, to give themselves this objective with all their power and strength. While they are still dwelling in corruptible flesh they set themselves this charge, in which they will abide once corruption has been laid aside, when they come to that promise of the Lord, the Savior, which says: ‘Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God’” (Mt 5:8). XI. 1. “And why should you be surprised if those duties that were previously mentioned will pass away, when the holy Apostle can describe the still more sublime charisms of the Holy Spirit as transitory but indicates that love alone will abide without end? ‘Whether there are prophecies,’ he says, ‘they shall come to

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naught; or tongues, they shall cease; or knowledge, it shall be destroyed’ (I Cor 13:8b). But of this he says: ‘Love never disappears’ (I Cor 13:8c). 2. For all the gifts that are given for use and necessity are temporal and they will certainly pass on as soon as the present age has been consummated, but love will never be taken away. For not only in the present world does it operate effectively in us but also in the one to come it will, once the burden of fleshly necessity has been laid down, abide and be still more effective and excellent; it will never be corrupted by any defect but will cling to God more ardently and intently because of its perpetual incorruption.” XII. GERMANUS: “Who then, enclosed in perishable flesh, can be so fixed upon this theoria that he never thinks of the arrival of a brother, or of visiting the sick, of the work of his hands or at least of showing hospitality to travelers and visitors? And, who, finally, is not troubled by care and concern for the body itself? We also want to learn to what degree the mind is able to cling to the invisible and incomprehensible God.” XIII. 1. MOSES: “To cling to God unceasingly and to remain inseparably united to him in contemplation is indeed, as you say, impossible for the person who is enclosed in perishable flesh. But we ought to know where we should fix our mind’s attention and to what goal we should always recall our soul’s gaze. And when our mind has been able to seize it, it should rejoice, and when it is distracted from it, it should mourn and sigh, realizing that it has fallen away from the highest good when it notices that it is separated from that gaze, and it should judge as fornication even a moment’s separation from the contemplation of Christ. 2. When we have lost sight of him even briefly, let us turn our mind’s regard back to him, directing the eyes of our heart as by a very straight line. For everything lies in the soul’s inner sanctuary. There, after the devil has been expelled and the vices no longer reign at all, the kingdom of God can be established in us, as the evangelist says: ‘The kingdom of God will not come with observation, not will they say: Here it is, or there it is. For amen I say to you that the kingdom of God is within you’ (Lk 17:20‒21). But within us there can be nothing else than knowledge or ignorance of the truth, and the love of either the vices or the virtues, by which we make ready a kingdom in our hearts either for the devil or for Christ. 3. The Apostle also describes the characteristics of this kingdom when he says: ‘For the kingdom of God is not food and drink, but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit’ (Rom 14:7). Thus, if the kingdom of God is within us, and the kingdom of God is itself righteousness and peace and joy, then whoever abides in these things is undoubtedly in the kingdom of God. And on the contrary, those who are involved in unrighteousness and discord and the sadness that produces death are dwelling in the kingdom of the devil and in hell and death. These are the signs that distinguish the kingdom of God and that of the devil. And in fact, if we

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look with the elevated gaze of our mind at the condition wherein the heavenly and supernal virtues that are truly in the kingdom of God make their home, what else would it be thought to be than perpetual and continual joy? 4. For what belongs so much to true blessedness and so befits it as continual tranquility and everlasting joy? “And that you may be more certain that what we are saying here is really the case and not based on my own opinion but on the authority of the Lord himself, listen to him describing in the clearest fashion the characteristics and condition of that world: ‘Behold,’ he says, ‘I am creating new heavens and a new earth, and there shall be no remembrance of the former things, nor shall they come to mind. But you shall rejoice and be glad forever in the things that I am creating’ (Is 65:17‒18). And again: ‘Joy and gladness shall be found in it, thanksgiving and the sound of praise. And there shall be month upon month and sabbath upon sabbath’ (Is 51:3, 66:23). And again: ‘They shall receive joy and gladness; sorrow and groaning shall flee away’ (Is 35:10). 5. And if you want to have a still clearer idea of that life and of the city of the holy ones, listen to the words that are directed to Jerusalem itself by the voice of the Lord: ‘I will make,’ he says, ‘your visitation peace and your overseers righteousness. Iniquity shall no longer be heard in your land, nor desolation and destruction in your borders. And salvation shall possess your walls and praise your gates. No longer shall there be a sun to enlighten the day for you, not shall the brightness of the moon shed its light upon you, but the Lord shall be an everlasting light for you, and your God shall be your glory. Your sun shall no longer set, and your moon shall no longer be diminished, but the Lord shall be an everlasting light, and the days of your mourning shall be ended’ (Is 60:17‒20). 6. And hence the blessed Apostle does not declare in a general or vague way that any joy whatsoever is the kingdom of God, but pointedly and precisely that only what is in the Holy Spirit is such. For he knew that there was another joy which is reprehensible, about which it is said: ‘The world will rejoice’ (Jn 16:20). And: ‘Woe to you who laugh, because you will weep’ (Lk 6:25). For the kingdom of heaven is to be understood in a threefold manner—either as the heavens that are to reign, that is, as the holy ones with respect to others who have been placed under them, according to the words: ‘You be over five cities, and you be over ten’ (Lk 19:19), and according to what is said to the disciples: ‘You shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel’ (Mt 19:28); or as the heavens that will begin to be reigned over by Christ, when God, once all things have been subjected to him, will have begun to be ‘all in all’ (I Cor 15:28); or as the holy ones who are to reign in heaven with the Lord.” XIV. 1. “For this reason everyone who lives in this body knows that he must be committed to that special task or ministry to which he has given himself in this life as a participant and a laborer, and he ought not to doubt that in that everlasting age he will also be the partner of him whose servant and companion he now wishes to

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be, according to what the Lord says: ‘If anyone serves me, let him follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be’ (Jn 12:26). For just as the kingdom of the devil is gained by conniving at the vices, so the kingdom of God is possessed in purity of heart and spiritual knowledge by practicing the virtues. 2. And where the kingdom of God is, there without a doubt is eternal life, and where the kingdom of the devil is, there—it is not to be doubted—are death and hell. Whoever is there cannot praise the Lord, as the prophet says: ‘The dead will not praise you, Lord, neither will all who go down into hell’ (this is doubtless the hell of sin). ‘But we,’ he says, ‘who live’—not to vices or to this world, namely, but to God—‘shall praise the Lord, from this time forth and forever. For in death there is no one who is mindful of God. But in hell’—the hell of sin—‘who will confess’ to the Lord?’ (Ps 115:7‒18; 65:5). 3. There is no one. For no one, even if he professed a thousand times that he was a Christian and a monk, confesses God when he sins. No one who does the things that the Lord condemns is mindful of God, nor does he profess in a truthful way that he is the servant of one whose commandments he disdains with reckless obstinacy. The blessed Apostle declares that the widow who gives herself to pleasure is in that death when he says: ‘The widow who gives herself to pleasure is dead while she lives’ (I Tim 5:6). But there are many who, while living in this body, are dead and are unable to praise God as they lie in hell, and on the other hand there are those who, although dead in the body, bless and praise God in the spirit, in the words of the text: ‘Spirits and souls of the righteous, bless the Lord’ (Dn 3:86). And: ‘Let every spirit praise the Lord’ (Ps 150:6). 4. ‘And in the Apocalypse the souls of the slain are said not only to praise God but also to speak directly to him’ (Rev 6:9‒10). In the Gospel, too, the Lord speaks quite clearly to the Sadducees: ‘Have you not read,’ he says, ‘what was said by God when he spoke to you: I am the God of Abraham and the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob? He is not the God of the dead but of the living. For all are living to him’ (Mt 22:31‒32). Of them the Apostle also says: ‘Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them’ (Heb 11:16). “Now, that they are not idle and incapable of feeling anything after being separated from this body is demonstrated by the gospel parable which tells of the poor Lazarus and the rich man clothed in purple. One of these is brought to a most blessed place, the repose of Abraham’s bosom, while the other is burned up by the unbearable heat of an eternal fire (Lk 16:19‒31). 5. And if we wish to understand what is said to the thief—‘Today you shall be with me in paradise’ (Lk 23:43b)— what else does this obviously signify than that not only do their former intellectual capacities abide in their souls but also that, even in their changed condition, they enjoy a state of existence which is appropriate to their deserts and actions? For the Lord would never have promised this to him if he knew that his soul, after being separated from his flesh, was going to be deprived of feeling and would

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be dissolved into nothing. For it was not his flesh but his soul that was to enter paradise with Christ. 6. “To be shunned, and indeed to be detested as utterly horrible, is that most wicked distinction of the heretics who do not believe that Christ could also be in paradise on the very same day that he descended into hell and who separate the words ‘Amen I say to you today’ from ‘you shall be with me in paradise.’ Thus the promise is understood not as having been fulfilled immediately after his passage from this life but as to be fulfilled after the event of the resurrection. They do not realize that before the day of his resurrection he said to the Jews, who believed that he, like them, was subject to human limitations and to fleshly weakness: ‘No one has gone up into heaven except him who has come down from heaven, the Son of Man who is in heaven’ (Jn 3:13). 7. By this it is clearly demonstrated that the souls of the dead are not only not deprived of their feelings but do not even lack the dispositions of hope, sadness, joy, and fear, and that they have already begun to taste something of what is reserved for them at the general judgment. Nor are they, according to the opinion of some infidels, turned back into nothing after their departure from this place of sojourn, but they live more fully and cling more intently to the praise of God. 8. “But let us leave aside for a little while the testimony of Scripture so that we may say something about the nature of the soul to the extent that our mediocre understanding permits. Is it not the height, should I say, not of foolishness but of insanity, to hold heedlessly to the opinion that that more precious part of the human being—in which, according to the blessed Apostle, the very image and likeness of God consists—loses its feeling once the bodily burden by which it is oppressed in the present world has been laid down? This element, which contains in itself the whole power of reasoning, gives feeling to the dumb and unfeeling matter of the flesh through participation in itself. For, indeed, the structure of that reasoning power logically implies that the mind, once it is free of the fleshly heaviness that now weighs it down, will recover its intellectual faculties for the better and, rather than lose them, will receive them back purer and finer. 9. So much does the blessed Apostle recognize that what we say is true that he even desires to part from this flesh so that by this separation of his he may be the more intimately joined to the Lord. As he says: ‘I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ, for that is far better, since while we are in the body we are absent from the Lord’ (Phil 1:23; 2 Cor 5:6). And therefore ‘we are bold and have the good wish rather to be absent from the body and to be present to the Lord. For this reason we also strive to please him, whether absent or present’ (2 Cor 5:8‒9). Thus he declares that the soul’s sojourn in this flesh is a removal from the Lord and an absence from Christ, and he believes with absolute confidence that its separation and departure from this flesh is a being present to Christ. 10. The same Apostle speaks still more clearly about

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this most alive state of these souls when he says: ‘You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to the multitude of many thousands of angels, and the church of the firstborn who are inscribed in heaven, and the spirits of the righteous made perfect’ (Heb 12:22‒23). About these spirits he says somewhere else: ‘We have had the fathers of our flesh as our instructors, and we reverenced them. Shall we not all the more subject ourselves to the Father of spirits and live?’” (Heb 12:9). XV. 1. “But the contemplation of God is arrived at in numerous ways. For God is not known only through wondering at his incomprehensible substance, because that is still concealed in the hope of the promise, but he is also clearly perceived in the grandeur of the things that he has created, in reflecting upon his justice and in the assistance provided by his daily providence—namely, when we consider with most pure minds the things that he has accomplished with his holy ones over the course of generations; when with trembling heart we admire that power of his by which he governs, directs, and rules all things, as well as the vastness of his knowledge and the eye from which the secrets of hearts cannot be hidden; when we think that he knows the sands of the sea and that he has measured the number of the waves; when we contemplate with amazement the raindrops, the days and hours of the ages, how all things past and future are present to his knowledge; 2. when we look with a kind of overwhelming wonder at his ineffable gentleness, by which he tolerates with unwearying patience the numberless crimes committed in his sight at each and every moment, and at the call through which he has received us, thanks to his mercy and not to our own already existing deserts, and finally at the many occasions of salvation that he has bestowed on those who are to be adopted—because he commanded that we should be born in such a way that grace and the knowledge of his law might be given us from our very cradles, and because he himself, conquering the adversary in us, bestows on us eternal blessedness and everlasting rewards for the sole pleasure of his good will; and when, lastly, he accepted the dispensation of his incarnation for our salvation and extended the marvels of his mysteries to all peoples. 3. There are also other innumerable things of this sort to contemplate, which come to our minds (where God is seen and grasped by a pure vision) in accordance with the character of our life and the purity of our heart. Certainly no one in whom there still dwells something of carnal desire ill lay hold of these things eternally, because, as the Lord says: ‘You shall not be able to see my face, for no one shall see me and live’ (Ex 33:20)—namely, to this world and to earthly desires.” XVI. GERMANUS: “Why is it, then, that superfluous thoughts insinuate themselves into us so subtly and hiddenly when we do not even want them, and indeed do not even know of them, that it is very difficult not only to cast hem out but even to understand them and to catch hold of them? Can the mind, then,

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sometimes be found free of these, and is it ever able to avoid being invaded by illusions of this sort?” XVII. 1. MOSES: “It is, indeed, impossible for the mind not to be troubled by thoughts, but accepting them or rejecting them is possible for everyone who makes and effort. It is true that their origin does not in every respect depend on us, but it is equally true that their refusal or acceptance does depend on us. By saying that it is impossible for the mind not to be attacked by thoughts, however, we do not mean that all of this must be attributed to an invasion and to those spirits which try to impose them on us. Otherwise there would be no free will in a person, not would the effort expended in our own correction be of any help to us. 2. But it is, I say, largely up to us whether the character of our thoughts improves and whether either holy and spiritual thoughts or earthly and carnal ones increase in our hearts. Therefore we practice the frequent reading of and constant meditation on Scripture, so that we may be open to a spiritual point of view. For this reason we frequently chant the psalms, so that we may continually grow in compunction. For this reason we are diligent in vigils, fasting, and praying, so that the mind which has been stretched to its limits may not taste earthly things but contemplate heavenly ones. When these things cease because negligence has crept in again, then, it is inevitable that the mind, by the accumulated filth of the vices, will soon turn in a carnal direction and fall.” XVIII. 1. “This activity of the heart is not inappropriately compared to millstones, which the swift rush of the waters turns with a violent revolving motion. As long as the waters’ force keeps them spinning they are utterly incapable of stopping their work, but it is in the power of the one who supervises to decide whether to grind wheat or barley or darnel. Indeed, only that will be ground which has been accepted by the person entrusted with the responsibility for the work. 2. “In the same way the mind cannot be free from agitating thoughts during the trials of the present life, since it is spinning around in the torrents of the trials that overwhelm it from all sides. But whether these will be either refused or admitted into itself will be the result of its own zeal and diligence. For if, as we have said, we constantly return to meditating on Holy Scripture and raise our awareness to the recollection of spiritual realities and to the desire for perfection and the hope of future blessedness, it is inevitable that the spiritual thoughts which have arisen from this will cause the mind to dwell on the things that we have been meditating on. 3. But if we are overcome by laziness and negligence and let ourselves be taken up with wicked behavior and silly conversations, or if we get involved in worldly concerns and unnecessary preoccupations, the result will be as if a kind of weed had sprung up, which will impose harmful labor on our heart. And, according to the words of the Lord, the Savior, wherever the treasure of our works and intentions is, there also will necessarily abide our heart” (Mt 6:21).

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XIX. 1. “Above all we should know what the three sources of our thoughts are: They come from God, from the devil, and from ourselves. They are from God when he deigns to visit us by the illumination of the Holy Spirit, which raises us up to a higher level of progress; and when we have made little gain or have acted lazily and been overcome and he chastens us with a most salutary compunction; and when he opens to us the heavenly sacraments and changes our chosen orientation to better acts and to a better will. This was the case when King Ahasuerus was chastised by the Lord and was moved to examine the annals, whereupon he remembered the good deeds of Mordechai, exalted him to the highest degree of honor, and immediately recalled his exceedingly cruel sentence concerning the killing of the Jewish people (Est 6:1‒10:3). 2. Or when the prophet mentions: ‘I will hear what the Lord God has to say in me’ (Ps 85:8). There is another one, too, who says: ‘An angel said, who was speaking in me’ (Zec 1:14). Or when the Son of God promises that he will come, together with the Father, and that they will make a dwelling in us (Jn 14:23). And: ‘It is not you who speak but the Spirit of your Father who speaks in you’ (Mt 10:20). And the vessel of election (Acts 9:15) says: ‘You seek a proof of Christ, of him who speaks in me’ (2 Cor 13:3). 3. “And from the devil a whole series of thoughts is born, when he attempts to subvert us both by delight in wickedness and by hidden snares, fraudulently passing off evil things for good with the most subtle finesse and transforming himself for us into an angel of light (2 Cor 11:14). Or when the evangelist says: ‘When supper was finished and the devil had already put it in the heart of Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, to betray the Lord’ (Jn 13:2). And again he says: ‘After the morsel Satan entered into him’ (Jn 13:27). Peter also says to Ananias: ‘Why has Satan tempted your heart, to lie to the Holy Spirit?’ (Acts 5:3). And what we read in the Gospel that was predicted long before in Ecclesiastes: ‘If the spirit of a ruler should rise up against you, do not leave your place’ (Eccl 10:4). 4. Also what is said to God against Ahab in the Third Book of Kings in the person of an unclean spirit: ‘I will go out and I will be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets’ (3 Kgs 22:22). “They also come from us, however, when we spontaneously remember things that we are doing or have done or have heard. Concerning such things the blessed David says: ‘I thought of ancient days, and I kept the eternal years in mind, and I meditated. At night I was exercised in my heart, and I examined my spirit’ (Ps 76:6‒7 LXX). And again: ‘The Lord knows that the thoughts of men are vain’ (Ps 94:11). And: ‘The thoughts of the righteous are judgments’ (Prv 12:5). Also in the Gospel the Lord says to the Pharisees: ‘Why do you think evil in your hearts?’” (Mt 9:4). XX. 1. “We should, then, be continually aware of this threefold distinction and with a wise discretion examine all the thoughts that emerge in our heart, first

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tracing their origins and causes and their authors, so that, in accordance with the status of whoever is suggesting them, we may be able to consider how we should approach them. Then we shall become, in keeping with the precept of the Lord, approved money-changers.1 The very high skill and training of such persons exists for the sake of determining whether something is gold of the purest sort—what is popularly called obrizum—or whether it has been less purified by fire. It also exists for the sake of not being deceived by a common brass denarius if it is being passed off as a precious coin under the guise of shining gold; this is assured by a very careful examination. These people not only shrewdly recognize coins displaying the heads of usurpers but also discern with a still finer skill those which are stamped with the image of the true king but are counterfeits. Finally, they submit them to careful weighing in case they are lighter than they should be. 2. “All of these things we ourselves have to carry out in a spiritual manner, as this gospel saying demonstrates. First, we should carefully scrutinize whatever enters our hearts, especially if it is a doctrine to which we have been exposed, to see if it has been purified by the divine and heavenly fire of the Holy Spirit or if it is a part of Jewish superstition or if, coming from the pridefulness of worldly philosophy, it has the mere look of piety to it. We shall be able to accomplish this if we fulfill what the Apostle says: ‘Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see if they are form God’ (I Jn4:1). 3. This is how some have been deceived who, after their monastic profession, have been seduced by elegant words and by certain teachings of the philosophers which, at first hearing, attracted them superficially at a given moment. These teachings fooled the hearers, much like shining gold, because of a few pious sentiments not inconsistent with religion. But since they were, so to say, counterfeit brass coins, they impoverished those who had been taken in and made them miserable forever, either reintroducing them into the tumult of the world or by dragging them into heretical errors and bloated presumptions. We read in the Book of Joshua son of Nun that this also happened to Achan: He coveted a gold bar from the camp of the Philistines and stole it, and thus he deserved to be placed under a sentence and condemned to eternal death (Jos 7). 4. “Secondly, we should look closely to see that no wicked interpretation fastened on to the pure gold of Scripture deceives us by the precious appearance of its metal. This was how the crafty devil attempted to deceive even the Lord, the Savior, as if he were a mere man: He tried to make an adaptation, corrupting with a wicked interpretation things that should generally be understood as applying only to the righteous and particularly to him who did not need the protection of angels, 1   Cf. Logion 43, in A. Resch, Agrapha: Ausserkanonische Evangelienfragmente (Leipzig, 1889), pp. 116‒127.

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when he said: ‘For he will command his angels concerning you, that they may guard you in all your ways, and in their hands they will carry you, lest perchance you strike your foot against a stone’ (Ps 91:11‒12). Thus he changed the precious words of Scripture by his clever use of them and gave them a contrary and harmful meaning, like someone who presents us with the image of a usurper’s face under the guise of deceptive gold. He also tries to lead us astray with counterfeits by exhorting us to pursue a certain pious work which, since it is not the legitimate coinage of the elders, leads to vice under the appearance of virtue and brings us to a bad end by deceiving us either with immoderate and inappropriate fasting or severe vigils or inordinate praying or excessive reading. 5. He also persuades us to give ourselves to acts of meditation and to pious visitations, by which he would pry us away from the spiritual ramparts of the monastery and from our retreat of cherished calm, even suggesting that we worry and be concerned about nuns and destitute women, by snares of this sort inextricably entangling the entrapped monk with baleful preoccupations. And, indeed, he inveigles us into desiring the holy clerical office under the pretext of edifying many and for the love of spiritual gain, thus tearing us away from the humility and severity of our present chosen orientation. 6. “Although all these things are contrary to our salvation and to our profession, they nonetheless easily deceive the unskilled and the unwary since they are covered by a kind of veil of mercy and religion. For they imitate the coins of the true king because they appear very pious at first sight, but they have not been stamped by lawful minters—that is to say, by the approved and Catholic fathers—nor do they come from the central and public workshop of their conferences, but they are clandestinely fabricated by the fraud of demons and, to their detriment, are offered to the skilled and the ignorant. Although they might seem good and necessary at first sight, yet if afterwards they begin to have a negative effect on the solidity of our profession and in some way weaken the whole body of our chosen orientation, they are rightly cut off and cast away from us just like anything that is necessary and seems to perform the office of a right hand or a foot but that causes scandal. 7. For it is preferable to be without the member of one commandment—that is, without one work and its fruit—and to be healthy and solid in the other members and to enter the kingdom of heaven crippled, than with all the commandments to trip against some stumbling block that through pernicious habit would separate us from our habitual rigor and from the discipline of the orientation that we have chosen and embraced. This would bring such a great loss upon us that we would never be able to compensate for future setbacks, and all our past achievements and the whole body of our activity would be burned up in the fires of Gehenna (Mt 18:8). Proverbs also speaks well about these kinds of deceptions: ‘There are paths that seem to be right to a man, but they arrive finally at the depths of hell’

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(Prv 16:25 LXX). And again: ‘An evil person does harm when he involves himself with a righteous one’ (Prv 11:15a LXX). That is to say, the devil is deceptive when he veils himself in the appearance of holiness. ‘But he hates the sound of the watchman’ (Prv 11:15b LXX)—namely, the power of discretion that comes from the words and the advice of the elders.” XXI. 1. “We have heard how even the Abba John, who used to live at Lycon, was recently deceived in this way. For when he had put off eating because of a two-day fast and his body was worn out and enfeebled, the devil approached him in the form of a black Ethiopian on the following day, just as he was about to eat. Embracing his knees he said: ‘Pardon me, for it was I who inflicted this labor on you.’ Then that man, so great and perfect in the ordering of his discretion, understood that in having exercised an exaggerated abstinence he had been duped by the devil’s cleverness and had been so preoccupied with his fasting that he had considered unnecessary weariness, which would in fact be spiritually harmful, more important than his exhausted body. He was deceived by a counterfeit coin, and while he was venerating the image of the true king on it he was too little aware of whether it was lawfully minted. 2. “The final thing to be observed by this approved money-changer, which we said had to do with examining and weighing, will be accomplished if we reflect meticulously on whatever our thoughts suggest that we should do. This we must place in the scale of our heart and weigh with the most delicate balance to see whether it has the proper weight of common goodness, and whether it is sufficiently heavy with the fear of God and integral in meaning, or whether it is too light because of human ostentation or some novel presumption, or whether the pride of empty vainglory has diminished or eroded the weight of its worth. Hence, let us bring it out immediately in public to weigh by having recourse to the deeds and testimonies of the prophets and apostles, and let us hold on to the things that balance with them as being integral and perfect and very cautiously and carefully reject, as being imperfect and condemnable, whatever does not weigh conformably with them.” XXII. 1. “This discretion, then, will be necessary for us in the fourfold manner of which I have spoken—that is, in the first place, so that the material itself, whether real gold or false, may not be concealed from us; secondly, so that we may reject thoughts that lie about works of piety as being adulterated and counterfeit coins since they are not lawfully minted and have a false image of the king; then, so that with similar discernment we may be able to turn down those which, because of an evil and heretical interpretation, portray in the precious gold of Scripture the face not of the true king but of a usurper; and finally, so that we may refuse as too light and condemnable and insufficiently heavy those coins whose weight and value have been eaten away by the rust of vanity, which does not let them balance out

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in the scale of the elders. Otherwise we shall stumble into what we are warned by the Lord’s commandment to be on the watch for with all our strength, and we shall be defrauded of all the deserts and rewards of our labors: ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where rut and moth destroy and where thieves break in and steal’ (Mt 6:19). 2. For whatever we have done with a view to human glory we now that we have stored up for ourselves as a treasure on earth, according to the Lord’s words, and that consequently, having been as it were hidden in the soil and buried in the earth, it will be ravaged by different demons and consumed by the devouring rust of vainglory and so eaten up by the moths of pride that it will be of no use or profit to the person who hid it. “All the secret places of our heart, therefore, must be constantly scrutinized and the prints of whatever enters them must be investigated in the most carful way, lest perchance some spiritual beast, a lion or a dragon, pass through and secretly leave its dangerous traces; then, once our thoughts were neglected, access to the sanctuary of our heart would be offered to still others. Thus at every moment we should cultivate the earth of our heart with the gospel plow—that it, with the continual remembering of the Lord’s cross—and we shall be able to root out from ourselves the nests of harmful animals and the hiding places of venomous serpents.” XXIII. 1. As we listened in stupefaction to these things and were inflamed with an insatiable love by what he was saying, the old man looked at us and, having stopped speaking for a short while out of amazement at our desire, finally added: “My sons, your zeal has provoked us to a long discourse and, in proportion to your desire, a kind of fire is producing a warmer reception of our conference. From this very fact I can see that you are truly thirsty for the teaching of perfection, and I want to tell you a little more about the sublimity and grace of discretion, which among all the virtues holds the supreme and first place, and to demonstrate its excellence and usefulness not only from daily examples but also from the ancient reflections and sayings of the fathers. 2. For I often recall that, when people would ask me with groaning and tears for a word of this sort, I was desirous of giving them some teaching myself but was completely unable to. Not only my mind but even my tongue failed so utterly that I did not see how I could give them even the smallest word of consolation to take home with them. From such signs it is evident that it is the Lord’s grace that inspires a word in the speakers proportionate to the worthiness and desire of the hearers. “Because the brief period of night that remains is insufficient to expound this word, let us instead give it up to bodily repose and save the narrative in its integrity for some future day or night, since the whole night would be needed if we were not to leave some of it out. 3. For it is fitting that the best counselors on discretion should demonstrate primarily in this respect the seriousness of their own intention and prove whether they are or can be capable of it by the gauge of patience, so that

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when they treat of that virtue which is the begetter of moderation, they will never incur the vice of excess, which is its contrary, and so violate by deed and action its characteristics and its nature, to which they are paying honor by their words. In this regard, then, may the good of discretion, which we have decided to explore further with the Lord’s assistance, be of service to us from the start and not let us exceed the measure of speech and of time when we are discussing its excellence and moderation, which are recognized to be part of it, as the first of the virtues.” 4. Putting an end to our conference with these words, then, the blessed Moses encouraged us, as eager as we were and still hanging on to his speech, to try to sleep for a while. He advised us to lie down on the same mats that we were sitting on, and, instead of a pillow, to put under our heads little bundles which are gathered into long slender packets and tied together with heavier papyrus stalks at foot-and-a-half intervals. These sometimes provide the brothers, when they are sitting together at a synaxis, with a very low seat in place of a footstool, and sometimes they are put under the sleepers’ necks, where they give a support to the head that is not too hard but yielding and pleasant. For such monastic uses these things are considered very advantageous and convenient, because they are not only somewhat soft and may be put together with little effort and at small expense, but also because they are naturally flexible and light and easy to carry around whenever that is necessary. And thus, following the instructions of the old man, we at last composed ourselves for sleep in the solemn stillness, at once burning with joy as a result of the conference that had been given and excited by the prospect of the discussion that had been promised.

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Morgan, Robert, and John Barton. Biblical Interpretation. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Nouailhat, Rene. Saints et patrons: les premiers moines de Lerins. Paris: Diffusion, Les Belles Lettres, 1988. O’Keefe, John J. and R. R. Reno. Sanctified Vision: An Introduction to Early Christian Interpretation of the Bible. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005. Osborn, Eric. The Emergence of Christian Theology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Peifer, Claude. The Biblical Foundations of Monasticism. Cistercian Studies. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1972. Ramsey, Boniface. Beginning to Read the Fathers. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1985. —, trans. and ann. John Cassian: The Conferences. Ancient Christian Writers. New York: Newman Press, 1997. —, trans. and ann. John Cassian: The Institutes. Ancient Christian Writers. New York: Newman Press, 2000. Resch, Alfred. Agrapha: Ausserkanonische Evangelienfragmente. Leipzig, 1889. Rousseau, Philip. Ascetics, Authority, and the Church: In the Age of Jerome and Cassian. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978. Rubenson, S. The Letters of St. Antony: Origenist Theology, Monastic Tradition and the Making of a Saint. Philadelphia: Lund, 1995. Schweiker, William. Mimetic Reflections: A Study in Hermeneutics, Theology, and Ethics. New York: Fordham University Press, 1990. Sheridan, Mark. “Models and Images of Spiritual Progress in the Works of John Cassian.” In Studies in the Spirituality of Late Antiquity and Early Monasticism. Studia Anselmiana. Rome, 1994. Silvas, Anna M. “Edessa to Cassino: The Passage of Basil’s Asketikon to the West.” Vigiliae Christianae 56 (2002): 247‒259. Simonetti, Manlio, and John A. Hughes, trans. Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church: An Historical Introduction to Patristic Exegesis. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994. Sterk, Andrea. Renouncing the World Yet Leading the Church: The Monk-Bishop in Late Antiquity. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004. Stewart, Columba. Cassian the Monk. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. Tate, W. Randolph. Biblical Interpretation: An Integrated Approach. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2000. Wall, Robert W. “Martha and Mary (Luke 10.38‒42) in the Context of a Christian Deuteronomy.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 35 (1989): 19‒35.

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Ward, Benedicta. The Desert Christian: Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc., 1975. Watson, Francis, ed. The Open Text: New Directions for Biblical Studies? London: SCM Press, 1993. Weaver, Rebecca. “Access to Scripture: Experiencing the Text.” Interpretation 52, no. 4 (2001): 367‒379. Wemple, Suzanne. Woman in Frankish Society: Marriage and the Cloister, 500 to 900. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981. Whitman, Jon, ed. Interpretation and Allegory: Antiquity to the Modern Period. Leiden: Brill, 2000. Williams, Rowan, ed. The Making of Orthodoxy: Essays in Honour of Henry Chadwick. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Wimbush, Vincent L., and Richard Valantasis, eds. Asceticism. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. Wrzol, Ludwig. “Die Psychologie des Johannes Cassianus.” Divus Thomas 32 (1918): 181‒213, 425‒456. Young, Frances, Lewis Ayres, and Andrew Louth, eds. The Cambridge History of Early Christian Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Young, Frances M. The Art of Performance. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1990. —. Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Press, 2002.

Index

Abraham 47, 55, 61, 65–7, 70–76, 82, 87–8, 100–101, 117 acedia 4, 51 active vs. contemplative 18, 23–4, 26, 30, 105, 108 allegory 2, 4, 8, 10, 14–15, 23–4, 82–3, 88–90, 101, 103 ambidextrous 45, 50, 52, 54–6, 58 Ambrose of Milan 43–4, 70, 77n33, 88n3 anachoresis 3, 62–5, 71, 98 Antony of Egypt 5, 13, 67–9, 90, 100 archetypes 3, 14, 18, 21, 45, 49, 52, 56, 58, 87, 103 asceticism 4, 5, 13, 28, 29, 30, 34, 40, 41, 44, 45, 47, 49, 55, 58, 69, 70, 84, 96, 100, 101, 103, 104 beatific vision 26, 27, 31–5, 72, 79, 102 Bible 4–7, 13, 15, 37, 47, 61, 67, 69, 77, 87, 88, 94, 99, 102 caritas 18, 29–32, 34 Cassian life 7–9 works 9–14 charity 22, 25, 27–9, 30, 35, 40, 52, 56, 102, 105 Christ 27, 31, 33, 35, 42, 43, 45, 47, 54, 61, 62, 70, 72, 77, 90, 94, 95 Chrysostom, John 8, 12, 15, 44, 103–4 Church Fathers 1, 16, 43, 61, 70 coenobium 6, 19, 56, 62, 63, 64, 65, 76, 102 Conferences 9–14 contemplation 17, 18, 24, 26, 27, 31, 32, 37, 41, 51, 71, 72, 80, 89, 105 Desert Fathers 3, 6, 13, 14, 18, 61, 67, 88, 92, 98 devil 38, 40, 41, 46, 48, 102

discretion 11, 17, 18, 27, 35, 36–42, 44, 46, 56, 79, 81, 83, 85, 90, 101 distraction 17, 23–9, 33, 35, 37, 64, 74, 76, 79, 80, 81, 91, 92, 96, 97, 111, 112 Egypt 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 18, 19, 41, 54, 67, 68, 73, 74, 77, 82, 84, 85, 98, 99, 100 Ehud 50, 68 Elijah 5, 80, 81, 87, 90, 97 emulation 3, 5, 6, 16, 57, 61, 68, 74, 75, 78, 79, 104; see also mimēsis eschatological orientation 12, 18, 28, 30, 32, 34, 35, 44, 45, 46, 48, 50, 53, 55, 58, 71, 72, 73 Eucherius of Lyon 9, 99 Evagrius of Pontus 8, 10, 23, 24, 103 evil 4, 10, 38, 39, 41, 44, 45, 48, 49, 57, 95 exegesis Cassian’s 3–4, 25, 26, 56, 101, 103 mimetic 3, 7, 56 patristic 1–3, 14–16, 43, 88, 101, 104 Germanus 8, 11, 18, 19, 31, 36, 42, 44, 45, 48, 55, 63, 64, 75, 76, 84, 93, 94, 95, 96, 98 Gregory of Nyssa 17, 70, 77 heart cell of 56–9 purity of 11, 18, 21–5, 26, 27, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 54, 75, 80, 91; see also puritas cordis humility 13, 43, 46, 50, 56, 63, 64, 65, 67, 70, 75, 83, 90, 93 inhaerere (clinging) 27, 33, 64 Institutes 4, 7, 8, 9–11, 17, 26, 46, 62, 71, 76, 82, 89, 99

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interior man (interior hominis) 11, 12, 50, 82, 89, 93 Israel 11, 15, 33, 50, 61, 68, 73, 74, 76, 78, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 91, 101, 102, 106 Jacob 5, 11, 61, 101 Jesus 1, 2, 14, 16, 23–8, 31, 32, 33, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43, 47, 61, 67, 69, 70, 73, 77, 79, 80, 81, 82, 99, 102, 103 Job 5, 43–59 John the Baptist 47–8 Judas Iscariot 38, 46, 47, 69 kerygma 47, 54, 97 kingdom of heaven 18, 21, 28, 32–4 Lazarus 46–8 Life of Antony 5, 13, 81n42 Martha of Bethany 17–29, 35, 37, 41, 42, 79 Mary of Bethany 17–29, 31, 32, 33, 36, 37, 41, 42, 62, 79, 97 mimēsis 3, 14, 16, 59, 101, 103 mind mutability of 21, 22, 27, 32, 34, 35, 55–7, 73, 76 troubled 36–42, 80, 90, 92, 95, 96 Moses 61, 68, 73, 76–85, 87, 90 Moses, Abba 18–42, 63, 79 Nesteros, Abba 14, 88–98 obedience 10, 46, 61, 63–4, 67, 70, 75, 76, 83, 90, 99 oikonomia 58, 70, 102 Origen 2, 8, 15, 17, 23, 24, 37, 44, 70, 103 outer man (exterior hominis) 10, 11, 89, 93 Paphnutius, Abba 63–4, 65, 67–76 Paul 21, 22, 28, 29, 30, 31, 34, 35, 38, 45, 46, 49, 54, 55, 69, 70, 72, 73, 83, 102, 103, 104 promised land 61, 68, 70, 72, 74, 76, 78, 82–5, 87, 102

Proverbs, Book of 4, 41, 57, 87, 88, 92, 93, 95, 98 Psalms, Book of 39, 72, 87, 88, 89, 92, 96, 98 puritas cordis 18, 21, 26, 28, 29–35, 42, 61, 74, 75, 76, 78, 80, 84, 85, 88, 94, 100 reflection 27, 31, 101 renunciation 62–76, 89, 100 scopos 11, 18, 20–22, 26, 27, 30, 31, 32, 33, 35, 75, 101 senses of scripture 3, 15, 89, 90, 95 Serapion, Abba 83–5, 102 soul 3, 18, 26, 27, 32, 34–5, 36, 37, 42, 46, 48, 51, 53, 58, 71, 72, 73, 80, 85, 90, 91 synaxis 6, 13, 98 telos 11, 18, 20–22, 35 Theodore, Abba 45–52, 54–8 theoria 15, 18, 26, 27, 29–34, 51, 63, 72, 78–81, 97 thoughts 22, 35, 36, 37, 40, 41, 51, 57, 80, 92, 93, 95, 96, 97 origin of 37–9 typology 14, 43, 61, 77, 101, 103 via regia (royal road) 37, 40, 46, 50, 53, 61, 65, 71, 75, 77, 78, 80, 81, 84, 87, 89, 90, 94, 97, 101 vice 10, 11, 22, 26, 40, 42, 44, 46, 48, 51, 63, 71, 73, 74, 76, 81–5, 89, 91, 94, 95, 96 virtue 10, 11, 13, 18, 25–7, 34, 35, 37, 40–42, 44, 46, 48, 52, 55–8, 63, 64, 67, 70, 74–6, 79–81, 85, 89, 91–103 withdrawal 2, 3, 61, 62–85, 89, 90, 91, 92